Marvelous Things in a Troubled World
Wishes for the Season
One of the many books I’m currently reading is David Gessner’s “All The Wild That Remains.” (Norton, 2015).
It is an acknowledgment of the impact of the 20th century writers Wallace Stegner and Edward Abbey. We can attribute much of our society’s perception of the North American West to what they taught us over their long and prolific careers.
Gessner points out something that makes Stegner and Abbey so special. In fiction and non-fiction both, they never shied away from bringing attention to critical environmental issues, but above all, they never forgot about their love for the land.
In one particular passage in “All The Wild That Remains,” Gessner is driving through Colorado in some isolated mountains he had never seen. His own mind is burdened with worries — about unavoidable drought, wildfires, invasive insects, overpopulation in the West— when he is suddenly struck by the beauty of the quaking aspen trees along the roadsides. It allows him to reflect a minute.
“I constantly marvel at my, and most of our, ability to both delight in the world and bemoan its fate." - David Gessner. All the Wild That Remains.
It becomes his own personal moment to appreciate the gifts of natural world in the face of fearfulness and loss.
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In late 2023, I think everyone alive is struggling with shared concerns about the fate of the human race. It’s not just climate change and the environment. We’re worried about the stability of our democratic institutions. We’re fearful of technology. We’re faced with overwhelming calls to do something about genocide, war, hate, inequality, and injustice. Children are dying. It’s become a constant and unrelenting onslaught of heartbreaking images and devastating words.
A few weeks ago here in my hometown of Troy, NY I attended a lecture by veteran journalist Chris Hedges at The Sanctuary for Independent Media.
Hedges had literally just returned from the Middle East without even stopping for dinner. He had written his speech on the plane. He spoke authoritatively about what he had learned and what he had experienced. Hedges then closed his talk with what he called “a Letter to a Palestinian Child.” Everyone was overwhelmed by its poignancy and beauty, overcome with shame and sadness, and by the time it was finished, strong men in the audience were sobbing uncontrollably. There was grace within the pain.
You can see the recording of it here. Content WARNING: It’s pretty heavy in its descriptions of what is happening in Gaza.
And so this season, when we actively celebrate the past and look ahead with hopefulness, those wishes we routinely exchange can seem trivial and distant. This year, it’s hard to say “Happy Holidays!” with the usual mindless enthusiasm. Instead, it now becomes a real heartfelt wish.
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Every December I publish a photo album of my year.
It’s a temporary thing that I share on social media just to let friends and family know what I’ve seen and where I’ve been. I usually look forward to it. It’s a chance to show off a little, and I am always thankful for reactions I receive. For me, this year especially has been filled with great adventure, inordinate beauty, people I love dearly, and lots of self-indulgent moments.
There’s also your photos too, which I love seeing in return. I’m connected to many talented photographers, artists, and skillful writers on line. And there’s so many friends and family. Beautiful art. Photos of cozy homes and celebration. Children, grandchildren, and pets. Scenes of comfort and gift giving, relative abundance, and the warmth of family.
But right now, December 2023, something feels off balance. Outside my circle of friends and acquaintances, there is hunger, pain, fear, and loss. Destruction, death, and terror prevail in so many places.
I ask myself, is it appropriate to share these pretty photos I’ve been making? What right do I have to be happy when so many are crying out?
Just maybe everyday scenes of normality and beauty are important, perhaps now more than ever. My scenes, your scenes. My life and yours. Leaves of the quaking aspen.
We need to be given a chance to marvel where we can. For most of us, we still have the ability to delight in beauty however we perceive it, even in the face of doom. We can fight against the loss, we can cry, and we can appreciate what we have. It keeps us grounded. It keeps us human.
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I’m grateful that my year has been one of health, comfort, and safety for me and my closest loved ones. I try not to take that fact for granted and I try to share what I can of my abundance with others.
So, I invite you to take a look at my 2023 favorites album: https://www.joelrhymer.com/12478389-2023
I hope you find some comfort of your own there.
I wish for you peace and joy, however you may hope to attain it.
Find your balance, my friends. Find your beauty. Keep sharing what you love.
Hold on for better days. Never lose your light.
I’ve read your essay at this early hour of Christmas morning , my surroundings lighted only by my window candles and comfort sustained by my cat in my lap and coffee mug in hand. Your words and photos nurture my soul, as always, and remind me to cherish the good in our world even as so much is very wrong. I listened to the first half hour of Chris Hodge’s powerful speech and needed to turn away from it until another day. I choose right now to feel love and light and hope. Best wishes to you and Elizabeth. I think about you frequently and miss your presence here in Freedom.
Thank you, Joel. You express so beautifully the thoughts I have had. I listened to part of the speech, but turned it off when my thoughts became too dark. Your photographs are an inspiration. I can disappear into each one. Thank you fir your generosity in sharing all of this.