As a Veteran I feel I live a life of endless edit. It’s the art of poetry and conflict resolution exploding like a Jackson Pollock in my head everyday.
And on this Veterans & Remembrance Day 🌺 weekend, I’m always preparing, prepping, pivoting, “What language will I use today, when they say what they say to me on this day.”
And before they can utter the words, all too familiar, and still far too awkward and discomforting for most, I’m editing my response.
Thwacks of paint hit my canvas mind, but my heart pulls the paint thinner and pours it out, washing over my linguistic desire to deeply connect. It’s not safe…it’s too risky…I might stumble , again. So, I edit.
And then I yearn. For a place and time where we may let our service to a country be a conversation starter, not an ender, nor an edit.
Can we all resist that titillating tendency to uncomfortably end, and edit, a conversation with the words, “Thank you for your service.”
Instead we wonder, what if we let it be an opening to understanding and healing. We didn’t just serve, our families served alongside us.
So there’s an unexpected entryway. We are all finding our way, along the way. To hear us is to help us. To help us is to heal us.
Veteran’s Day Grief is real. In surges and swells 🌊 like this one, which woke me in the middle of the night with the rain and wind hitting my windows like colorless paint splatters. In every drop an entire story. 🌧️
I stir, exhaustion reigns, but I cannot keep the heart from straining, nor the mind from racing. We see the world in its state presently, and we ask, “What was it all for?” Can we go back and edit?
I guess one soldier’s evermore is another sailor’s everward. Where’s the paint thinner when you need it?
I’m okay. Truly. Genetically programmed ☘️ (Irish doldrums) to ride the swells, they are often the amplitude of inspiration and stirring creativity. Pádraig knows of what I speak.
And edits, be glad for the edits. ✍️ The very ones that make these words, on your screen, in your time zone, in your dance of detox come to life.
Graciously putting myself in - this communitas of healing. ❤️🩹
My doubts, my worries, my grief, my limitations…and my service. Feels lighter in the sharing. 🙏🏻 Thanks for all you do.
"In every drop an entire story." A stunning reflection, Bill. I will share this with my husband, a Veteran (notably the only one in my family who didn't have Friday off). Sending gratitude as you surge, swell, and offer us this entryway.
Bill, your words have weight this morning. You asking us to reconsider the now ubiquitous phrase “thank you for your service,” is provocative. And I get it even as I’m guilty of still saying it. But you’ve planted a fertile seed and I can’t wait to interact with the next Veteran—in whatever context we find ourselves in, I will have the courage of self-editing and, instead of the now tired cliche, ask, instead, a question of meaning and allow space for the Veteran to share a story. When this has happened in my life, I’ve found Veterans will share, with pride, stories of their service, most often in comradeship with their fellow service men and women—their shared brother/sisterhood.
Bill, what question would you wish others would ask of you more often?
Thanks for sharing. My husband was a vet, and I only got to read his diary of his time at war after his passing. His ‘edits’ became silence. Also, your metaphors of Jackson Pollack painting (paint thinner as an edit!) and rain lashing the window gave me a sense of the physicality of editing, the body’s active part in it.
Please take no offense when I thank you for your service as those words begin this response thanking you for your words, your thoughts that beautifully expressed the ineffable. You truly touched my heart.
I’m honored and moved my words had that impact and effect. To be transformed, to grow, is what we all wish for. Truly touched to know my vulnerability and the removing of my armor through “the edit” helped you in transforming. Be well. ❤️🩹🙏🏻💪🏻
I am quite late to the celebration here on November the 14th. However, what an incredible way to start off the conversation Bill. I appreciate all that you have written, the way you wrote it, and your beautiful editing. You got me to thinking about my Dad, and my uncles who all served and most have now passed. The conversations that didn't happen because unless someone asked, it wasn't often that these men talked about their service which they did willingly. My Dad actually left high school early to enlist.
Back to your heart here on this electronic page - WOW thank you for your vulnerability and inviting us into your healing process. The grief you experience is probably in some ways beyond words and yet, you fought to find them and share them with us. Thank you so much for being here.
Thank you, Catherine. It is true, many men and women Veterans still can't talk about their service. The healing continues...and it starts with 10 seconds of courage.
That knee jerk reaction of “thank you for your service” has always bothered me, as if it was a checklist kind of comment. I wonder if people understand the changes that serving brings to everyone involved? I wonder if we couldn’t spend more time on supporting services for veterans and maybe work on measures to make peace a priority and not keep making more grieving and hurting people?
There is profound change that impacts and alters everyone that serves something greater than self. Measures of peace are the heartbeat of every soldier, sailor, airmen, marine and coastguardsman. Our every breath is so that these measures of peace and fragility and grace may reign and rule the day.
