THIS IS HAPPENING AND IT IS LOVELY
My first night in Greece I cracked a crown biting down on a prawn. Thankfully I got in to see a dentist in Mykonos...
Dental emergencies anywhere are unnerving, though slightly more so overseas. But this dentist was charming, funny, and extremely good. He'd seen more than his share of tourist dental emergencies. I ended up having to see him three times in four days and the final filling he put in was declared, upon inspection by my dentist in Los Angeles, “some good work.” It’s still in. We’ll see how long it lasts.
That my dental woes did little to derail my time in Greece is probably owing to the fact that the Greek islands are the loveliest place on Earth. You’d have to work very hard to not enjoy yourself. I was on Mykonos for a wedding and then spent a few days with friends on a smaller, impossibly enchanting island called Andros.
I’ve historically not loved the beach. I lean lake-mountain rather than ocean-sand. But these islands did something to me. I could feel my cells unwind, my eyeballs relax, my jaw unclench. My time there felt like the antidote to a particular kind of modern anxiety.
While I was parked out in paradise, women in Iran were risking death at the hands of the morality police by cutting their hair and burning their hijabs in the streets. Ukrainian forces were pushing back the once-mythic Russian army, reclaiming territory thought lost for good while unearthing evidence of genocidal ethnic cleansing. The governor of Florida was shipping legal asylum seekers from Texas to Martha’s Vineyard as a $12 million taxpayer funded political stunt. Hundreds of women were being forced to carry unwanted or life-threatening pregnancies to term in states that had enacted or reenacted draconian abortion bans, some from the 19th century. Over three thousand people were shot by guns in the U.S.
And still: the sun rose and set over the Mediterranean. My friends and I had perfect meals at family-owned tavernas. I danced with my love beneath pink clouds twisting themselves into animal shapes. I laughed and played guitar and felt present and grateful for every moment.
I find the simultaneity of everything to be astonishing. That at any given moment on the earth people are being brutalized, wounded, repressed, neglected, forsaken, mocked, murdered, ridiculed, beaten, and abandoned. As I type these words, countless people are experiencing a trauma that will take years, if not a whole lifetime, to recover from. Hundreds of people have died since you’ve been reading these words. The people who loved them are overcome with grief.
But at the very same time people are falling in love, holding their newborn child for the first time, discovering a passion or talent, waking up from a multi-year slumber, reclaiming agency, experiencing a miracle. The suicidal are finding hope, the will to continue. The addicted are finding a higher power and the will to live clean. Lovers are locking eyes, family members are forgiving, friends are reconnecting and laughing.
Is it privilege that allowed me to go to Greece and experience the kind of joy and peace I did, especially amidst so much large-scale suffering? Certainly. But it would feel like the refusal of a great gift to not allow myself to enjoy it, to not be awed by a perfect sunset or astonished by the variety of blues in the sea when it is in front of me. To forsake these moments – to deny or disregard beauty and joy – is a kind of violence to the spirit. We need to drink in these moments of rapture and transcendence when they come, if for no other reason than to provide some balance to the darker days that are here and the ones that lie ahead.
It is folly – one I concede I’ve been guilty of – to expect or demand our lives to be an endless stream of light. Nature very clearly shows us otherwise. While one side of the globe is bathed in light the other is shrouded in darkness. But never for long. The roles flip every twelve hours. In light is the seed of darkness and all darkness contains traces of light. Life is an infinitely complex dance of seemingly oppositional forces that somehow, improbably cohere to make a kind of agonizing, sometimes atonal but often rapturously gorgeous symphony.
When I am down I can remind myself of the more comforting clichés - that no feeling is forever, that the only constant in life is change. This is of great solace in my darker moments, less comforting in happier times. Accepting that those too are transient. This is why we must snatch them when they float by, to pinch ourselves and say “This is happening. And it is lovely.”
I’ve come to the point where I can hold the many paradoxes of life in my mind, to accept that there is unimaginable, unbearable suffering in the world while there is simultaneously a heartbreaking amount of mercy, kindness, and beauty. (It feels like no accident that the most buzzed-about film of the year is called “Everything Everywhere All at Once.”)
