Hawthorne Hill by Richard DeRosa

Of Leaves, and Finding
Solace in Today’s World

Things are pretty much settled in for the winter up here on the hill. A few odds and ends remain to be attended to come spring. No matter, never possible to fit everything in. Putting a place to bed bears a striking resemblance to getting something like an essay written. One never quite hits it square on the nose, but there comes a time to either send it in as-is or slip it into the file for another day. Perhaps it is true that nothing is ever finished. That is equally true of the noble goals upon which this country is founded. A work in progress always in need of some tweaking.

While raking leaves a few days ago and smooshing them into sheetrock buckets for transport to our upper vegetable garden, I thought of those halcyon days long ago when, of an afternoon, there were no chores to claim my time. I would leaf through old “Reader’s Digests,” particularly the “Life in these United States” section, which more often than not included vignettes of everyday occurrences in the lives of ordinary people. Many funny, some ironic, but always amusing and in many ways reassuring. More than anything, other peoples’ stories taught me how much each of us has in common. I always came away comforted.

The question, then, is this: Given our common humanity, how might each of us find ways of finding some solace despite the roiling cultural and political toxicity characterizing public life? The natural tension that has always existed between the individual and society is at as heightened a level of acrimony as it has ever been. There are no easy answers, but it seems to me step one is to live locally. That is, find ways of achieving a personal balance and sense of well-being despite the doomsday prognostications the media daily pummels us with. Ignoring reality is no cure. But staying away from ideologically motivated cable news and social media platforms is a good start. I have better things to do. Such as raking leaves and mulching garden beds.

By living locally I mean focusing on the self, family, friends and community. Focusing on the self means doing those things that offer one contentment. Contentment is a lower bar and offers more longevity than happiness, which is ephemeral. Each of us passes through time differently. I read, work in the garden, take walks, write, travel a bit, and spend a great deal of time daydreaming. Others make furniture, refurbish cars, takes classes, etc. Finding ways of spending time with family is another and, if political viewpoints are at odds, best to focus on the many commonalities that override politics.

There is not much one can do about distasteful stuff at a distance, but there is much one can do close to home. I lean toward individual acts of conscience, however they take shape. I fervently believe that there is virtue in paying attention to alternate perspectives, no matter how troubling they might seem. Plato advised long ago to always try to walk in another’s shoes to get the feel of their thinking. Seeking ways of understanding others is an essential tool if common ground is ever to be shared. There is no excuse for violence, not only because too many innocent people are hurt, but because it solves absolutely nothing. It never has.

Sitting here looking out my window, I find myself thinking of the plethora of lunacies that we seem to be facing more and more these days. Cruelty abounds. The philosopher Seneca warned us that “all cruelty springs from weakness.” That is all well and good, but what can an individual or a family or a community do about it? Sticking one’s head in the sand is certainly not the answer. But doing what one can to mollify and perhaps abate the rampant toxicity we face is to act otherwise, to make an effort to understand the way others feel, to make an effort to see how they see things. I believe that most of us occupy the middle ground and are equally appalled by the violence and meanness that abounds. Talking to one another is the answer, not fighting. Vilifying one another solves nothing.