I’m a student who has recently come back from a solo trip to front line Ukraine. I’ve just published a new piece on my experiences and thought readers here may appreciate it. Please do see what you think. https://irongoose.substack.com/
My dear friend is experiencing dementia. I am learning to edit out my comments such as, “The last we talked, you said you were keeping the keys on the hook by the door.”
It is hard to help from a great distance. I am working on ways to cue action that don’t include “Remember?” Still not getting it right, but I keep trying.
Thank you for this reminder, Karen. I, too, have a loved one that is being transformed by memory loss. I realize that my frustrations (and sanctimonious "I ALREADY told you this!" moments) are deeply rooted in fear and pain. How do we honor our grief for the person we once knew while they are physically still present? Editing as a gesture, a kindness, feels important here. Your friend is lucky to have you.
Yes. It took me quite a while and many missteps to accept the new relationship I needed to have with my mother when she developed dementia. It's a big loss and a long goodbye, but in the end I was glad to have the chance to return some of all the loving care she gave me over the years.
Thank you, Karen, for this share. It reminded me of my own most wise edit involving my mom, who is forgetful. It is very hard not pointing out the remember all the time. I'm right there with you! XO
This is about an edit of an action. In my teens, my father and I were caught in a struggle of clashing temperaments. My father demanded either/or, black and white views and behaviors. I was a young dreamer, favoring shades of gray, colors, and possibilities. One evening, we were in another disagreement. As we moved from open living room to dining area, my father, walking behind me, punched me in the back. I turned around, looked in his eyes, and felt like punching back, really hard. I saw in his face a new realization. I was now taller than my father, and capable of “doing damage”. His look seemed to say “oops, I may have gone too far, he’s about to swing and drop me.”
I chose not to strike. My mother had been sitting at the dining table, witness to our unfolding brawl. My unspoken words were “don’t ever hit me again.”
He was a colonel in the Army reserves. I became a conscientious objector during the Vietnam tragedy.
I am forever grateful that I didn’t deck him. 🏮we were two men who didn’t know how to say “I love you”. We were quick to anger and very ignorant about connecting in more fruitful and loving ways.
Wow, this one hit me like an unexpected punch. I have nearly the same story, eerily similar. I chose not to strike...and instead spend a lifetimes looking for ways to say “I love you” in a world that never taught us how.
Editing IS writing; both are exercises in choosing words. Writing is executed more or less subconsciously, editing more or less consciously. "Write drunk; edit sober" - Hemingway
Once I had a frenemy say to a younger, more verbose me, "Let your words be few but let them be valuable." Her attempt to edit me bothered me at the time, but it's a wisdom which has stuck with me throughout my adult life. As a teacher, writer, poet & friend, I'm ever trying to simplify my words to communicate the essence of what I'm trying to say as well as allow for the silence necessary for my hearers to be heard.
Learning to take a different perspective is such a powerful tool and I never thought of it as ""editing". "Editing" my thinking or my conversations or the questions I ask is a non-judgmental way, a peacemaking way of adjusting to the world and the life around me.
I remember the day I realized that I could intentionally shift my thinking from the pain soaked grief of our son's death and my fixation on that void in our lives. I began to try to see the world around me with his eyes . . . not always with the harshness of his absence, but rather to see the natural world he loved so much and remember his spontaneous smiles or watch the antics of his dogs and hear his laughter. I was editing my perspective so that I could live with the sorrow that I could not erase.
Thank you, Deb, so much. I am learning to carry this and to be grateful for the time we had with him. I focus on that daily. "We soften into strength" (I can't remember who said that, but I believe it. ❤️ Thank you for your kindness !!
This year I have started the habit of writing my morning thoughts in haiku…. Thoughts on movies, books, my feelings, problems…it’s amazing how concise you must be to express yourself in this pared down way…plus dig deep into the wonderful world of words with the right amount of syllables 😉
I'm a big fan of such practice and write a short-form poem (at least one) every day. Haiku is certainly one of the more challenging forms. So much can be done with such remarkable limitation. I also really love senryu - cousin, if you will, to haiku - which focuses on culture rather than nature. I try and conform to traditional practice of haiku: about nature, little to no use of metaphor (which is super tough), including a seasonal word and so on. Senryu, by contrast, is much easier.
I edit myself in real life ALL the time. with my mother, 103 years old who has serious cognitive impairment but still knows enough to worry for her children, so I edit out my "suffering" when she asks how I am. I only tell her the good stuff. With my 46 year old daughter, I edit out the overly-worried, unsolicited advice-giving mother in me. With all my political friends I edit my frustrations, my despair, my fear, my anger. I try to get to the point of my "assessment" of the situation without throwing in all my personal stuff. (I usually end up throwing some of it in anyway). On another note, deep gratitude to you, Padraig, for this every-Sunday-morning-under-the-tree-christmas-present full of invitations and delights! I signed up for it all! Heart-mind gifts, sustenance and hope-kindling, like a clear pure water oasis on a long desert journey. Something like that.
