Enough

On our third day of walking—which moved us to mile 30 on the path according to the All Trails map for our walk—I noticed something unusual about the writers walking with me. 

They were all more than happy to share. 

And, not just their wise insights on writing, their honesty about the empty times when the writing won't come, and their skinny fries at dinner.

They shared their publishing connections openly, freely, and with unbounded encouragement and enthusiasm,

“I know just the place you need to send that,” said M, who teaches creative writing in an MFA program and has published several books and countless articles over a long career. “I can’t wait to connect you with (fill in the name of an actual editor rather than the info@ email). She’ll love you!”

I can’t tell you how unusual this is in a fiercely competitive industry where most people people hoard sources and contacts like cans of beans for the Apocalypse.

M was the gazelle of this group, bounding forward on the track with her infectious energy and musical giggle. Hers was a wide-open laughter and it was, for me, a lute, a beautiful accompaniment to the work of walking. As was her constant refrain:

“There’s enough for all.”

She was speaking of book publishing. And, as someone who would like to move on from news articles to at least one book-length work before I die, M’s enthusiasm was invigorating. By the end of our walk together, I felt not only ready to start the project that’s been nagging at me for years but sure there is a publisher out there waiting to receive it with open arms and a checkbook. I've published too many articles at this point in my career to even county any more and contributed to two books, but I admit that fear of rejection has held me back for years when it comes to writing The Book. And, of course, the anvil of “why would anyone be interested?”

"People are interested," M encouraged as if I'd already written the bloody thing. I was smitten by her confidence in herself— and in me.

But more important than whether or not I ever finish that book, and whether or not it wins over a publisher, M handed something more important. 

She handed me hope. Not just for my writing but for the world.

I'll also admit I am a news junkie. What news reporter or editor isn't?

I entered this walk weighted down with grief. My heart is bleeding for the pain in every news cycle. It bleeds with frustration and sadness over the expanding war in the Middle East and the ongoing one in Ukraine. It flows out in my fear (and guilt) for a planet suffering from human consumption and greed. It pools in my disillusionment with my country, where one candidate for president is riding a near 50% popularity rate on a wave of venom, hate, and lies. It coagulates in my anger at a three-fold increase in gun violence in my city. The list can feel endless.

M’s words—“There is enough”—buoyed my spirits as a writer. Even more, they buoyed my faith in solutions, in the idea that there is enough good, enough people fighting for change to turn these painful tides. 

As I walked today, I focused on reframing my grief to a focus on solutions. and I saw it: there are solutions, and hope is not only possible, it is absolutely necessary. There is enough desire for peace in the Middle East if we in the West invest in recovery and diplomacy and divest from arms funding. There IS enough time to interrupt and redirect the climate crisis if we do our part and demand our lawmakers force the companies we use to do theirs. There is another candidate, a reasonable woman committed to finding a middle ground and unity. There are enough of us who want a world without gun violence to push sensible gun ownership laws.

As a mother, this final hope is important. Because the flow of blood here is untenable: Right now, on this planet, there IS enough food, shelter, and water for every human. IF we share, manage our resources sustainably, and deliver them humanely and equitably.

I am grateful for M’s reminder that I am part of the solution, even if she never said those words and was not directly speaking to all the places where "enough" exists or should exist. I was grateful for the admonition that I don’t need to hoard my sources or my resources. As an editor, I can give another writer a leg up. And I should, freely. I have the resources and time to support new writers, and where I can, I will.

As a human and an American, I hold a powerful tool, one that can change the world for the better and can lead to the resource-sharing and equity humanity must achieve:

I can vote. 

You have that same tool, and I hope you will use it on November 4 and each time the opportunity arises.

Then, in your next breath, share something important, needed, and helpful, something only you can give, with somebody in your circle, however wide it is. Or, even better, with someone completely outside it who has not had equitable access to the sources and resources you have.

On another note, we met a cow named Virgin today. Odd name. Nice cow.