Something Good

September Edition

“Tell me something good,
just one good thing, just tell me
something that will get me through
the hours the days the weeks that bring
nothing of any goodness, just more
news of other things […]”

Margaret Atwood, excerpt from Paper Boat

Way back in June, when the relentless heat and sun were a welcome change from months of cold/damp/gray, when my body felt not-too-unbearably-awful, I saw an open call for artists for a sidewalk sticker sale. Before the crash of 2024, I’d done a few art market pop ups, taught a few workshops, and participated in many shows—but I hadn’t done any art event in-person since. Though I improved somewhat after that crash, I never got back to my previous capacity, and I’d come to terms with the possibility that I’d never do another in-person event again. But I’d been feeling pretty good recently, the event was local (only a 10 minute drive from my house, should anything go off the rails), it was free to participate, and it was only stickers. Stickers were low stakes. Plus I had a ton of them, wasting away in a drawer in my IKEA bookshelf, begging to please be released into the light of day. My spouse said he would set up the table for me. I even convinced my kids to join in.

And so, it was happening. After a year and a half of my art (and many times, my body) being confined to my house, I was going to take both of them out into the world.

Then, of course, I crashed again.

By the end of August my life had closed up like a fist. I was only leaving the house to take the kids to and from school. I was still experiencing near constant cervicogenic headaches. The sticker sale was in mid-September. I know what you’re thinking, Margaret, because my spouse was thinking it, too. “Are you sure you’re up for this?” he asked me with concern. And honestly, I wasn’t sure. Would I drastically improve over the next two weeks? Or was this my new normal? Would the sticker event trigger another crash? A worse crash? There was no way to know.

That’s the thing about chronic illness. It’s the thing about life, too, I guess. There’s never really any way to know how anything will turn out. But when the functionality of your body isn’t part of the equation, it’s a lot easier to make reasonable assumptions about the safety or success of a social undertaking. You can take it for granted that you can run errands two days in a row, or double book yourself on a Saturday. I know, because I used to be able to do those kinds of things. A lot of people have written about the level of mathematics required when you have a disability that impacts energy levels, so I don’t want to get too deep into it. Here’s an essay I read recently that sums it up perfectly (pun intended). The point is, there are so many things you’re forced to give up when you’re sick. Sometimes the limits of your body are clear. More times, they’re not. So, you get to make a choice. And sometimes, that choice is less about the body, and more about the spirit.

I wrote last week about the toll that chronic illness takes on your mental health. Extended periods of physical pain and isolation are incredibly difficult. You can actually feel the world slipping away, churning along without you. So no, I wasn’t sure if I was still up for the sticker sale, but I wanted to try. I needed to join the churn, if only briefly, for the same reason that I try to sit outside for at least a few minutes every day. I need to know, I need to feel, that I’m still a part of the world. I need to see it, hear it, smell it. I need to know it’s still there.

So I packed up all my stuff, strapped on my abdominal compression, and took a chance.

And Margaret, let me tell you about just a few of the magical things that happened that evening. My eldest took my picture for me after we set up. My youngest chatted up every single person who walked by my table, asking them when their birthday was (in an effort to push the zodiac stickers). Then she grabbed a bag, took a handful of my stickers, and marched down the street trading stickers with the other vendors. Several friends came out to support me with their families, and some showed up not even knowing I was there! Everyone was kind, complimentary, and smiley. I got to pet lots of dogs. I even got to hold a parrot?! My spouse watched the table while I picked up dinner from my favorite sushi restaurant. Then I took a walk down the street to meet the other vendors and thank them for trading stickers with my kid.

His name is Guapo, and I love him. https://www.instagram.com/guapothejunglechicken/

Back in 2020, when everything shut down, we all realized how important these small interactions are. Seeing the same folks on the train day after day, making small talk with a barista or a clerk at a grocery store. Interactions with community bolster us. They give us a sense of connection. The people leading our country right now are hellbent on destroying this. Between ICE raids, bathroom bans, and attacks on DEI initiatives, they’re trying to erase access to public life for anyone who isn’t cisgender, heterosexual, white, and Christian. They want us closed off, trapped, lonely, and afraid. It’s easier, then, to dehumanize whomever they’re trying to eradicate. Easier to convince the rest of the population that some people don’t belong.

But for that evening, at least, we were all together. There was live music, and artwork being made on the street, and kids, and dogs, and a frickin’ parrot, and for the first time in a long time, I felt like I could breathe.

More Good Things

Summer’s heat refuses to break, but fall marches forward, anyway. In the prairie, goldenrod, asters, and snakeroot bloom amid the dried husks of cone- and sunflowers. Patches of leaves on the elm tree have turned gold, though most of the leaves are still green. Life is always all tangled up with death, but right now you can really see it, which is poignant and lovely and helps me remember to try and stop holding onto everything so hard. I’m also trying to enjoy the sun while it lasts, and the bees and the dragonflies and the migrating birds.

Cozy Fantasy books are having a moment. Right now I’m reading this one. Look at the cover! What a palette.

Tea

OMG, Kate McKinnon’s new book is out.

Am I the last person in the world to discover Tove Jansson? I’m reading the Moomin books aloud to the kids, and they make me laugh out loud. Also, the illustrations are stunning.

What’s good in your life right now? How have you been finding community? Do you think Margaret Atwood will ever read these? I tagged her in the last one, but I won’t do it again. She definitely has more important things to do.

I hope wherever you are, you’re taking care of yourselves and each other.

P.S. Sorry I didn’t narrate this one myself, but they’re tearing up the street in front of my house right now and the noise is awful. You should be able to use the standard read aloud feature for this post. Please let me know if you have any issues.