I sometimes joke that I'm going to write a book entitled, "All the Things I Never Said." I'm referring to the times I want to tell my adult children how to lead their lives and raise their children. "Really? You're going to let him have another cupcake? If you'd taught them to pack their backpacks before bed every night, you wouldn't have major meltdowns every morning when the bus is a minute away and no one can find their homework." This is clear - my intentions are good, my motive is love and I'm afraid for their futures. But my kids get defensive or withdrawn and I'm left with a knot in my stomach. I'm adjusting to being in a supporting role, backstage, in the wings. I make cameo appearances and easily give lots of compliments. Not surprisingly, I see my children more clearly - how loving and patient they are, how their parenting philosophies are creating good people, how graceful my grandchildren are becoming. They sometimes ask for my advice. Now when the voice of judgment rises, I'm more able to chuckle and say, "Ah, good one. Put it in the book."
Very wise, Thayer! And also a little bit funny. Even my best attempts to parent my own young children are thwarted because they are kids. I plan for every outburst and meltdown only to have new ones rear their heads that I wasn't anticipating. We all do the best we can with our tiny humans in training and everything we do for them is with love.
The Tibetan Book of Living and Dying by Sogyal Rinpoche shares the thought, "Perhaps the deepest reason why we are afraid of death is because we do not know who we are."
Our home is now a living hospice for a dying man, 87, poet extraordinaire, father of four daughters, friend to poets and cats.
“The Last Day”, this octogenarian’s final chapbook, arrived last week. 100 copies. Half freely given to old and new friends, cancer doctor (Dr. Poet) who aspires to poetic expression, Haitian and Ugandan hospice nurses whose copies went straight to their hearts, a request by our hospice social worker believing such poems can breathe words of life into death alongside the grieving.
Emptiness, the symbol AUM…open to eternity…into consciousness and beyond. My Krikor knew who he was and now simply, a dying man.
Blessings•the word that lingers on my tongue•the last breath an out breath•death is an opening•May it Be So
Even more profound then. Thank you. And I get it—I recently offered the same unselfish (yet, ironically, benevolently selfish at the same time) act of sacrifice and service to my dying dad. You are a beautiful Soul and your writing this morning made an impact upon the world.
Dear Kert, your words touch me deeply, profoundly really. Like a mirror into the soul. I am grateful for your attunement at this time in my (selfish and unselfish) life.
I am on an email listserv with a Jewish human rights group. I don't often participate. Shortly after October 7th the listserv lit up with all kinds of language of confusion and heartache. Petitions were designed and in my emotion I found myself engaging in and caught up in a harsh tone. I have only recently come to recognize this as a transference of my emotional pain into the greater conversation.
When others had challenged my thoughts i felt they were taking sides against me. My harsh tone was my way of defending myself without compassion for myself. I quickly apologized to the group at the end of the exchange for having gotten caught up in the emotion. I didn't edit my ideas out, I didn't aim to suppress my pain, but I knew i had contributed to sharpening it instead of easing it and I needed to ease it. The leader was astounded and expressed relief I had done that. The air cleared. It also expanded. It felt especially helpful given the intensity and confusion of the circumstances not to add myself to the mix. We are often taught that once we say something the die is cast. If that's so, then what is apology for? I am a fierce and compassionate editor of my own poems and other writing. I hope I can keep learning to be as fierce and compassionate when it comes to editing myself to make room for something more than my self.
I’m sure there were times when I beneficially edited myself, but Right now I am more aware of the NEED for editing than the act of a successful edit. As a parent of three kids, I am feeling particularly challenged to edit my emotional responses, to not take things personally (can I really be detached from and “disinterested” to the string of verbal assaults hurled my way?) and to model appropriate behavior.
How do you embody the awareness that I can’t or won’t edit?
I get this, Jonathan. My three-year-old grandchild is learning to edit themself. Watching a young human learning to be conscious of self is fascinating — and so tumultuous! We adults continuously ask, "Can you say that in a kind way?" or "How might you say that in a constructive way?" Practicing, over and over. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't.
Obviously, we're not to the "verbal assault" phase yet. A fellow parent once reminded me, "This too shall pass." Sometimes that's all it takes to get me through to the next phase.
Thanks for your reply, LC. I’m trying to stay focused on “this too shall pass” -- each moment is a phase that must be passed through. Just hoping that Sass Mountain does throw down an avalanche on me.
Jonathan, I feel this one, as a mom. Just this last week, as I made trip number "I don't even know" into my teenager's room to get him out of bed in an effort to catch his bus, well, let's just say he's not a morning person kind of kid and he lashed out (he does this often). When he did, I just looked at him, took a deep breath, turned and walked away. That is my wisest choice in that circumstance because he isn't a morning kid. We talk about it later. Thank you!
