Give-away

So it went, with safety, the more you guarded, the less you had.

—Richard Powers

I once walked along a placid river in a placid town. I was anything but placid. I had lost much, not the least of which was the mountain town that had once seemed an ordinary paradise. I walked along the river not seeing, not hearing, certainly not smelling the damp Northwestern air. My work seemed to have been taken from me. I bore witness to escalating shoddiness in too many of those who practice my craft. I sent out work. Rejections came back. An agent told me that I would have to come up with something catchy, something that would snare my former readers and reel them in.

My son came to visit. He is a writer and musician and teacher. We talked about how it feels to be an honorable worker in a work world becoming more and more dishonorable. Each day we walked along the placid river in the absence of even one easy answer. We each knew the futility of forcing work which relies on surrender.

Our talk carried us. Our work carried us. I began to see more clearly. To hear. To breathe in the delicate wet air. One afternoon, we stopped to sit on a low gray wall along the shoreline. There was a word stenciled on the concrete. “Look.” I said. “There is the answer.” My son laughed. “Well then,” he said, “there’s nothing to do but go to the Michoacan place and eat tacos.”

****

Your turn.

****