Friday reflection

Saying something.

These days

when I look at the sky

I see the ocean:

The air has painted the shapes of clouds

Like it paints waves on the surface of water

In this way, the ocean is always with me.

These words came to me as I was driving earlier today, pondering deeply about what to write this week. On either side of me, trees a golden green, some having the audacity to go all the way: red, orange, purple.

It’s been a hard week for so many people. On the one hand, that is always the case, and on the other hand, I am speaking specifically about the horrific terrorist attack on Israel and the ensuing, horrific violence in Israel and Gaza — and the specter this violence raises, the histories it conjures, the pain it triggers.

To clarify where I'm coming from on this: Despite my last name, I'm actually not Jewish — I married a Jewish man, who is not religious (in fact he's atheist), and took his name. My maiden name is Karsten, and I was raised Methodist, but do not subscribe to any formal religion, though I do consider myself extremely spiritual. Most of my ancestors hail from Germany and environs, including German Jews who were not religious; when my grandfather, Peter, was a child, his parents put him on a train out of Nazi Germany, and he went to live with relatives in London.

I have a number of Jewish clients and friends who are really struggling right now. And I know that Palestinian Americans are struggling, too.

So many of us are hesitant to say anything about this conflict publicly, for fear of saying the wrong thing — for fear of inadvertently offending someone or, worse, hurting them. I admit to feeling that fear, to some extent, as I type this.

But I do not want to be complicit in ignoring the desperation and pain that so many Jewish and Palestinian Americans are feeling right now.

I know that to some people, the statement above is problematic.

I also know that I am woefully uneducated about the history of Israel and Gaza, of the entire region — and about religion, and about so many things.

But in searching my soul, I decided to say something, despite my ignorance, and despite the risk. I decided that I would rather hurt someone by saying the wrong thing, than by saying nothing.

Those are my values. It goes right to the heart of everything Mighty Forces stands for: Saying the thing. Which isn’t to say that there aren’t moments for respectful silence. But choosing respectful silence is different than hiding in silence because of fear.

When someone loses a loved one, or gets a terrifying diagnosis, it’s easy to freeze up — to think about them, but resist saying anything, because: What could you possibly say? Words are impotent, insufficient, an insult to the pain they’re experiencing.

I understand that feeling, and I have made that choice, in my past. And I’ve regretted it.

The older I get, the more I understand that there is nothing lonelier than thinking other people don’t care. And in this moment, I care so much.

I hope, if you’ve been hurting, that the sum total of this message brings you more comfort than pain. And if it doesn’t, I am truly sorry, and am here to listen and learn.

So why did I start this week’s note with a poem about nature?

Because I feel on some visceral, soul level that wilderness, and wildness, are medicinal, when nothing else is.

And so many people need medicine right now.

And so I invite you to tap into wildness.

Dump paint on a canvas and get your hands in it, moving it around with all the passion in your heart.

Write messily. Badly. Angrily. Write things you won’t permit yourself to say out loud. Name them on the page. Burn the pages afterwards, if you need to.

Dance.

Drive as far as you can from civilization, sit as close as you can to nature, and receive its messages.

…In this way, the ocean is always with you.

With love,

Amanda

P.S. For those of you who lead or influence DE&I efforts at your organization, I want to pass along a resource I discovered this week via Leslie Lynn Smith on LinkedIn: Antisemitism and DE&I: Supporting Jewish Team Members at Work. I would like to share a similar resource for Palestinian Americans but am not aware of one; if you have one that you recommend, please let me know.

I know DE&I efforts don't traditionally include discussion of these identities, but I also know that a lot of people are really struggling right now, and that leaders are struggling with how to respond. It begs the question, really: How do we decide which identities to “include” in the workplace, and which ones not to?

As the parent of a neurodivergent child, for example, I think of ways in which workplaces could better include those with ADHD and/or who are on the autism spectrum.

I’d love to hear how you think about this…