I am in the process of editing a song I've written for my church. The process is undoing me. I will be glad of this work. But right now, it is painful.
I’ve mentioned before that I began sending a check-in email when lockdown began. It came out of early morning prayer time. I wrote, just wrote. Then when the sun came up I reviewed to see if it needed editing. I promised myself to put myself on the page. I know my editor friends likely cringe at my usage and I’m sure I break grammatical rules. The goal is connection and a song to keep compassion and juices flowing. My editing only serves that purpose and to make sure I say what I mean.
I participate in another Substack community where the question was posed, what has been your experience with death? Many people contributed beautiful and transformative stories of peace and reconciliation and healing that happened in a loved one’s last moments. I shared the story I had, which was the opposite- a good friend’s painful and tragic early death 10 years ago from an aggressive cancer. Her suffering haunts me still. A few minutes later I remembered that one of the posts I’d read in the responses was from a woman who shared her own recent cancer diagnosis for the first time. I immediately went back and deleted my post. A form of editing in this case. She did not need that story in that moment and I pray she didn’t see it.
My mom has always been forgetful. Alzheimer's runs in her family, and I think it's always been a concern for her that she might have it. She doesn't. She's just forgetful. A couple of years ago, she had transplant surgery and it's been a never ending meds adjustment ever since. Too much of that one made her too tired, this one makes her legs ache, etc. Constantly adjusting. One of the ones she has to take makes her forgetful. She was already, she's also aging, and with the meds...now it's quite bad. She forgot my birthday this year. There are a lot of shades to the colors of how I feel about this. My edit is that I didn't say anything at all to her about it. I don't want her to feel worse for doing it and I know she would because I'm a mom, too. Each time I visit her, she seems more like herself, as the med that was making her forgetful has been changed, but she is still her usual forgetful self, perhaps a little more than usual, with her aging and all. Still no birthday remembrance, which is fine at this point. My heart goes out to her!
Karen, you are so delightfully sweet, thank you. The birthday was many months ago now.
And I know what my mom has been going through, all the different versions of herself she has been since the transplant surgery. Sometimes I still wonder a) whether she would do it all again if she knew then what she knows now and b) whether she would even still be here on this plane had she not done it. It's not the only time I have edited myself with her, but this one she didn't need to know. Not when she was already having such a difficult time with her memory and being frustrated with it, thinking a great deal of what she was experiencing had to do with the meds involved. Mom ALWAYS made our birthdays and holidays extra special when we were kids. My sister and I always requested a specific birthday dinner that would take the whole day with all three of us preparing food and cooking away and then eating the fruits of our labor in a delicious meal. I used to think it was because we loved the meal so much but now that I am older, I think honestly we requested it so we could have more of her time because she wasn't around much. AND for the meal (of course) because it was so good!! So, yes, many good past memories. XO
As a Veteran I feel I live a life of endless edit. It’s the art of poetry and conflict resolution exploding like a Jackson Pollock in my head everyday.
And on this Veterans & Remembrance Day 🌺 weekend, I’m always preparing, prepping, pivoting, “What language will I use today, when they say what they say to me on this day.”
And before they can utter the words, all too familiar, and still far too awkward and discomforting for most, I’m editing my response.
Thwacks of paint hit my canvas mind, but my heart pulls the paint thinner and pours it out, washing over my linguistic desire to deeply connect. It’s not safe…it’s too risky…I might stumble , again. So, I edit.
And then I yearn. For a place and time where we may let our service to a country be a conversation starter, not an ender, nor an edit.
Can we all resist that titillating tendency to uncomfortably end, and edit, a conversation with the words, “Thank you for your service.”
Instead we wonder, what if we let it be an opening to understanding and healing. We didn’t just serve, our families served alongside us.
So there’s an unexpected entryway. We are all finding our way, along the way. To hear us is to help us. To help us is to heal us.
Veteran’s Day Grief is real. In surges and swells 🌊 like this one, which woke me in the middle of the night with the rain and wind hitting my windows like colorless paint splatters. In every drop an entire story. 🌧️
I stir, exhaustion reigns, but I cannot keep the heart from straining, nor the mind from racing. We see the world in its state presently, and we ask, “What was it all for?” Can we go back and edit?
I guess one soldier’s evermore is another sailor’s everward. Where’s the paint thinner when you need it?
I’m okay. Truly. Genetically programmed ☘️ (Irish doldrums) to ride the swells, they are often the amplitude of inspiration and stirring creativity. Pádraig knows of what I speak.
And edits, be glad for the edits. ✍️ The very ones that make these words, on your screen, in your time zone, in your dance of detox come to life.
Graciously putting myself in - this communitas of healing. ❤️🩹
My doubts, my worries, my grief, my limitations…and my service. Feels lighter in the sharing. 🙏🏻 Thanks for all you do.
Your words here ought to be plastered on a memorial in Washington DC!!!
