I owe a huge debt of gratitude to the group of women who are my friends. Those who love me and lift me up when I am at my best and at my worst. I don’t often mention them by name in this space, but they know who they are. I am devoted to these women who have taught me to be a friend and to let myself be vulnerable.
In my conversations with Kate, I often ask what she is reading (or listening to). My reasons for this question are partly kind, seeking to connect and to know her better, and partly self-serving, as she often recommends books that I come to love. I cannot thank her enough for telling me about the book, This Here Flesh by Cole Arthur Riley, with words that sink into my soul and change me forever. I checked the book out from the library but I need to own a copy, to underline and write in the margins and re-read on the days when everything seems almost too hard. It is amazing to me the gift that writers have, to string words together in little chains, that free us all.
“And once we name that we do not have enough, the system convinces us that it is our task to do more. We live depleted of that rest which is the only reliable gateway to wonder. We inhabit an economy of power that views wonder and awe as frivolities or naivete, distractions on the path to liberation. Our remedy is precisely what our ailment derides. Wonder helps us get free.” —Cole Arthur Riley, This Here Flesh
