Did you ever read the astonishing novel Feed, by M.T. Anderson? In it, humans walk through a world where constant ads present themselves wherever they go, shimmering in the air, instantly absorbed.

The news is like that these days for me. No need to read it; everything that’s happening is already in me, by osmosis. To stay sane I hit delete over and over, but still, ask me anything about world events and I already know it all.

But then! I watched the new Presidential Library dedication the other night: The Obamas, John Legend, Springsteen, all the performers and speakers, and everything in me suddenly hit pause. Hit rewind. Hit play, and play, and play again.

HOPE. Hope is a verb, a choice, action. Hope is joy. Hope is the thing with feathers, the long view in the midst of all the daily assaults. Wow did I need reminding of that. Afterward I sat scrolling the artists who feed my soul. Thank you, Jacob Collier, thank you Jon Batiste, thank you musicians, visionaries, poets. Thank you Lucille Clifton.

Won’t You Celebrate with Me, by Lucille Clifton

won’t you celebrate with me
what i have shaped into
a kind of life? i had no model.
born in babylon
both nonwhite and woman
what did i see to be except myself?
i made it up
here on this bridge between
starshine and clay,
my one hand holding tight
my other hand; come celebrate
with me that everyday
something has tried to kill me
and has failed. 

Click here for more information about the one and only Lucille Clifton.

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My podcast: Words by Winter