Wow! That’s so kind of you to say. I sort of just close my eyes and type sometimes. Then, as Pádraig shows us, the power of the edit. 🙏🏻❤️🩹
"In every drop an entire story." A stunning reflection, Bill. I will share this with my husband, a Veteran (notably the only one in my family who didn't have Friday off). Sending gratitude as you surge, swell, and offer us this entryway.
Honored to have my words shared with a fellow Veteran. I also ended up working long hours Friday. Go figure. 💪🏻
Thank you for sharing, Bill. I am “listening” here, gaining insight, and appreciating your courage of more ways than one.
Thank you 🙏🏻❤️🩹
Bill, your words have weight this morning. You asking us to reconsider the now ubiquitous phrase “thank you for your service,” is provocative. And I get it even as I’m guilty of still saying it. But you’ve planted a fertile seed and I can’t wait to interact with the next Veteran—in whatever context we find ourselves in, I will have the courage of self-editing and, instead of the now tired cliche, ask, instead, a question of meaning and allow space for the Veteran to share a story. When this has happened in my life, I’ve found Veterans will share, with pride, stories of their service, most often in comradeship with their fellow service men and women—their shared brother/sisterhood.
Bill, what question would you wish others would ask of you more often?
Kert, thank you for your kind words. And powerful question, on how to best engage.
I’d suggest something like, a combination of these can help us tell our story:
“I’d love to hear a little bit about your service experience. Where and when did you first enter?
What was most memorable for you?
What parts do you miss?
How has it shaped how you see the world now?”
And always leave room for humor and laughter…lightheartedness helps us ease the tension, and it was often a respite for us during our service.
I hope this helps. Thanks again for asking. Happy connecting.
Thanks for sharing. My husband was a vet, and I only got to read his diary of his time at war after his passing. His ‘edits’ became silence. Also, your metaphors of Jackson Pollack painting (paint thinner as an edit!) and rain lashing the window gave me a sense of the physicality of editing, the body’s active part in it.
Thank you, Kathleen. It is indeed a physical editing as much as it is a physical healing.
I hear you and am thankful that despite this world of never-ending conflicts, you still have your insightful expression.
Thank you! 🙏🏻 I appreciate that. So much growth comes from deep introspection.
I am deeply touched by what you've shared. Thank you.
My honor. ❤️🩹
Please take no offense when I thank you for your service as those words begin this response thanking you for your words, your thoughts that beautifully expressed the ineffable. You truly touched my heart.
So humbling. Thank you so much. I’m glad it’s been helpful. It’s helps us all heal...together.
"We are all finding our way, along the way. To hear us is to help us. To help us is to heal us."
Thanks for your wisdom.
Glad to share.
Just beautiful! Thank you!
YES! Thank you for these real words! I, too, will share with my veteran of Afghanistan, and the middle east - these words. Thank you!
This is beautiful. I am so moved. Thank you, Bill.
Thank you. It means so much. ❤️🩹
Thank you seems like such a meager thing to say. Your words transformed me - my understanding and empathy - and I'm grateful.
I’m honored and moved my words had that impact and effect. To be transformed, to grow, is what we all wish for. Truly touched to know my vulnerability and the removing of my armor through “the edit” helped you in transforming. Be well. ❤️🩹🙏🏻💪🏻
you're welcome. How hard it is to learn that our vulnerabilities , revealed within a trusting space, are our greatest strengths. Keep writing!!
I am quite late to the celebration here on November the 14th. However, what an incredible way to start off the conversation Bill. I appreciate all that you have written, the way you wrote it, and your beautiful editing. You got me to thinking about my Dad, and my uncles who all served and most have now passed. The conversations that didn't happen because unless someone asked, it wasn't often that these men talked about their service which they did willingly. My Dad actually left high school early to enlist.
Back to your heart here on this electronic page - WOW thank you for your vulnerability and inviting us into your healing process. The grief you experience is probably in some ways beyond words and yet, you fought to find them and share them with us. Thank you so much for being here.
Thank you, Catherine. It is true, many men and women Veterans still can't talk about their service. The healing continues...and it starts with 10 seconds of courage.
That knee jerk reaction of “thank you for your service” has always bothered me, as if it was a checklist kind of comment. I wonder if people understand the changes that serving brings to everyone involved? I wonder if we couldn’t spend more time on supporting services for veterans and maybe work on measures to make peace a priority and not keep making more grieving and hurting people?
There is profound change that impacts and alters everyone that serves something greater than self. Measures of peace are the heartbeat of every soldier, sailor, airmen, marine and coastguardsman. Our every breath is so that these measures of peace and fragility and grace may reign and rule the day.
I’m a student who has recently come back from a solo trip to front line Ukraine. I’ve just published a new piece on my experiences and thought readers here may appreciate it. Please do see what you think. https://irongoose.substack.com/
My dear friend is experiencing dementia. I am learning to edit out my comments such as, “The last we talked, you said you were keeping the keys on the hook by the door.”
