Resolutions flow through me like water,

but words are the ground upon which I stand.

Resolutions are notoriously hard to keep and they seem to be more about changing something because you think you should.

Lose 30 pounds? No problem. Do Dry January? Sure, why not. Stop thinking of ways to make ICE agents all have to live in a cage together? Um, I don’t think that one needs to change.

But what really goes in to making a new habit? I’ve investigated this question for many years and I stand before you to admit: I have not cracked the code. I don’t know how my old habits were formed, but I can tell you that they are not moving out anytime soon.

One of my habits is an insatiable thirst to understand what the hell is going on out there. Actually, that’s not quite right. My main insatiable thirst is to understand what my role is as to what the hell is happening out there. So I’ve been doing what I always do when I’m trying to learn, I go shopping at the library.

It’s fortunate that today, I only need to sit at my writing desk to find some books whose titles comfort, challenge, and revitalize me. Their spines are coming apart, tea stains dot some pages, pencil scrawls crowd the margins.

But I never tire of picking them up and looking for a particular passage or randomly opening to a page that feels familiar yet new.

A shelf of books is like a cocktail party…each individual book in conversation with its companions on the shelf.

From time to time I like to change up the desk collection to change up the conversation.

It’s a habit I developed after an early writing residency at Ragdale. That first stay I was in the Yellow Room overlooking the famed Bird Girl fountain. I loved that room not because it was small, had too much yellow, and was next to the shared bathroom (a blessing and a curse), but because it had a wonderfully large desk upon which I unpacked the few books I had brought and then added some borrowed volumes from the library downstairs.

Of course I love to read, but sometimes I like just looking at a line of books and noticing their different colors, fonts, and sizes. It’s a habit that I find calming, allowing me to turn off the daily noise and return to a quiet place where my own ideas can rise to the surface.

I can’t always say how a particular title was chosen to join my book group. Sometimes I’ll add a title to the stack because it’s a book I want to have read and will guilt myself into actually picking it up.

Sometimes though, these books stand sentry, reminding me of the power of words and the patience required to find the right ones and put them in the right order.

The good ones find you

Do you have any books on your shelf that you can’t remember how they got there or why you might have picked them?

This is how I felt about The Places That Scare You, by Pema Chödrön. When I bought it I thought it would help free my writing. You know, let myself be more vulnerable on the page, go to those memories or ideas that I don’t even like admitting to myself.

I was wrong. It’s a manual on how to live, Tibetan style. If I had only looked at the subtitle I would have known better: A Guide To Fearlessness in Difficult Times. The book was published in 2001 which leads me to believe that we have always lived in Difficult Times.

I need not point out the irony.

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Heart of a Stranger

If you’re not familiar with Rabbi Angela Buchdahl, I encourage you to sit down on a Friday night and login to Central Synagogue in New York. She is the world’s first, and probably only, Asian American female rabbi. She is nothing short of a true leader in the sense that she never tells us what to think, rather she teaches us how to think.

I am almost finished listening to her memoir, Heart of a Stranger, in which she shares her upbringing with her Korean mother and Jewish father. Each chapter recounts a memory or life event. What really captures me is that at the end of each chapter she has a “d’var torah,” or a lesson that starts from a basic concept, usually a Hebrew word. Chapter 8, for instance, looks at the Hebrew word Simcha, which means Joy—and evolves into a message of what power there is in, “a soulful uplift that comes from genuine connection.”

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The Tao Te Ching; a book about the way and the power of the way, translated by Ursula Le Guin

The writings in the Tao Te Ching are much like the bible in that no one really knows who wrote it, or even if there was just one person who crafted these messages about how to live life, lead others, and use our personal power.

Some of the translations I’ve read feel like they are manuals for becoming a general in a war against all enemies. Until Ursula Le Guin, I believe all those translators had been men and their approach to leadership as “my way or the highway” colored the words they chose.

Le Guin is a woman and similarly, this has influenced the words she chose. But so did her study of Chinese characters and careful review of the many translations that came before hers. Her sense of poetry and fearlessness of ambiguity create a gorgeous translation which I turn to often. During lockdown, N— and I each chose sections to study and discuss. Those conversations are memorialized in my falling-apart copy with the notes and questions covering the pages.

What’s wonderful and maddening is that Tao Te Ching does not offer any concrete advice. Oh no, it makes you work for it. Here’s section 59 of “Taoing” as Le Guin calls it:

59.

STAYING ON THE WAY

In looking after your life and following the way,
gather spirit.
Gather spirit early,
and so redouble power,
and so become invulnerable.

Invulnerable, unlimited,
you can do what you like with material things.
But only if you hold to the Mother of things
will you do it for long.
Have deep roots, a strong trunk.
Live long by looking long.

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I’m exhausted

I thought the holiday break, a slower work schedule, and a self-imposed news ban would replenish my energy for the fight that continues. It hasn’t. Instead, I feel unfocused.

To be clear: I have not lost my optimism and surety that we are winning the fight.

(apologies for this next bit, which is like watching how the sausage is made.)

Instead, it feels like I am halfway through a very long walk and a little shocked that I have made it this far and then shocked again when I think about how far I have to go.

My books are not escapes. They are not my retreats away from the world. Instead, they are like:

• protein bars and bananas giving me energy to keep going. (Oy, did I really just write that analogy?)

• silent cheerleaders reminding me that if these authors found their way through, so can I. (Seriously?)

• breath, filling my lungs and helping oxygen travel through my veins to get my heart pumping. (This one might be the worst.)

They are my reminder that words have power and so do I.

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What’s happening now

School ICE watch has been put on hold while the north side of Chicago takes stock of the current situation and where our resources are best used. I’ll miss it, but in all honesty, I wasn’t looking forward to spending cold winter days on the corner. But I’ll be back at it in March if we regroup.

It’s the elections folks are focused on now. I have been helping organize some virtual candidate conversations so if you live in the IL 9th Congressional District, check out Indivisible Edgewater’s Candidate Conversations. (I played a small role, helping with the PR.)

Details are still being finalized but what I love about this setup is there will be no stump speeches; instead, you’ll get real conversation and specifics. Use the QR code below for the registration links.

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Here’s hoping 2026 kicks 2025’s ass!

keepin’ the faith,

Jill

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