Thanks for the shout-out, Sara, and thanks for this post. I look for wonder all the time. Or try to; as you say, the world works against our success. I am also more and more aware that guys like Green and O'Donohue are living in worlds engineered in favor of people like them: white guys. It's a different world from the one with a boot aimed toward the vast majority of people who aren't like them, and I struggle with that. Their expressions of joy and wonder make me want to punch them in the face which is no headspace to be living in. Maybe it's the toxicity of where I live. Montana is a beautiful place, but our overabundance of an overwhelmingly white, hateful branch of humanity just inspires me to ... well, hate. And it's hard to realize that, harder still to be joyful.
Oof. I read your newsletter before I read this comment, and "oof" is about all I've got. Thanks for the invitation to see my privilege to tune into wonder for the privilege that it is.
I'm curious though if, despite the white guys having the actual time and lack of boots on their necks, if they can still speak to part of the antidote to what has made us so sick? For example, I love our place, but I'm surrounded by the extraction you write about, as well as physically surrounded largely by that branch of humanity you're talking about above. I don't see my neighbors out in this beautiful place seeking out wonder and awe when it's here for the receiving, especially this time of year (and pretty much all of the time in somewhere like Montana). Wonder to me feels like it has no room for appropriating or "owning." It, by its nature, softens those who experience it. It's like joy in that way. It seems like so much of the human world these days is in desperate need of softness. Probably toward ourselves first.
I don't know. Humaning is hard. Your line, "I exist because of extractivism and I can't stop thinking about it and I'm trying to be better" hits home hard for me. It seems to fit in this whole conversation too. Holding the desire to tune into wonder with the despair that it's a privilege that so many people don't have - and what role I play in that and/or at least benefit from.
I appreciate you and your words. Thanks for helping me to see things in new ways.
I guess my point is that so many of us—not just the white guys, but even folks like you and me—have the time to look for and express our wonder as if it is some kind of gift to be shared with (bestowed on?) others, when so many folks don't have the time to even think about it, between running back and forth between multiple jobs, wrangling kids, struggling with physical and/or mental health issues they can't afford to have care for, etc. I am becoming more and more aware of the privilege I have to teach workshops and things in cool places that only the privileged can afford to participate in.
I agree with your words about softness, and love how you expressed it. I just think more of us need to do more to help others achieve that softness. That is what I am struggling with because I don't know what it looks like.
I spent much of the last decade burning out running a nonprofit focused on restoring ecosystems, growing good food for our neighbors without access to vegetables, and equipping people with some land and know-how to grow their own food. It was a beautiful vision - but, in hindsight, there was not much heart and too much duty, hence the burnout.
Maybe I'm just trying to let myself off the hook, but I think part of why we're here is to enjoy it, to do the stuff that makes us come alive, to experience wonder. Recognizing the privilege that we have to do so is important, but there has to be some kind of balance between the two because our tendency is probably to veer one way or another.
Growing up, my mom would say that only good moms worry if they're being good moms - a little harsh (and privileged!) obviously, but by that, she meant that if you're worried if you're doing enough, you almost definitely are. I think that analogy probably works for being a good ancestor too? Regardless, the recognition of our privilege is an important first step. Your writing and the ways that you share it are helping those of us listening new ways of seeing. You ARE actually "helping others achieve that softness," at least in my experience of your words - and the world needs the specifically Chris La Tray ways of making that happen.
Thanks for the shout-out, Sara, and thanks for this post. I look for wonder all the time. Or try to; as you say, the world works against our success. I am also more and more aware that guys like Green and O'Donohue are living in worlds engineered in favor of people like them: white guys. It's a different world from the one with a boot aimed toward the vast majority of people who aren't like them, and I struggle with that. Their expressions of joy and wonder make me want to punch them in the face which is no headspace to be living in. Maybe it's the toxicity of where I live. Montana is a beautiful place, but our overabundance of an overwhelmingly white, hateful branch of humanity just inspires me to ... well, hate. And it's hard to realize that, harder still to be joyful.
Oof. I read your newsletter before I read this comment, and "oof" is about all I've got. Thanks for the invitation to see my privilege to tune into wonder for the privilege that it is.
I'm curious though if, despite the white guys having the actual time and lack of boots on their necks, if they can still speak to part of the antidote to what has made us so sick? For example, I love our place, but I'm surrounded by the extraction you write about, as well as physically surrounded largely by that branch of humanity you're talking about above. I don't see my neighbors out in this beautiful place seeking out wonder and awe when it's here for the receiving, especially this time of year (and pretty much all of the time in somewhere like Montana). Wonder to me feels like it has no room for appropriating or "owning." It, by its nature, softens those who experience it. It's like joy in that way. It seems like so much of the human world these days is in desperate need of softness. Probably toward ourselves first.
I don't know. Humaning is hard. Your line, "I exist because of extractivism and I can't stop thinking about it and I'm trying to be better" hits home hard for me. It seems to fit in this whole conversation too. Holding the desire to tune into wonder with the despair that it's a privilege that so many people don't have - and what role I play in that and/or at least benefit from.
I appreciate you and your words. Thanks for helping me to see things in new ways.
I guess my point is that so many of us—not just the white guys, but even folks like you and me—have the time to look for and express our wonder as if it is some kind of gift to be shared with (bestowed on?) others, when so many folks don't have the time to even think about it, between running back and forth between multiple jobs, wrangling kids, struggling with physical and/or mental health issues they can't afford to have care for, etc. I am becoming more and more aware of the privilege I have to teach workshops and things in cool places that only the privileged can afford to participate in.
I agree with your words about softness, and love how you expressed it. I just think more of us need to do more to help others achieve that softness. That is what I am struggling with because I don't know what it looks like.
No, your point came across/makes total sense.
I spent much of the last decade burning out running a nonprofit focused on restoring ecosystems, growing good food for our neighbors without access to vegetables, and equipping people with some land and know-how to grow their own food. It was a beautiful vision - but, in hindsight, there was not much heart and too much duty, hence the burnout.
Maybe I'm just trying to let myself off the hook, but I think part of why we're here is to enjoy it, to do the stuff that makes us come alive, to experience wonder. Recognizing the privilege that we have to do so is important, but there has to be some kind of balance between the two because our tendency is probably to veer one way or another.
Growing up, my mom would say that only good moms worry if they're being good moms - a little harsh (and privileged!) obviously, but by that, she meant that if you're worried if you're doing enough, you almost definitely are. I think that analogy probably works for being a good ancestor too? Regardless, the recognition of our privilege is an important first step. Your writing and the ways that you share it are helping those of us listening new ways of seeing. You ARE actually "helping others achieve that softness," at least in my experience of your words - and the world needs the specifically Chris La Tray ways of making that happen.
Thank you, Sara. I'm happy to have crossed paths with you.