It is hard to help from a great distance. I am working on ways to cue action that don’t include “Remember?” Still not getting it right, but I keep trying.
Thank you for this reminder, Karen. I, too, have a loved one that is being transformed by memory loss. I realize that my frustrations (and sanctimonious "I ALREADY told you this!" moments) are deeply rooted in fear and pain. How do we honor our grief for the person we once knew while they are physically still present? Editing as a gesture, a kindness, feels important here. Your friend is lucky to have you.
Yes. It took me quite a while and many missteps to accept the new relationship I needed to have with my mother when she developed dementia. It's a big loss and a long goodbye, but in the end I was glad to have the chance to return some of all the loving care she gave me over the years.
Lisa, what a kind way to think of the situation, as a chance to return loving care.
Thank you, Jenny, for expanding the feelings behind our words. Your loved one also lucky.
Ah yes; I have begun grieving. It is lonely, and I send you loving thoughts.
Karen, for someone with memory issues like me, you have no idea how validating your thoughtful editing feels. Thank you.
Oh Sam! We never know, do we, who might read our words. I am rooting for you in your situation. I send you my best.
Karen, yep. So true, and thank you! <3
Thank you, Karen, for this share. It reminded me of my own most wise edit involving my mom, who is forgetful. It is very hard not pointing out the remember all the time. I'm right there with you! XO
Oh gosh, glad this helped you to remember!
(I kept remembering times I didn’t edit!)
This is about an edit of an action. In my teens, my father and I were caught in a struggle of clashing temperaments. My father demanded either/or, black and white views and behaviors. I was a young dreamer, favoring shades of gray, colors, and possibilities. One evening, we were in another disagreement. As we moved from open living room to dining area, my father, walking behind me, punched me in the back. I turned around, looked in his eyes, and felt like punching back, really hard. I saw in his face a new realization. I was now taller than my father, and capable of “doing damage”. His look seemed to say “oops, I may have gone too far, he’s about to swing and drop me.”
I chose not to strike. My mother had been sitting at the dining table, witness to our unfolding brawl. My unspoken words were “don’t ever hit me again.”
He was a colonel in the Army reserves. I became a conscientious objector during the Vietnam tragedy.
I am forever grateful that I didn’t deck him. 🏮we were two men who didn’t know how to say “I love you”. We were quick to anger and very ignorant about connecting in more fruitful and loving ways.
Wow, this one hit me like an unexpected punch. I have nearly the same story, eerily similar. I chose not to strike...and instead spend a lifetimes looking for ways to say “I love you” in a world that never taught us how.
I wonder if gradually we find different ways to say “I love you” before we actually say those words with deep meaning?
Deeply vulnerable this sharing. Yet meaningful. Thank you David.
Aikido in the moment—you yielded the most powerful “weapon” of all. I have gratitude for your story this morning.
Editing IS writing; both are exercises in choosing words. Writing is executed more or less subconsciously, editing more or less consciously. "Write drunk; edit sober" - Hemingway
Been sober for 5 years now, and the words that flow and the words that fall, off the page, still beguile me.
Congratulations for being on a sober road.
Once I had a frenemy say to a younger, more verbose me, "Let your words be few but let them be valuable." Her attempt to edit me bothered me at the time, but it's a wisdom which has stuck with me throughout my adult life. As a teacher, writer, poet & friend, I'm ever trying to simplify my words to communicate the essence of what I'm trying to say as well as allow for the silence necessary for my hearers to be heard.
Dawn, for me, silence is a form of communication as well. It allows time for the ego to step aside.
Well said, Manuel. We must listen well to the silences which we are offered.
Learning to take a different perspective is such a powerful tool and I never thought of it as ""editing". "Editing" my thinking or my conversations or the questions I ask is a non-judgmental way, a peacemaking way of adjusting to the world and the life around me.
I remember the day I realized that I could intentionally shift my thinking from the pain soaked grief of our son's death and my fixation on that void in our lives. I began to try to see the world around me with his eyes . . . not always with the harshness of his absence, but rather to see the natural world he loved so much and remember his spontaneous smiles or watch the antics of his dogs and hear his laughter. I was editing my perspective so that I could live with the sorrow that I could not erase.
Your transformation (editing) story is beautiful Janie. Wishing you increasing moments of joy as you walk through the path of grief.
Thank you, Deb, so much. I am learning to carry this and to be grateful for the time we had with him. I focus on that daily. "We soften into strength" (I can't remember who said that, but I believe it. ❤️ Thank you for your kindness !!
