COLUMN: A few little things to be grateful for
Darling Students:
As of this morning the temporary media insanity is finished. It’s a short reprieve because of the way we Americans run our elections, I’ll grant you, but as of this morning there’s a beautiful silence from one corner: we are no longer being assaulted by the never-ending, unvarying paid political ads on TV. As I write this I’ve voted, but I don’t know who the winners are and though I have plenty of opinions about who should win – and more than a few rants left unsaid, of course – the last thing I want to write is an analysis of election season.
So, I won’t. Since we’re moving toward my favorite holiday, Thanksgiving, I’ll share some things I’ve learned to be grateful for. Of course I’m grateful for my family, my friends, their dogs, my cat. A comfortable house to shelter in and a hot tub on the deck. Chocolate. Coffee. The smell of orange peel. Flannel sheets. Central heat.
But there are others. These are more difficult gratitudes, things I’ve learned to appreciate the hard way in my decades of riotous living.
1. Deadlines. The hard boil of blood rising in my head that pounds out the relentless tempo of the clock, the tick-ticking I still hear even though most clocks are digital. I’m an analog woman at heart, living in a world of sound even while embracing the wonders of instant connection with friends halfway around the world. I still want the tall, dark walnut and deep chimes of a grandfather clock. I want sweep-second hands on a clock face to count down to important moments like the dawn of a new year.
But back to deadlines. I work hard to avoid them. I loathe how they shove my life around. But without deadlines, I’d have nothing to push, bend, break or trample. I’d get very little accomplished. I start the day by writing three pages longhand in a spiral notebook. It’s not a journal – it’s the equivalent of brushing my teeth. It’s just free-writing with a fast pen, whatever bubbles (or spews) out of me. It’s a deadline that makes my day, my week, my life more focused and anchored, when I don’t blow it off.
Journalism saved my life by screaming deadlines at me several times a day. I hated that, but I depended on it, and I still do.
2. November. Tree branches giving up their last golden leaves in soft piles. The sun angling lower into the southern sky, bringing twilight faster. The rise of Orion the Hunter in the night sky; I’ve always imagined he’s chasing the Pleiades as that fuzzy star cluster makes its way just ahead of him. When I was younger, November was merely a dreary season to be endured on the way to the wonder of Christmas, a trial run for the agony of February. Now it’s a gift, a time when the garden needs no attention, the harvest is in, and the wood stove invites us to curl up with a warm blanket for an evening with a good book.
3. Going to the dentist. When you’re young you know for certain you and your teeth will never die. I learned the hard way that this is a lie and have a mouthful of root canals and crowns to show for my foolhardiness. Brushing and flossing will go a long way, but nothing replaces regular check-ups by people who can see into those dark nooks and crannies of tooth and gum, the places you can’t eyeball. Don’t skimp on visits. And stop whining about your fear of pain. You’ll thank me in 20 years.
4. Well-built boots with flat heels. Yes, I know you’re a fashionista. Believe it or not, I used to be one too, and in my heart I still am, but if you spend a month’s food budget on those gorgeous, pointy-toe, grey suede, spike-heel boots and wear them to greet Logan’s first real winter snow in three weeks, and you biff it on a patch of our famous black ice, you aren’t going to look nearly as attractive in the velcro boot the doctor makes you wear for six weeks while your broken ankle mends.
5. Walking. Seriously, if you walk 10,000 steps a day you’ll stay in pretty good shape for years, without having to pay big bucks to join a gym. Walking is an invisible but steady way to keep up your health, like eating an apple a day. I used to run – loved to run, used it like a meditation – until some catastrophic medical adventures in my 40s destroyed my hips. After getting back on my feet with a couple of bionic joints, my doctors said my active life was limited to non-impact sports like golf. The only part of golf I enjoyed was the walking, and that’s what I found myself grateful for once I couldn’t run. Walking is much more zen than running. It’s tough to appreciate the roses when you’re zooming by them.
6. Paying attention. Keep up with what’s happening in the larger world outside of campus. Find a way (Internet, public radio, TV, or a daily metro newspaper) that works for you to stay informed about what matters. Turn off cable news, especially Fox. Learn to recognize when you’re being bamboozled or ill-served. The more you know about how media messages work, the angrier you’ll be, but you can’t change something you don’t understand. It’s up to you to inform yourself, and it’s a critical time in the history of the world.
It’s coming up on your turn to save everything. You simply must do that. A good place to begin finding out who’s paying for what, is Open Secrets (http://opensecrets.org).
I’ve been learning things since the Earth was cooling and I love to share, but I’m out of space. Please take care of yourselves. I teach because I love you (well, most of you, most of the time). Don’t forget that, and don’t forget to call home.
Much Love,
Your professor.
P.S. There’s still no cure for Februarary.
Nancy Williams is an emeritus professor in the department of journalism and communication.