"You're too wonderful for anybody to realize you."
Do you cherish life while you live it?
Dear You,
Here are the most famous lines from “Our Town,” one of the most famous plays of all time:
Emily: "Do any human beings ever realize life while they live it? Every, every minute?"
Stage Manager: "No. Saints and poets, maybe--they do some….Oh, earth, you're too wonderful for anybody to realize you.”
*
Last week, I had a holiday treat. My dear friend, Emily Esfahani Smith (whose book, The Power of Meaning, you’d probably love) came to NYC for a day, and we went to see the famous Thornton Wilder play, “Our Town”. I may be the only American who’d never seen it before, didn’t even know what it was about. But it reached me deeply, and I was trailed for days after by the play’s quiet insistence that we, who are still living, should cherish our lives more than we do - that we focus so much on its trials and anxieties, some of which we won’t even care about in three months’ time - that we don’t really get it.
So here. This is a poem for you. So that you get it.
It’s called “What The Living Do”, and it was recommended to me by Quiet Life member David Baldwin, with a simple note saying: “This seemed like a poem you’d enjoy.”
You were right, David.
And I bet you, Kindred Letter reader, will love it too.
“What the Living Do” by Marie Howe
Johnny, the kitchen sink has been clogged for days, some utensil probably fell down there.
And the Drano won’t work but smells dangerous, and the crusty dishes have piled up
waiting for the plumber I still haven’t called. This is the everyday we spoke of.
It’s winter again: the sky’s a deep, headstrong blue, and the sunlight pours through
the open living-room windows because the heat’s on too high in here and I can’t turn it off.
For weeks now, driving, or dropping a bag of groceries in the street, the bag breaking,
I’ve been thinking: This is what the living do. And yesterday, hurrying along those
wobbly bricks in the Cambridge sidewalk, spilling my coffee down my wrist and sleeve,
I thought it again, and again later, when buying a hairbrush: This is it.
Parking. Slamming the car door shut in the cold. What you called that yearning.
What you finally gave up. We want the spring to come and the winter to pass. We want
whoever to call or not call, a letter, a kiss—we want more and more and then more of it.
But there are moments, walking, when I catch a glimpse of myself in the window glass,
say, the window of the corner video store, and I'm gripped by a cherishing so deep
for my own blowing hair, chapped face, and unbuttoned coat that I’m speechless:
I am living. I remember you.
I really hope you enjoyed these lines, this poem, these images.
And as always, let’s end with some questions, for you to think about privately, and/or to share with us below:
*Do you think you cherish your life?
*Or do you sometimes forget to “realize life while you live it”?
*Or is it not that you forget, but that life sometimes seems too difficult?
*If you do cherish your life, what thoughts, practices, outlooks, help you to do this?
*
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Our daughter's high school theatre group just put on a production of "Our Town." The timing was difficult for our family - my brother and his fiance and children perished in Helene in the mountains of North Carolina. She insisted on keeping her stage tech role in the show. In a way, it ended up being cathartic, even though she was reeling from the loss.
The synchronicities of the play were both comforting and eerie. My brother and I grew up in a small New England town on the border of New Hampshire. Our beloveds were buried in a hillside meadow, overlooking the Appalachians.
As the actor who played Emily spoke that famous line "Do any human beings ever realize life while they live it? Every, every minute?" it brought unexpected feelings of comfort.
Each of our family members lived vibrant, colorful, creative lives, with tender attention to animals, community, and our kinship with the Earth. My brother was a beekeeper, musician, artist, and aspiring blacksmith - and that only touches on the things he explored during his short life. Of course, mundane and personal struggles sometimes clouded the delight of being alive in their day-to-day lives - but in their memory, I am continually reminding myself they will want us left behind in grief to truly live and "follow our bliss."
The irony is that today, I was feeling wrapped up into the little frustrations of life, and generally feeling wretched - which I'm sure is the distraction and projection from the loss and deep feelings of grief. So, after I post this I will put the breaks on my worrying to take a mindful walk, notice what comes my way, and enjoy the small joys this day brings with it.
Thank you for this post today, Susan. It was an unexpected gift.
Today I cherish that I survived a heart event, despite overlooked symptoms, test delays, I advocated for myself, called the paramedics, rode in an ambulance to professionals who paid attention. For that I am grateful. And today I released the drama and heartache of having been discounted, ignored and that I survived! Today I smile and enjoy the sun, my beating heart and know to stand firm and insist on life. What is here now is perspective and gratitude. Amen.