Today’s episode is guest hosted by Maggie Smith.

Transcript

I’m Maggie Smith and this is The Slowdown.

I think that to make things and send them out into the world is wildly hopeful. Each poem, each book, each painting or film or song, is a kind of message in a bottle. When the maker lets it go, they have no idea what shore it might wash up on, or when, or who might receive it. With any luck, it will find its way to someone who needs it in that moment.

I feel so fortunate when I encounter a poem, or a song, or piece of art that is exactly what I need at that moment. It feels like a miracle, doesn’t it, when something finds you at the right time? It might make you feel seen, heard, and understood. It might even help you keep going.

But it’s not just art that gives us hope and a sense of greater possibilities ahead. Every time you smile at a stranger, or let someone into your lane in rush hour traffic, or cook someone’s favorite meal for them, or text or call someone you know is struggling, you’re offering them a message of hope. Even small gestures can have an enormous impact.

I know hope can be a tough sell when there’s so much suffering in the world. It’s easier to notice what’s wrong with the world instead of what’s right. But in especially difficult times, we have to look harder for the light. It’s there. Even if it’s small, or flickering, or hard to see from a distance, the light is always there.

Today’s poem feels to me like a hand cupped around a tiny, flickering flame. It offers us hope in darkness. It reminds us that even in times of despair or rage, even when life feels impossibly difficult, we have things to look forward to and to be grateful for. I’m so grateful this message washed up on my shore. Now that it’s washing up on yours, may it give you hope.

Reasons to Live
by Ruth Awad

Because if you can survive 
the violet night, you can survive 

the next, and the fig tree will ache
with sweetness for you in sunlight that arrives

first at your window, quietly pawing
even when you can’t stand it,

and you’ll heavy the whining floorboards
of the house you filled with animals

as hurt and lost as you, and the bearded irises will form
fully in their roots, their golden manes

swaying with the want of spring—
live, live, live, live!—

one day you’ll put your hands in the earth
and understand an afterlife isn’t promised,

but the spray of scorpion grass keeps growing,
and the dogs will sing their whole bodies

in praise of you, and the redbuds will lay
down their pink crowns, and the rivers

will set their stones and ribbons 
at your door if only 

you’ll let the world 
soften you with its touching.

“Reasons to Live” by Ruth Awad from OUTSIDE THE JOY © 2024 Ruth Awad. Used by permission of Third Man Books.