[ This space intentionally left blank ]
Have you gotten those health care documents, where they take pages and pages because they’re legally required to notify you . . . their office hours are changing? And all because you forgot to check the “electronic documents” box when you changed health insurance. And yet. You'll see this printed dead center on the back side of a page:
[ This space intentionally left blank ]
Whew! We’re not missing something. Or are we?
“This space intentionally left blank” reminded me of a bigger truth: whether you’re talking about religious practice, creativity, meditation, or just plain mental health, we need to intentionally leave some space blank in our lives.
It’s every-ounce-of-willpower hard, with the endless worthwhile ways we can fill the space. I am ever lagging on my list of podcast, TV show, and book recommendations, and the reflex is to try to mitigate that chronic sense of behind-ness by ingesting media in every free minute. Even now, it takes effort not to festoon this newsletter with links to articles about the benefits of idleness and silence!
But instead, I’ll offer two simple suggestions: first, step out your front door and look up for ten seconds. Then, walk around your block or neighborhood, without listening to anything or touching your phone.
I did both just now: looking up, I saw yet another crystalline blue sky, felt that crisp-yet-warming 70° sun of an Oakland October day, and reiterated my gratitude at a climate that allows me to bike and run outdoors year-round. But I also smelled the all-too-familiar scent of smoke, from yesterday’s Keller Fire four miles down the road (and already noted on Google Maps). This smell of smoke is redolent with emotion, from thankfulness that no one was killed, sadness for the two homeowners’ loss and the years-long insurance-and-rebuilding process ahead of them, to our pandemic migration in 2020 (prompted in part by wildfire smoke), which permanently rattled the foundation of our sense that California would always be home.
It’s a lot. And that’s not even getting into everything that bubbled up during my walk, like grieving neighbors moving, aging parents, changing church, failing bodies, or kids who will be out of the house before we know it! Yet like our beloved redwoods sprouting new growth after a wildfire, these blankness-born buds are the stuff of tomorrow’s stories.
Here’s to leaving space intentionally blank — and to the new ideas that will fill that space.
