Why I write

An invitation to a conversation I hope to develop in these pages

I write to fight the helplessness I feel in the face of all that is happening in the world: fires, floods, hurricanes, ICE, war, famine, ecological and social collapse.

I write because I’m a writer, and I don’t know what else to do.

I write because the world is burning, and I want to scream from the top of my lungs: “Fire!”

Will words put out the flames? Surely not. Too often words just fan flames of divisiveness.

But the words of many scholars, poets, writers, and spiritual teachers have inspired and invigorated me. They have offered light in times of despair. I hope that some of the words you find on this page (my own, or those in the comments – please comment!) will do the same for you. I hope something will touch you, inspire your own curiosities, kindle your imagination, and propel you to do something that feels right, true, and good for you.

What you’ll find in these columns will surely be a mosaic. I’ll take disparate, broken stuff and glue it together, just as I do with my mosaic art. I’ll offer a mix and re-mix of things I’ve been thinking about all my life and have written about in other forms. I will center on the wild and wonderful ways in which humans learn, everywhere and all the time, across the span of our lives. Do we learn the most important lessons? What more could we have learned, if we were open to it?

A major source of inspiration for my writing this year will surely come from this course that I’ve enrolled in: A Year to Live, based on the book of that same name by Stephen Levine. I hope I don’t actually die in the next year, but I know I will write with a growing awareness that I am only getting closer to whatever day becomes my Hoka Hey: what in the Lakota language means “a good day to die,” as a Lakota man told me when he saw my Hoka running shoes as we traveled on a train across New Mexico. Every hour I take to write is time that could be spent doing something else, so let me make it count – for me, and for you.

Growing older means that my place on the stage of life is changing. I write for others like me who want to be generative, or regenerative, as we age. I also write to younger versions of myself, about what I wish I had known when I was young. I share lessons I’ve learned in classrooms (from my teachers and my students, who have also been my teachers), from participants in my research projects (centered on children, immigration, language and learning), and from the great teacher of Life itself.

In every entry I will strive to hold to Buddhist principles of “right speech,” asking myself if the words I put out into the world feel helpful, truthful, kind and timely. Do they uplift others? Promote goodness, grace, and generosity? Are they true to myself, and to a greater sense of Truth?

Timeliness means sometimes pausing and saving words for when they can be best received. It also means, I think, being parsimonious. Not too verbose. Not using words to strut my own stuff but to build something bigger than myself.

I know the time you take my words is time you could spend doing other things, including reading other words or writing your own. Thank you for making time today. Would you take a few more minutes and write something in the comments? Anything that resonated or rankled you, made you want to turn away or lean further in, sparked your curiosity, or connected with other ideas you’d like to share?