Archive | May, 2026

Leap, and the Net Will Appear

22 May

There’s a quote from the 19th Century naturalist and essayist John Burroughs that I’ve been giving more credence to: Leap, and the net will appear. In other words, learn to take bold action by accepting a leap of faith. This is something I’ve always had a problem with when I sit down to write. I acknowledge that the action of writing something new has been hampered by my own hesitation. The ideas for new stories and essays never stop coming, they’re always demanding to be expressed, and yet the hesitation persists. The most common excuses that I have for this hesitation come down to some fundamental questions: Am I doing the right thing? Shouldn’t I be more focused on the pursuit of getting and holding down a job? What are the consequences if I fail at my task and can’t get an article or story published?

These are certainly valid concerns, and in the past, I paid much more attention to them then than I do now. What I’ve realized is that because I let myself become boxed in by my own fears, even when I’m working toward the “right” action of becoming employed, I’m not allowing myself to take more risks that would enable me to achieve greater results. The irony is that by not taking those risks and neglecting my gifts as a writer, I’ve probably ignored the very skillsets that would allow me to become more financially solvent. And to use those skills, I need to acknowledge my fear and focus on writing those stories.

Ray Bradbury has a quote that exemplifies this call to action: “Jump off the cliff and build your wings on the way down.” In other words, don’t plan, just do. Don’t wait for the safety net but allow yourself the opportunity to make mistakes and create your own solutions, even and especially if you’re in freefall. This can be a terrifying prospect for most writers, yet the very act of writing is a leap of faith that you’ll create something that will resonate with another person.

So yes, I still feel moments of hesitation when I sit down to write. Or I want to create a perfect first draft, which I know is a horrible way to come at any new writing project. It’s only now in the past few years that I’ve realized how my perfectionism has been a huge impediment to getting any work done. Thus, for the time being, my motto will be, “Leap, and the net will appear.” Maybe I won’t create the exact product or story I want, but it won’t be for a lack of trying. And maybe I’ll create something truly spectacular in the end that I never expected.  

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Living with Reinforced Helplessness

15 May

How do you create a safe space for yourself when all you feel is a sense of doom?

One of the things I faced most often when I was younger was a sense of reinforced helplessness as I dealt with people who couldn’t understand me because of my speech impediment. As a person who grew up with an extremely rare congenital neurological disorder known as Moebius syndrome, I’d be teased, ignored, and underestimated by people as they assumed my garbled speech and facial paralysis amounted to nothing more than stupidity. This in turn reinforced my own fears of being inadequate, which continued for many years even into adulthood. After all, if people are questioning your speech, how do you know that you will ever be heard? And even if you do speak up, will you be respected for doing so?

These days it feels like we’re all experiencing a sense of reinforced helplessness as we watch our government go from bad to worse to the bottom of the barrel under the leadership of President Trump. Last month, I spoke to one of my Toastmasters clubs about how recent events had caused me to freeze up in my writing for several weeks after the leader of the free world stated, “A whole civilization will die tonight, never to be brought back again.” This was part of his demands to reopen the Strait of Hormuz where he called for the “complete demolition” of Iran’s infrastructure if his deadline was not met.

Hearing the leader of the free world state that he would be responsible for the destruction of an entire society is a truly heinous thing to witness. There is no simile, metaphor, or hyperbole that can encompass how awful this statement was. It should have been enough to remove President Trump from office. Instead, nothing happened. No one was held accountable, and despite many more people speaking up and protesting, seemingly no one was heard. My fear went beyond worrying about whether this government would become the next Nazi Germany because in my own mind this has already happened. My fear was that we were past the point of no return where America could take a step back from its own self-destructive behavior and realize that we were so far down the rabbit hole that it would take generations for our country to recover from the rampant destruction of our civil rights.

In my speech to my club, I mentioned three things that we could do to help remind ourselves that we are neither helpless nor alone: Think globally, act locally; recognize that you are not responsible for the actions of other people; and use your freedom of speech to demand your rights, even if it’s “only” at the voting booth. All these things are true. And yet, I recognize that despite using all these tools, for many of us, those methods aren’t working. The people running our government have basically stated, we will not hear you. Sit down and shut up.

My answer to that was simple, and I would issue the following reply: If they tell you not to speak, speak anyway. Our voices matter. Our citizens matter. And although some people may not like hearing what you have to say, you have the power as issued by the Constitution of the United States of America to exercise your freedom of speech. No one should feel as though they’re living in an unsafe space, particularly when so many of our rights are being trampled by people who wish to return us back to the Jim Crow laws, McCarthyism, or worse.

Reinforced helplessness only works when you believe you have nothing to gain by speaking up or walking away from the situation. When that situation becomes untenable, you have the right to say, “Enough.” You can create your own safe space as well as help others create theirs. And no one should ever feel that their voice shouldn’t be heard.

If they tell you not to speak, speak anyway. Your voice matters. And so does your vote.

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“Fallen Lion” Anniversary

6 May

I wrote this poem over twenty-four years ago when I was still attending the University of Oregon and finishing up my English degree. I regularly studied at the Erb Memorial Union, and on more than a few occasions I saw homeless people come into the lounge to find a place to sleep. This one man in particular struck me as being handsome but very unkempt with long, dark hair framing his face. I don’t believe I ever had a chance to talk to him, but he became the inspiration for this poem. I hope you enjoy it.

“Fallen Lion”

The man has a lion’s face – broad and strong-looking,

with a mane of dark brown hair framing the rest.

A real lion would be cleaner, however.

The whiskers grow almost out of control, no longer beautiful,

not even savage, just pathetically limp and dark, lifeless.

The mane of hair is also dirty.  And he smells –

not like the rich, natural scent of veldt on sandpaper hide,

but the sick odor of the wounded animal who is too ill to care

for itself for long.

The man slinks along when he walks, but it is a graceless

movement, a half-shamble, half-lurching sort of slink

that a cat might make if it had three feet.

The man has two; for a two-legged cat, perhaps mortally wounded,

he does it quite well.

His arms, if they are not carrying a bottle or bag,

hang limply at his sides, loose appendages

that sway almost without rhythm save for his movement,

graceless.

Occasionally the man will growl, and others

who may not have noticed him there before

will stop and listen, uncomprehending, or if they do,

they turn away, unheeding.

Have they never seen a hungry animal before?

Of course they have.

But this one has two legs.  And begs.  And begs again.

Like a dog.  Not like a lion, who knows what to look for.

And gets it.

                                                                                    David Eric Freedman

                                                                                    March 10, 1992

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