I had an hour free in New York recently, and instead of scrolling through endless emails I hopped down the High Line to see the Calder Circus, a bizarro delight that might be even more enchanting a century after its debut.

Within minutes, I was immersed in an alternate universe, first trying to trace the intricacies of the twisted sculptures and then imagining the acrobats zipping along the guide wires, the horses prancing around the ring, and the lion roaring at the crowd. My imagination was far outpaced by the film of Calder’s own performance, a loop of stunning engineering combined with goofy vignettes.

Next to me, a little kid pulled on his dad’s jacket, saying, Daddy, I wanna play!

Dear ones, life is full of musts. We must finish the report, pay the bill, make the dinner, tend to the chores, catch the train. Thankfully, it’s also full of coulds. We could detour through the park. We could read a poem. We could dance in the kitchen. We could visit a hundred-year-old circus.

Friends, amidst the musts, there are always pockets of coulds. 

Let’s play.

I heard an author this week describe the research process both as a deep dive for facts and also as a treasure hunt for historical characters, the ones who can animate a story and carry it forward.

A few minutes later he distinguished between characters and caricatures, noting that the goal is not to craft a simplistic narrative of good versus bad, but something much more interesting, more nuanced, more true to life.

Dear ones, these days, so many of our inputs tell simple and divisive tales. 

May we resist the caricatures.

May we explore the messy aliveness of our world.

I was lucky to attend several philanthropic events this past week, and one honoree noted that upon receiving a very prestigious award years ago, he was advised, “This is not a prize. This is a responsibility.”

I have to admit, though I admire the lack of back-slapping reflected in this quote, part of me was thinking, gosh, are we not already hyper-aware of our responsibilities these days? Must we skip straight from the prize to the responsibility, with no time for revelry?

Just a few days later I saw the incredible Mary Robinson receive a different award, and she danced right up to the podium, remarking that if you are going to work on serious things you have to dance and laugh a little at the outset, or you’ll never be able to tackle the tough work ahead.

Dear ones, may we win prizes galore, whether trophies or roses or smiles from loved ones.

May we take up our responsibilities with the devotion they deserve.

May we dance and laugh together, all along the way.

On my walk to work the other day I stepped on something squishy. This is never a great thing in the city, so my first thought was, “don’t look down, just keep walking.” But when I did glance to the ground, I saw half an apple rolling away.

And then another. And another.

Even then, I thought someone must have dropped their grocery bags. But it turns out I’ve been walking right past a big urban apple tree every morning, totally oblivious to its bounty. 

Dear ones, may we be alert –

to the squishes underfoot,

and the glories overhead.

Oh dear friends, it’s been a week of loss – first Jane Goodall, luminous ambassador for the Gombe and our kin the chimpanzees, and then Manchan Magan, illuminator of Irish land, language, and culture. Both worked in settings where the most precious elements had been exploited and endangered, and both knew the full costs of this mistreatment and misunderstanding. Yet both came out the other side of that pain, determined to share their deepest love and understanding, sure in the knowledge that a place that is loved is a place that will be valued.

Manchan’s final RTE interview noted that we’re in a time of great change, one of reconnection with land and story and language.

Jane’s final message encourages, don’t give up.

Dear ones, let’s root ourselves in our love of the world.

Let’s reconnect.

Let’s not give up.

One of my favorite recordings of Manchan is this podcast episode where he’s in conversation with the extraordinary Tyson Yunkaporta. Manchan’s book Thirty-Two Words for Field is a favorite, as is Tyson’s Sand Talk. 

Jane Goodall’s final message can be seen on her Institute’s site, and her book Reason for Hope is currently free in its e-version.