I wrote this line from Hamilton in my journal last week, sitting on a bench outside Darwin’s at lunchtime. I sipped broccoli cheese soup from a paper cup, dipping in a hunk of baguette, taking a few deep breaths under a blue October sky.
I’ve heard that line a few hundred times since May, when I started listening to Hamilton nonstop. But lately, in the middle of a full, demanding, often harried season at work and at home, it has caught my attention particularly. As I face the challenges of each day – work projects, church responsibilities, the utter madness of the current political cycle – it has resonated like a deep, echoing gong, or the deep breath before a duel.
Autumn is always a crowded time: the academic year revs up with events and classes, and I plunge headfirst into fresh assignments while keeping up with the daily obligations of my life. This fall found me adjusting to a still-new job and an even newer apartment, with all the changes both have entailed. The past several weeks have included some beloved rituals like apple picking and some other things I was excited about: a book club poetry potluck, a few dinners with people I love, an evening of glorious sacred music at a friend’s church downtown. Coming alongside all that heart-stirring loveliness have been many challenges, too numerous to list briefly and too personal (some of them) to explore publicly here.
In the middle of this fast and furious season, when heartache, to-do lists and big life questions have felt equally clamorous and insistent, I have been going quiet, turning inward, thinking hard. I’m reaching for my tried-and-true grounding rituals: weekly trips to the florist and the farmers’ market, daily walks to Darwin’s for sustenance and smiles, the weekday Morning Prayers service in a small chapel just off Harvard Yard. I have been scribbling madly in my journal, talking things out with my husband and a few trusted friends. And I am reaching for this Hamilton line, and other good words about courage, to shore me up, to fortify me.
I’ve never gone to war against an invading army, or faced down an enemy with a pistol. I’ve certainly never tried to build a brand-new nation out of a loose confederation of fractious colonies. But the story of these wild, visionary rebels is among the things saving my life these days. They were flawed, hotheaded and sometimes foolish, but they were also passionate and brave. Throughout the Revolution and the years that followed, they summoned the courage required of them, over and over again.
As I walk through these gorgeous, demanding fall days, I’m doing my best to do the same.
I’m so thankful I happened to come here this morning. I needed these words. Thank you for creating what you describe: a moment to pause in to take courage.
I’m so glad it resonated with you, Kate. Thanks for the lovely comment.
Isn’t daily courage what it takes?! Sometimes weekly, but sometimes hourly.
Definitely.
Catching up on your blog, and your comment about the madness of the political cycle hit home. I have been feeling unsettled – and you remind me to make time for fall leaves – and cakes and tea!
Thanks, Shelley!
I started following this blog years ago when I was entrenched in Masters in Education program in Cincinnati. Five years later, after 4 years of teaching and now midway through the first year of my PhD program, I find myself revisiting you for some much needed balance. Thank you for your reminders that with the hectic season (and constant writing) comes beauty and opportunity.
Oh, wow. Thank you so much, Katie. I’m thrilled that you came back!
“Only persistence is omnipotent.” re-phrase of a long statement by Warren Harding.