This year I have started the habit of writing my morning thoughts in haiku…. Thoughts on movies, books, my feelings, problems…it’s amazing how concise you must be to express yourself in this pared down way…plus dig deep into the wonderful world of words with the right amount of syllables 😉
I'm a big fan of such practice and write a short-form poem (at least one) every day. Haiku is certainly one of the more challenging forms. So much can be done with such remarkable limitation. I also really love senryu - cousin, if you will, to haiku - which focuses on culture rather than nature. I try and conform to traditional practice of haiku: about nature, little to no use of metaphor (which is super tough), including a seasonal word and so on. Senryu, by contrast, is much easier.
Haikus might be one of the most generous containers in which our entire existence is concisely crafted.
I edit myself in real life ALL the time. with my mother, 103 years old who has serious cognitive impairment but still knows enough to worry for her children, so I edit out my "suffering" when she asks how I am. I only tell her the good stuff. With my 46 year old daughter, I edit out the overly-worried, unsolicited advice-giving mother in me. With all my political friends I edit my frustrations, my despair, my fear, my anger. I try to get to the point of my "assessment" of the situation without throwing in all my personal stuff. (I usually end up throwing some of it in anyway). On another note, deep gratitude to you, Padraig, for this every-Sunday-morning-under-the-tree-christmas-present full of invitations and delights! I signed up for it all! Heart-mind gifts, sustenance and hope-kindling, like a clear pure water oasis on a long desert journey. Something like that.
I sometimes joke that I'm going to write a book entitled, "All the Things I Never Said." I'm referring to the times I want to tell my adult children how to lead their lives and raise their children. "Really? You're going to let him have another cupcake? If you'd taught them to pack their backpacks before bed every night, you wouldn't have major meltdowns every morning when the bus is a minute away and no one can find their homework." This is clear - my intentions are good, my motive is love and I'm afraid for their futures. But my kids get defensive or withdrawn and I'm left with a knot in my stomach. I'm adjusting to being in a supporting role, backstage, in the wings. I make cameo appearances and easily give lots of compliments. Not surprisingly, I see my children more clearly - how loving and patient they are, how their parenting philosophies are creating good people, how graceful my grandchildren are becoming. They sometimes ask for my advice. Now when the voice of judgment rises, I'm more able to chuckle and say, "Ah, good one. Put it in the book."
This is so full of wisdom! <3
Very wise, Thayer! And also a little bit funny. Even my best attempts to parent my own young children are thwarted because they are kids. I plan for every outburst and meltdown only to have new ones rear their heads that I wasn't anticipating. We all do the best we can with our tiny humans in training and everything we do for them is with love.
The Tibetan Book of Living and Dying by Sogyal Rinpoche shares the thought, "Perhaps the deepest reason why we are afraid of death is because we do not know who we are."
Our home is now a living hospice for a dying man, 87, poet extraordinaire, father of four daughters, friend to poets and cats.
“The Last Day”, this octogenarian’s final chapbook, arrived last week. 100 copies. Half freely given to old and new friends, cancer doctor (Dr. Poet) who aspires to poetic expression, Haitian and Ugandan hospice nurses whose copies went straight to their hearts, a request by our hospice social worker believing such poems can breathe words of life into death alongside the grieving.
Emptiness, the symbol AUM…open to eternity…into consciousness and beyond. My Krikor knew who he was and now simply, a dying man.
Blessings•the word that lingers on my tongue•the last breath an out breath•death is an opening•May it Be So
And may it be so, Juju, may it be so.
So lovely—you have created in me the wish that I had known this man. Your dad by any chance?
Kert, what a lovely comment. Thank you. Krikor is my life partner. I will pass on your words. 🪶
Even more profound then. Thank you. And I get it—I recently offered the same unselfish (yet, ironically, benevolently selfish at the same time) act of sacrifice and service to my dying dad. You are a beautiful Soul and your writing this morning made an impact upon the world.
Dear Kert, your words touch me deeply, profoundly really. Like a mirror into the soul. I am grateful for your attunement at this time in my (selfish and unselfish) life.
Blessings to you.
Juju, May thoughts of loving kindness surround you and your loved one.
Oh how I love this prompt.
I am on an email listserv with a Jewish human rights group. I don't often participate. Shortly after October 7th the listserv lit up with all kinds of language of confusion and heartache. Petitions were designed and in my emotion I found myself engaging in and caught up in a harsh tone. I have only recently come to recognize this as a transference of my emotional pain into the greater conversation.
When others had challenged my thoughts i felt they were taking sides against me. My harsh tone was my way of defending myself without compassion for myself. I quickly apologized to the group at the end of the exchange for having gotten caught up in the emotion. I didn't edit my ideas out, I didn't aim to suppress my pain, but I knew i had contributed to sharpening it instead of easing it and I needed to ease it. The leader was astounded and expressed relief I had done that. The air cleared. It also expanded. It felt especially helpful given the intensity and confusion of the circumstances not to add myself to the mix. We are often taught that once we say something the die is cast. If that's so, then what is apology for? I am a fierce and compassionate editor of my own poems and other writing. I hope I can keep learning to be as fierce and compassionate when it comes to editing myself to make room for something more than my self.
