Pieces of Light, by Dheepa

Seeking meaning, beauty, and joy in our complicated world

I often call myself an aspiring optimist. While I want so much to feel hopeful about the future and positive about humanity, the never-ending news of incivility and divisiveness, violence and pain, often derails me. 

Though I can't claim the full title of optimist, one thing heartens me. On those days when the worst news emerges, of appalling deeds and grim disasters, there is still a part of me—deep, deep down—that's determined not to slide fully into despair. Sometimes its voice is just a whisper, but I do hear it, urging me to find what's going right and what's going well. 

Dig in, it says. Look more closely—see more widely. 

This newsletter is my attempt to amplify that small voice. Every few weeks, I will share with you the best of what I see and discover in the world. You'll receive notes on Meaning, Beauty, and Joy in natural, cultural, and digital landscapes. You'll hear about books, art, artists, ideas, stories, and my own writing path.

In the time it takes to finish your cup of tea or coffee, you will experience a bit of light and lightness!

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Notes on Attention

If you're like me, you're becoming overwhelmed by the sheer volume of information in the digital world, and the speed with which it arrives and proliferates. Even when I intend to be online for just a few minutes, I find myself down a rabbit hole, following a discussion or watching a video that isn't particularly useful or enriching. Often, it's just noise. 

I've decided to use Jenny Odell's book as a guide this year, How to Do Nothing: Resisting the Attention Economy. Don't be misled by the title—Odell isn't advocating non-participation online. Rather, she’s suggesting that we pause and notice the many forces that are co-opting our attention, and thus, our entire experience of life.

Phew. High stakes, right? 

With Odell's guidance, I'm trying to choose my own terms for directing my attention online—specifically, when, how, and with what I engage. 

These are my resolutions: 

1. Become a conscious curator. Instead of holding out my hands and trying to catch everything directed to me online, I will choose what genuinely unearths meaning, beauty, and joy for me.

2. Become accountable. This is where you come in! I've relaunched my newsletter to keep myself on track, because it's my intention to share the best of what I find with you. 

If you choose to read Jenny Odell's book, please reach out to me and let me know your takeaways. And if you make your own resolution list, please share that, too.

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Notes on Winter

One of my favorite college memories has nothing to do with friends or parties or graduation. Rather, it's a soft memory, a quiet one—walking home during a snowfall.

It was the first time I'd taken an exam in the evening, and it felt peculiar to exit the classroom into darkness. Most students had already left campus, and there was no one in sight. The street lamps illuminated the snow as it fell, and the accumulation on the sidewalk swallowed my footfalls as I trudged toward my apartment.

Enveloped in silence, I could hear my thoughts so clearly, and then, I even slipped beyond them. Soon, there was nothing to think, nothing to do, but feel the cold air and look out at the blanketed grass as I walked.

Last week, snow fell hard here in Indiana, and the only things that occurred to me were getting the driveway shoveled and the sidewalk salted. I worried about road conditions as I thought of all of my appointments in the upcoming week. Winter's sole purpose seemed to be disrupting my plans and logistics. 

And then I remembered that college walk all those years ago, when winter didn't seem so wretched, when it led me inward, to the quietness within. I drove to one of my favorite trails at a local park, Eagle Creek, and yes, took a walk.  

I regretted it immediately. It was freezing (apparently, I was hardier during my Michigan college days). Eventually, though, I got myself to settle down, to stop dwelling on how cold I was, and to take in my surroundings. I loved the crispness of the air. I loved the utter silence on the trail, broken briefly by two bunnies chasing each other through the trees, my own little Disney moment.

I admit it was a short walk, but I did feel my mindset shift a bit. If you, too, would like to tune into winter, but would rather not take such a walk, feel free to curl up at the window and enjoy the following: 

• In this gentle essay, Tweetspeak's Michelle Rinaldi Ortega muses on winter's welcome. "I prefer quiet winter cocooning, the come-as-you-are invitation to just be, and to see what awaits just after that new deepest breath. In those quiet spaces, I invite myself." 

• "The Quiet Snow," a brief poem with an interesting shift from rural to urban images, was written by poet Raymond Knister, a Canadian (and thus, presumably, a snow expert!). He writes that the snow "does not know / There should be hurry." 

• Katherine May, author of Wintering, encourages us to retreat for the season, replenish our energy, and regain our equilibrium. Listen to this lovely and restful On Being interview.

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Notes on the Writing Path

• Essays. At the end of last year, I was surprised and delighted to receive two Pushcart Award nominations for my essays, "Unfolding," published in Hippocampus, and "A River Dance: Cauvery in Crisis," published in Reckoning. It inspired me to assemble a collection, and I'm pulling together my various essays across related themes. If you have experience with this sort of project, or know of good resources, I'd love to hear!

• Poetry. When my mother passed away a few years ago, I found it incredibly difficult, even painful, to write poetry. When I sat with my notebook, I ended up staring out of the window while hours slid by. Luckily for me, four fellow poets invited me to join their critique group, which helped me to re-engage my poetic muscles. If you're looking for support in your writing, I recommend seeking out a group for accountability and feedback—but take your time to find the right people for you. The poets in my group are honest but kind, firm but tactful, and I'm grateful for them!

  • "The Story of a Marriage" (critiqued by this group!) is now published in Sequestrum. 

I appreciate your interest! If you'd like to read more of my work, some of it is featured on my website: DheepaRMaturi.com. 

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In the meantime, thank you so much for being here and for reading through to the end. See you in a few weeks!