This is why I think both the cynical pessimist and the magical-thinking optimist are in error. Exclusively employing Pollyanna-ish platitudes denies the shadow and closes our eyes to suffering. Calling the world irredeemable and devoid of meaning is to deny grace, beauty, and the potential for healing. To paint life on earth with any one brush feels foolish and just plain wrong. It’s all too complex for such reductionist thinking.
The ego (mine at least) wants life to be an uninterrupted stream of pleasure, ease, and triumph. Life delivers some of that for sure. But it also reliably delivers setback, struggle, annoyance, boredom, failure, and heartbreak. One marker of maturity, it seems to me, is an acceptance of the all-ness of life.
****
In “The Book: On the Taboo Against Knowing Who You Are,’ Buddhist philosopher Alan Watts wrote: “Peace can be made only by those who are peaceful, and love can be shown only by those who love. No work of love will flourish out of guilt, fear, or hollowness of heart, just as no valid plans for the future can be made by those who have no capacity for living now.”
What this teaches me is that to be of some real use to the world – to be on the side of healing, progress, and lasting, positive change – I must first be anchored in love, anchored in peace. We don't have to travel to the Greek islands to achieve this. Each day the ordinary facts of our lives offer up endless opportunities to fall into the arms of love, into the embrace of the present moment. This kind of radical presence – what Richard Rohr calls ‘The Naked Now’ – acquaints us with a love that is bigger and infinitely more powerful than any current woe or seemingly intractable problem. From this blessed space, solutions emerge. When holy love or righteous anger is our fuel rather than grievance and discontent, the next right action becomes apparent. And transformation becomes possible.
I’ve no plans to move to the Greek islands, though I’d sure like to get back soon. The fact that such beauty exists – in all its sunbaked loveliness – is of some genuine comfort to me. When sadness, hopelessness, or darkness descend (as they certainly will) I hope to remember the blazing shooting star I saw arc across the Mykonos sky as the groom’s father recited a blessing the Friday night before his son’s wedding. In that fading star’s final moments, I intuited a series of promises:
That in our moments of lostness or despair we are never alone.
That every death is followed by a resurrection.
That all dark nights are followed by the mercy of a new day.
Had a blast talking with Deb Lapidus, my friend and singing teacher from NYU, on the Art Educators Save The World podcast. We covered a lot of ground (and Deb was a hilarious delight, as always.)
HIMYM co-creator Craig Thomas wrote this searing, searching, essential piece for The Boston Globe. “Hollywood and The ‘R’ Word.” A must-read.
Loads of wisdom in each of these interviews with Laura Linney and Patricia Arquette.
Jason Zinoman’s piece on Jeneane Garofalo was somehow both sad and exhilarating. Pairs nicely with Chuck Klosterman’s latest book, “The Nineties.”
Old Hollywood Bloopers. Delightful.
How to Leave an Internet That’s Always in Crisis: Kate Lindsay on TikTok, the influencer trickle-down, and what social media breaks in our brains.
Loved Ayo Edebiri’s work in The Bear and loved this profile on her too.
Also totally enjoyed Leslie Jamison's deep dive into the world of Choose Your Own Adventure books (which I loved as a kid.)
Music journalist Adam Bernard caught one of my shows at Rockwood last month and wrote this lovely piece about it: 3 Reasons You Should See Josh Radnor Live. (More live shows coming soon, check my socials for dates...)
A beautiful tribute to longtime NPR correspondent Anne Garrels.
The Book That Taught Me What I Want To Teach My Daughter by Belle Boggs
It's Not You, It's My Unconscious: Rethinking Romantic Connection and Rejection After 30.
Adam Gopnik on Joni Mitchell's triumphant, intensely moving return to the Newport Folk Festival.
Flipped for David Marchese's interview with cartoonist Lynda Barry: “Art is a public-health concern because it keeps you from killing yourself and others.”
French Feminist Rabbi Captivates Multifaith Crowds With Musings on Mortality: With Paris locked down over Passover, a rabbi started holding weekly talks over Zoom about Jewish texts. Thousands have tuned in to hear her reflections on death.
The Jeremy Lin doc, '38 At The Garden' on HBOMax. Thrilling and moving. Don't miss it.
****
As always, if you're enjoying these please spread the word (people can sign up ) And if you're new to these check out past Museletters here or on my website (scroll to the bottom) JR