A Walker in the Suburbs

There were sizzles and crackles and booms. There were shrieks and giggles and applause. It was a simpler Fourth than usual, closer to home. Not crowding on a ridge in Arlington, angling for a glimpse of the big downtown fireworks, but standing at the end of a driveway in the outer ‘burbs, as neighbors shared their Roman candles and sparklers.

But to the children in our midst it could have been the fanciest fireworks in town. They oohed and ahed, they laughed and clapped. They enjoyed every last sparkle to the fullest. They were completely in the moment, captivated by the bright lights in the darkening sky.

They’d seen the big fireworks last year, but from such a distance that it had no meaning to them. Theirs is a more immediate existence — and a more joy-filled one because of it.

I still read an actual newspaper, hard-copy person that I am. And I always have tissues on hand, usually a wad of them stuffed in my purse. But I don’t always associate the newspaper with the tissues. Today I did, though.

I needed the tissues as I read about Christmas in June for a 9-year-old cancer patient who may not live until December.

And I needed them again when I read about two Idaho firefighters killed by a sniper. Who ambushes firefighters?!

These stories as well as the usual barrage: bombings, famine, ICE raids.

I’m wary of the newspaper these days. I ignore many articles and balance my reading by listening to podcasts. But sometimes the accumulated heartlessness of the world, which the newspaper so faithfully records, makes Kleenex a necessity.

Two forms of paper, neither sanctioned. I have both; I believe in both. Sometimes I wish I didn’t.

Breathe in, breathe out. What could be more essential to meditation, yoga or life? But most of us hold our breath when the going gets tough. The inhale gets stuck, the exhale falters. The held breath tightens the muscles, interrupts the flow.

This universal tendency is not unlike clinging, the habit of mind that meditation addresses. We crave attachment; we can’t let go of people or places or things. We can’t even let go of our breath.

But the simple act of breathing can help us learn to let go. To live, we must breathe out as well as in. Each exhale reminds us of that fact. To grow as humans we must also learn to let go. “Necessary losses” Judith Viorst called them in a book by that name.

I’m a fledgling yoga student, but when my instructor pointed out this connection last week I had one of those aha moments. We end each class with “namaste” … not “namastay.” I’ll try to keep that in mind.

Classes are over for the semester, so it was my first free Wednesday evening (not including vacations) since last summer. I made good use of it by sitting on the deck until darkness fell.

These are days that beg us to linger and look. Days of leafing and blossom when it is enough, I think, just to witness, to be part of the human race.

Looking won’t keep the azaleas in bloom all summer, or the lilac scent wafting from the bush. Looking won’t halt the leafing of the trees or the greening of the grass. But looking makes these small miracles mine — at least for a time.

(A poppy’s eye view of the yard.)

In the old days, my old days, I’d wake up and go running. No time for a warm-up. Later, when I was raising young children, I’d run whenever I could find the time. Now I have a freer schedule, and could theoretically hop out of bed and into the great outdoors. Only now I coax whatever I can from my brain before coaxing whatever I can from my body.

Still, it’s the odd day that finds me house-bound until evening. Yesterday was one of them. A cold rain fell from morning to late afternoon, and when I left the house at 7 for a meeting I was struck by the difference between outside and in — struck, I should say, all over again, since that difference is one of the reasons I walk in the first place.

What is it about stepping outside that immediately puts matters into perspective? Being under a big sky, open to the elements? The smell of the air? That’s what I noticed last night: the freshness of the air and the sounds of sparrows roosting for the night. It was only a few minutes out of doors, just long enough to climb into my car and drive away. But it was enough.

My classes are winding down. The final projects await, looming like giant icebergs on the horizon, but I can count remaining class meetings on the fingers of one hand. Which gave last night’s words the ring of finality.

We were talking about the responsibility the Global North has for the Global South. We might think it’s not our problem if climate change drives residents of densely populated, low-lying Bangladesh to leave their homes and families. But these people must go somewhere.

None of us brought up the meeting taking place in Azerbaijan even as we spoke. But COP 29, the United Nations climate change meeting, is in its final days and there is still much work to do. How will developing countries help less developed ones?

Most of the world’s migrants are being driven from their homes by weather, hunger, violence and civil unrest. We can’t think these issues are someone else’s problem, the professor said. Meaning we’re all in this together. Meaning it’s a smaller world than we might think.

It’s a frightening thought … but also an exhilarating one.

By now most of us recognize the Blue Marble photograph. Even if we don’t know it’s called the Blue Marble photograph, we’ve seen this picture.

It was a meta moment for our planet, as the Apollo 17 astronauts looked out their window and snapped a shot of our globe floating like a blue-and-white dream in a sea of darkness. The first time Earth was viewed from space.

What I didn’t know, but only learned by reviewing a new book, is that the raw image originally submitted to NASA placed the southern hemisphere at the top of the frame. (Those weightless astronauts didn’t know which way was up!) NASA flipped the image before releasing it to the public. It would have been mind-bending otherwise.

To learn why North landed on top, you’ll need to read the book. But isn’t it interesting to ponder a world where what’s up is down and what’s down is up? Kind of puts us in our place, doesn’t it?