I’m sure there were times when I beneficially edited myself, but Right now I am more aware of the NEED for editing than the act of a successful edit. As a parent of three kids, I am feeling particularly challenged to edit my emotional responses, to not take things personally (can I really be detached from and “disinterested” to the string of verbal assaults hurled my way?) and to model appropriate behavior.
How do you embody the awareness that I can’t or won’t edit?
Sigh.
That’s all I have this week.
I get this, Jonathan. My three-year-old grandchild is learning to edit themself. Watching a young human learning to be conscious of self is fascinating — and so tumultuous! We adults continuously ask, "Can you say that in a kind way?" or "How might you say that in a constructive way?" Practicing, over and over. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't.
Obviously, we're not to the "verbal assault" phase yet. A fellow parent once reminded me, "This too shall pass." Sometimes that's all it takes to get me through to the next phase.
Thanks for your reply, LC. I’m trying to stay focused on “this too shall pass” -- each moment is a phase that must be passed through. Just hoping that Sass Mountain does throw down an avalanche on me.
Jonathan, I feel this one, as a mom. Just this last week, as I made trip number "I don't even know" into my teenager's room to get him out of bed in an effort to catch his bus, well, let's just say he's not a morning person kind of kid and he lashed out (he does this often). When he did, I just looked at him, took a deep breath, turned and walked away. That is my wisest choice in that circumstance because he isn't a morning kid. We talk about it later. Thank you!
Perfect. Pause; breath; walk away. I need to do more of that because engaging in that moment won’t solve (or help) either of you. Thanks for this.
Us parents need to stick together and lift each other up because none of us get it right all the time. :-)
Awareness seems like a great starting point Jonathan. Insert care emoji here.
I am in the process of editing a song I've written for my church. The process is undoing me. I will be glad of this work. But right now, it is painful.
Yes! Editing can be so painful!
I’ve mentioned before that I began sending a check-in email when lockdown began. It came out of early morning prayer time. I wrote, just wrote. Then when the sun came up I reviewed to see if it needed editing. I promised myself to put myself on the page. I know my editor friends likely cringe at my usage and I’m sure I break grammatical rules. The goal is connection and a song to keep compassion and juices flowing. My editing only serves that purpose and to make sure I say what I mean.
I participate in another Substack community where the question was posed, what has been your experience with death? Many people contributed beautiful and transformative stories of peace and reconciliation and healing that happened in a loved one’s last moments. I shared the story I had, which was the opposite- a good friend’s painful and tragic early death 10 years ago from an aggressive cancer. Her suffering haunts me still. A few minutes later I remembered that one of the posts I’d read in the responses was from a woman who shared her own recent cancer diagnosis for the first time. I immediately went back and deleted my post. A form of editing in this case. She did not need that story in that moment and I pray she didn’t see it.
My mom has always been forgetful. Alzheimer's runs in her family, and I think it's always been a concern for her that she might have it. She doesn't. She's just forgetful. A couple of years ago, she had transplant surgery and it's been a never ending meds adjustment ever since. Too much of that one made her too tired, this one makes her legs ache, etc. Constantly adjusting. One of the ones she has to take makes her forgetful. She was already, she's also aging, and with the meds...now it's quite bad. She forgot my birthday this year. There are a lot of shades to the colors of how I feel about this. My edit is that I didn't say anything at all to her about it. I don't want her to feel worse for doing it and I know she would because I'm a mom, too. Each time I visit her, she seems more like herself, as the med that was making her forgetful has been changed, but she is still her usual forgetful self, perhaps a little more than usual, with her aging and all. Still no birthday remembrance, which is fine at this point. My heart goes out to her!
Oh that is tough! What a great edit, though.
I hope you can fondly bring to mind other times you have celebrated your birthday with your mom.
Happy Birthday!!!🎂🎈
Karen, you are so delightfully sweet, thank you. The birthday was many months ago now.
And I know what my mom has been going through, all the different versions of herself she has been since the transplant surgery. Sometimes I still wonder a) whether she would do it all again if she knew then what she knows now and b) whether she would even still be here on this plane had she not done it. It's not the only time I have edited myself with her, but this one she didn't need to know. Not when she was already having such a difficult time with her memory and being frustrated with it, thinking a great deal of what she was experiencing had to do with the meds involved. Mom ALWAYS made our birthdays and holidays extra special when we were kids. My sister and I always requested a specific birthday dinner that would take the whole day with all three of us preparing food and cooking away and then eating the fruits of our labor in a delicious meal. I used to think it was because we loved the meal so much but now that I am older, I think honestly we requested it so we could have more of her time because she wasn't around much. AND for the meal (of course) because it was so good!! So, yes, many good past memories. XO