Small Glory #15 - Inexplicable Gratitude for Words

Showing gratitude and joy for our collective privilege to be writing and reading here.

“I don’t think I’ve read a poem just for fun. It’s always been for school.” Said one of my flatmates the other evening when I offered to read a poem before we all turned in for the night. I had been flicking through the collected poems of James K. Baxter (a New Zealand poet who had a lot to do with our city, Christchurch), and said, “pick a page number, I’ll read from there.”

We take it for granted sometimes, maybe — that we can come onto this platform and write poems and stories and essays about our lives and perspectives on the world. That we have a place to put words in front of eyes to be read. And sometimes, maybe, we expect people to read them and engage as if our perspectives deserve to be seen — they do, but just to write is enough sometimes, just to get those thoughts onto a page, just to get the story or the emotion out of our heads. Maybe I have fallen into that trap of longing to be read, a longing that extends beyond simply bathing in my journal with pages for my eyes only. When I see a like or a comment I sit up a little straighter, I think ‘yes I do have something to say that people want to hear.’ But I remind myself, I am grateful to simply be able to write, to have the skills to turn thoughts and ideas into letters, words and stories.

Writing in the middle of nowhere. Bliss.

We take it for granted sometimes, maybe — that if we want we can pick a book from the bookshelf, read it in our lounge, discuss it with friends, then return it to the shelf to pick up again at a later date. And all this occurs without a second thought. Without a thought to the days of high levels of illiteracy and the countries still struggling to get children into schools. I think of the world I would be blind to without words. My world would exist here and now in the bottom left hand corner of the Pacific Ocean faraway from anywhere or anyone else. An island nation at the end of the world — Aotearoa, New Zealand — would be the extent of my experience. There is an entire world here which I am grateful to explore and experience everyday, but some days I like a book and a blanket and the streets of Greece or the heights of the Himalayas or the tapestry of New Orleans. To sit and soak up those stories fills me and I am grateful to the people that wrote them, but I am also grateful to be able to read them.

Our little spot at the bottom of the world.

We take it for granted sometimes, maybe — that we can go to school and send our children to learn to read and write. And sometimes, maybe, we get frustrated if our children aren’t up to speed or as good as the other kids, or we get frustrated that the teacher isn’t doing a good enough job. But to simply know the alphabet, opens up a world. And to read 100 words is enough for a few poems. And to know 1000 words is enough for a second world to open up. To be able to read a single word is like holding an entire beating heart. If a picture tells a thousand words, then I think a single word is the seed of a thousand stories. That doesn’t really make sense, but a lot of my writing doesn’t, it’s wordy and jumbled — it’s like I’ve got a paintbrush and am so excited by the colours I’ve put them all on the canvas all at once. But I don’t care, I love rolling around in words like a pig in mud.

Words, lots of them.

We take it for granted sometimes, maybe — that we can read the words of others here, often at no cost, that we can absorb stories in their hundreds from all over the world, just by sitting on our couches. I can read tales from New York and Whanganui, from the streets and skyscrapers, from the cold isles and warm coastlines, from here and there and everywhere. But only from people that have access to a device, and who can write, and who have a certain confidence that they have something to say. Because there are still the stories that remain on streets, and the essays that remain in journals, and the hopes and dreams and origins of people who know only oral communication. I just think of mātauranga Māori (Māori knowledge) and te reo Māori (Māori language) here in New Zealand that has been passed down from one generation to the next only through oral traditions. Most of what went on in the last thousand years remains in the words spoken from one to another.

There is a tapestry of stories here on Substack, but still so many floating on the winds of the world, and really truly, it makes me grateful for all that I read and write but also hear. I am in love with stories and I want to absorb all I can. As Epictetus says, ‘we have two ears and one mouth so we can listen twice as much as we speak’, so I make sure I am always taking in as much as I can because the world and its people are a wonder to me. To close all my ramblings off, I’d just like to say, kia ora, hello, if anyone is reading this — thank you — but also thank you for the words you write in your own newsletter, I very much am grateful for your stories and perspective. Breathe in, breathe out, be grateful.

New to Small Glories? Kia ora, hello!

I like to call life’s little moments small glories. You know what I mean; the first daffodil in spring, wild hair on a stormy walk at the beach, a hug in the airport, a cat asleep in the sun, tears listening to a song, tea, birthday cake, a group of old ladies on a sunrise sea swim, a shoulder to sleep on, a funny overheard conversation, a postcard, a 90-year-old with AirPods, a story from Grandad, and an ocean dip on the winter solstice.

I attempt to capture these moments in words and images. To me they are threads in the tapestry of life. Various emotions, various colours, all weave together to form a vivid picture of what it means to live.

I write an essay each week on something that has added to my tapestry of life. And I invite you too to share your small glories with this community.

Each month I write a longer form piece on how to open yourself up to seeing these small glories in their various layers of depth. It is called The Knack.

And scattered in amongst that, will appear other little thoughts and small glories - because really, these moments can’t keep themself to a schedule, that’s the glory of life.