The Writing I Didn't Send

Liminal words from the inbetween worlds; Wonderings from a writer #2

Mar 02, 2024

Greetings from rainy upstate New York!

Yesterday, as I traveled by airplane, train, and bus from Mexico City to Woodstock, I wrote. And researched. And wrote some more.

I wrote with my laptop perched daintily on the little tray at seat 14D, 30,000 feet above the ground.

I wrote with my laptop on my lap as I took the train outside of JFK airport heading the wrong direction.

I wrote as I headed the correct direction towards NYC’s Penn Station.

I wrote on the bus from the Port Authority Bus Station on 42nd, across the George Washington Bridge, through New Jersey, and up Interstate 87.

As I wrote, I shared the latest draft with my team, asking for their opinion and reflections.

I was all ready to send the article off to you yesterday afternoon.

And then my team asked me to hold off. To take the weekend to let the writing settle, to review their edits and suggestions, and to polish everything before I hit send.

And so I hit pause on my brain and put my laptop away.

I spent a couple of hours in the bathtub last night, watching Expats on Prime Video and letting my brain soften. I love writing so much I tend to forget how intensive it can be mentally and energetically. And how it can take much longer than expected. Especially when I’m writing something that is close to my heart, is controversial, and that feels vulnerable.

I thought yesterday’s article would take me a couple of hours. I’m about eight hours in and will probably spend another two hours editing. It is currently 880 words. #slowandsteady

So today I send you a picture of last night’s bath and a poem and playlist by Joy Harjo, a poet, musician, and writer who has inspired me since I was in college.

Monday I’ll send out the article, and would love to hear your comments and reflections. It is called: These are a Few of the Heartbreaking Things.

Paid subscribers: later today or tomorrow I’ll send you the next excerpt from my upcoming book Wild, Willing, and Wise: An Interactive Guide of When to Paddle, When to Rest, and When to Jump Naked into the River of Life and a video just for you : )

May you get some rest this weekend. I send you bathtub blessings, rose-scented bubbles, and soothing flow.

When I was here in January I stashed some rose-scented bubble bath under the bathroom sink. Grateful it was still there!

Artwork by Olga Tupikina: https://www.etsy.com/listing/1591496383/moonrise-painting-sun-original-art-12-by

Remember

Joy Harjo

Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when published

Remember the sky that you were born under,
know each of the star’s stories.
Remember the moon, know who she is.
Remember the sun’s birth at dawn, that is the
strongest point of time. Remember sundown
and the giving away to night.
Remember your birth, how your mother struggled
to give you form and breath. You are evidence of
her life, and her mother’s, and hers.
Remember your father. He is your life, also.
Remember the earth whose skin you are:
red earth, black earth, yellow earth, white earth
brown earth, we are earth.
Remember the plants, trees, animal life who all have their
tribes, their families, their histories, too. Talk to them,
listen to them. They are alive poems.
Remember the wind. Remember her voice. She knows the
origin of this universe.
Remember you are all people and all people
are you.
Remember you are this universe and this
universe is you.
Remember all is in motion, is growing, is you.
Remember language comes from this.
Remember the dance language is, that life is.
Remember.

Joy Harjo was appointed the new United States poet laureate in 2019. Born in Tulsa, Oklahoma, in 1951, Harjo is a member of the Mvskoke/Creek Nation. She is the author of several books of poetry, including An American Sunrise, which is forthcoming from W. W. Norton in 2019, and Conflict Resolution for Holy Beings (W. W. Norton, 2015). She is a current Chancellor of the Academy of American Poets and lives in Tulsa, Oklahoma.