First Days and New Worlds

Dear Friends,

I have a favorite card that I’ve purchased a dozen times. It shows a black and white photo of a young baby’s face pressed up to glass, looking out the window at a bird on the window ledge. The card says, “Show me a day when the world wasn’t new.”

The novelty and delight of a new world each day, each moment, comes so naturally to a young child. But it is so much more effortful for me as I’ve aged. Still, it is such a nourishing practice to allow myself to be amazed, astonished by the beauty of a day, a moment, a tiny slice of life right in front of me.

I was reminded of this again lately when listening to an interview with Suleika Jaoud whom I have mentioned before. She talks about learning to live with the reality that she will be in treatment for her cancer for the rest of her life. (This is also my reality.) She describes how living every day as if it is your last day creates a sense of panic and urgency. Instead, she suggests living every day as if it is your first, which creates the space for wonder.

I think that anyone who had had to reckon with their mortality has felt the pressure to live every day as a possible last day. But so much is gained by flipping the script to live a life of first days. First days are an invitation, are possibility. First days offer timelessness and moments of complete presence to beauty, to wonder, to love.

I’ve mentioned before that I taught young children for several years and I also had children of my own. What teachers of presence they are! If you’ve ever taken a walk with a young child, you quickly learn that it is not about the destination. It’s about all the little moments along the way. One group of 2-year-old children I had in a parent-child group many years ago were fascinated with snails. Snails in a very small corner of the garden became the focus of our outside time. First, we had to find them, looking among the leaves and flowers. Then we waited for them to poke their heads out of their shells. One boy was the snail whisperer. Any snail resting on his flat hand would emerge from its shell. We saw different sizes and speculated about family groups. We found snail trails. We offered leaves that might be food. We sang snail rhymes. We saw snails with first day eyes.

Show me a day when the world wasn’t new.

I recently attended a service at the congregation that we are a part of. It’s an annual service, my favorite one, structured around a famous line from Mary Oliver’s poem The Summer Day: “Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?” At this service, 10 speakers that spanned the decades and ages from under 10 to over 90 years old, spoke to this question.

I always reflect on what my answer would be. This year I thought about a life of first days and space for wonder and beauty. Mary Oliver talks about an encounter with a grasshopper in the poem, and about knowing how to be idle and blessed. The last line of the poem is famous, but the rest of the poem offers an answer to the question. In her poetry, Oliver frequently refers to the act of paying attention as the essential act of living. A life of first days invites attention and presence.

redbud, calendula, persimmon and fig

I’ve spent time in our garden lately. The magenta redbud has burst into bloom, heralding spring. Neon orange calendulas spread across the garden. I watch for the tiny figs and persimmons to appear on the trees, and drink in all of that spring green, new life. Although these cycles repeat every year in the garden, it is easy to see them with first day eyes.

When I’m in search of beauty, I often find it in music. This week I saw and heard a recording of SistaStrings playing a Stradivarius cello and violin at the Library of Congress while they sang Lift Every Voice and Sing. It is breathtakingly beautiful and gives me goosebumps every time I watch it. It was easy to hear this with first day ears.

Whether you are reckoning with your mortality, or with the heavy weight of the world, I offer you first days and space for wonder and beauty. What would it look like to live your life as if every day is your first day?

Show me a day when the world wasn’t new.

May your days be a treasure hunt for wonder, for beauty, for joy.

Thank you for being here. Please share this with folks who might be interested.

Sending love,

Maija

The song of the week, of course, is SistaStrings playing Lift Every Voice and Sing.

Here is Mary Oliver’s full poem.

The Summer Day

Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean—
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down—
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don't know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?

—Mary Oliver