All Lives Living
By Jessica Amber Barnum & Tanner Jones
Noticing is inspiring.
Perhaps it’s only inspiring
when you’re really noticing
all lives living.
Noticing the homeless man who soundly sits
on his makeshift chair,
hood on his lowered head,
hands in his tattered pockets,
eyes peeking in intervals
inspired by … I’m not sure.
And, I look around to notice
what he might be noticing.
Noticing the free-spirited dancing woman who swims
drenched in the rhythms of the sound,
eyes closed, soul exposed
magnetic in beauty and spirit,
a nod to the divine within
inspired by … I’m not sure.
And, I look around to notice
what she might be noticing.
Noticing the tuxedo cat who soundly sleeps
under the porch’s rocking chair,
black hair swallowing winter’s sunrays,
snores rumbling the still air,
eyes peeking in intervals
inspired by … I’m not sure.
And, I look around to notice
what she might be noticing.
Noticing the long-haired boy looking up
into the sky’s lightly falling snow,
tongue reaching to taste,
arms outstretched in crucifixion,
surrendering himself to nature
inspired by … I’m not sure.
And I look around to notice
what he might be noticing.
Noticing the goddess elder who soundly saunters
toward the moment’s wave,
walker’s wheels strumming,
pristine pink outfit shimmering,
eyes peeking in intervals
inspired by … I’m not sure.
And, I look around to notice
what she might be noticing.
Noticing is inspiring.
Perhaps it’s only inspiring
when you’re really noticing
all lives living.
What are you noticing?
‘Could you drive to Denver right now?’
By Torrey Udall
The conversation was bouncing all over itself, charged with the jittery energy of three friends who hadn’t been in the same room together. One was visiting from Denver, having recently moved from “freaking-nowhere Connecticut.” It was late. He showed no signs of leaving, despite being hours from home. I started worrying about his drive ahead and encouraged him to stay the night. He waved us off.
Our other friend, noticing my disbelief, explained that someone in our small mountain town uses one question as a litmus test for motivation. A way to measure how much on-demand stamina you have for doing hard things.
“Could you drive to Denver
right now?”
Dim lights. Dinner settling. Warm booth on a winter night. Friends. Abandon it all, get in your car and drive three hours over two mountain passes, navigating an interstate so chaotic it has a dedicated Instagram account, @I70things. The channel’s recent feed features a jackknifed semi, a burning car on the shoulder and a helmetless motorcyclist carrying a live raccoon.
Could our friend do it?
Could I?
This was the lighter side of the coin we’d been flipping throughout the conversation. The heavier side was how ICE shot and killed a citizen in Minnesota that morning. How this week our government invaded Venezuela. How this month we’ve shattered temperature records, a countless reminder how down and out we are on climate. A question behind it all:
How do we be courageous?
How do we collectively avoid retreating from threats of retribution and consequences to jobs, families and companies? Self
protection says weather the storm. The world is ringing the alarm to act.
Struggling for an answer, I drifted back to a moment this summer seeing a relative who dedicated their life to public service. Now semi-retired and home, he was being approached by despairing community members asking what can be done. A question I was nervous to ask myself.
His response surely was — for an average guy who struggles with work email and the coffee maker — not something I could take on. If anyone understood the severity of these times and had the complex recipe for what an effective citizen would do, it was him, and I was bracing.
Him: “Do something, anything,
one thing.”’
“What?” I recoiled. Did I hear a patronizing tone? Nope. That was the prescription.
He was echoing what historian Timothy Snyder writes in On Tyranny: Twenty Lessons from the Twentieth Century: “Institutions do not protect themselves. So choose an institution you care about — a court, a newspaper, a law, a labor union — and take its side.”
My family member elaborated,
“I tell 70 year olds who have discovered TikTok, record a video telling your 13 followers that what is happening is not okay.” This is describing the reality that anything we do won’t feel adequate. But you do it, and so does everyone else, and that is power.
I left the restaurant before my friends. As the wheels started moving on my 10-minute drive home, I asked myself, “Could I …?”
“Could I drive to Denver
right now?”
“Could I be courageous?”
“Could I do one thing?”