In the Stillness of Being Alive

 It has been a week since I've lived apart from my family.

I have made many discoveries about myself.

A few include that I really am an introvert, that I don't miss the high visibility of being my husband's partner in his very public work as an academic administrator, from provost to president to executive director, my life has been under a microscope for the past twenty-two years in intensive ways that take a toll on an introvert.

So, for now, I will say that I am relishing the relative anonymity of live in this Green Mountain State.

If I wanted to, I could go out without makeup and no one is clenching their pearls!

Other things I've discovered about myself is that I am an orderly neat person.

Well, I always was, but it is different when you are living in shared space and a lot of your day is either telling someone to pick up something or doing it yourself. There are joyous parts of  sharing space and the realization that in doing that, there is some labor involved in the day. Just now, that labor takes me all of fifteen minutes and I am a person of routing, so it cuts down the time.

It also made me realize how much of women's lives is spent in the care of and nurturing of others apart from themselves, so it has been nice to have this time to really listen to my soul and hear what she is saying she needs for this next third of my life.

The other moments in this week away have been when I found I was more than capable of setting up by myself and going at my own pace. It is something to discover a "new favorite grocery store" and the "art of solo cooking" and that multiple trips in a week will be necessary if you are the only one eating. 

I am a morning person and love my silence in that space.

It is a stillness of being alive and feeling every prickle of your skin in the frigid temperature, of hearing every sound because your senses are heightened, of feeling every part of the structures holding and housing you.

More discoveries have been that I can't put any more energy into the noise of spaces that refuse to listen.

I am called to an order that includes justice and compassion.

For me, now, that has shifted away from protests (either in person, in organizing, in teaching, or in writing, honestly) and more to honoring the life set before me as we all must go the way of a mysterious end.

Meditating on Psalms 9, 10, and 44 over the past couple days, I realize that we have been here before.

We, meaning humanity. 

We have had the mentally unstable supported by the weak-willed.

We have had the scared tyrants supported by the cowardly masses.

We have had the evil mastermind supported by the moneyed controllers.

What do I do with that now?

I haven't watched the news in an entire year now.

I keep up with what is important, like the deep freeze coming across the country, and have had the reports of man's continued inhumanity to man in places across this country, but I had to quiet the noise, it was infecting my spirit.

No matter what I could write (and I did, for an entire decade), there were those who were convinced of their own moral superiority to choose a way detrimental to all, even though so many told them what was coming.

What was that about the voices of the prophets?

So, in this time in 2026 and shifting from endings-to-beginnings, I've given myself permission to step back, to not contribute to the noise, even though it is so tempting to respond.

One of the things was to pretty much shut down my @lattegriot on Instagram (it is deactivated) and haven't been on Facebook (my resident picket-fence since 2008 election) and just got still.

At some point, those who have the privilege and the numbers will have to realize that what has happened over the past year is not sustainable - for them. They will realize their souls will go the way of Judas, and that in the end, they will not win the "purity" they hope for.

The ones remaining in the middle, in the middle of terror, have to ride the wave through it. 

It reminds me of a deep storm our family encountered on the drive from St. Louis to Denver.  

The girls and I were scared, we could see far up ahead of the lighting strikes - riding through Kansas is one long horizon - and we wanted to stop.

My husband, on the other hands, said that we would just go through.

Then, the 23rd Psalm came into my spirit and verse 4 came into my spirit, "Even though I walk through the darkest valley, I fear no danger because you are with me. Your rod and your staff- they protect me." CEB version.

That powerful line, that amazing poem that so many remember, is also for now. 

Adonai is our shepherd, those of us who believe, and we will lack nothing, so why should I consume my every moment about the craziness? He lets me rest - in peaceful meadows and near calming waters. Read it sometime, with fresh eyes and claim it for yourself.

I am still, in this moment in my life.

Even as all around us, there is uncertainty.

See, the sheep, true sheep who recognize their Shepherd and know their Shepherd's voice, truly know that this Shepherd will not lead them over a cliff, so they are rested, trusting, and calm, even if there is darkness or perceived danger all around.

That is how I feel now.

I'm calm in my heart in ways that I can't explain.

I know that it will all work out, even this continued in-between of my family and our long-awaited dwelling, we are blessed to be able to carve out a space, discover something new in that comfort, and wait for the blessing to come.

I am in the stillness of being alive right now.

In finding my heart rhythm again, I've been resolute in what is meaningful to me.

I am love and I am light.

©2026. All Rights Reserved. Writing and Discovering Life in Vermont.