To celebrate a year of the Isolation Journals, we’re inviting you to join us in a 30-day journaling challenge for the month of April. To support your practice, we’ll be emailing you three prompts each week. Then in May, we’ll return to our regular Sunday newsletter.
If you want a little extra inspiration, you can find a daily prompt here on the site.
Confession: I’m a hopeless Petfinder addict.
I can’t even begin to tell you how many hours I’ve spent scrolling through listings of adoptable dogs, wishing I could bring home every snaggle-toothed mutt on my screen.
Last summer, though, I had a purpose for my nightly perusing, which was to find my brother his first dog. After just a few days, there she was: a two-year-old retriever, terrier, hound dog mix with the most beautiful reddish gold fur and amber eyes named Loulou. She had been rescued in Tennessee after giving birth to a litter of puppies, then transferred to an animal shelter in upstate New York. In the three months she’d been there, all her puppies were adopted, but she still needed a home.
When my brother adopted Loulou, she was underweight, and we often joked that she was a clumsy pup—she had a tendency to bump into things. We learned about six months in that those were the early signs of a deadly fungal infection called blastomycosis. One day my brother woke up and Loulou was shivering and dazed, and he rushed her to the vet. After two weeks of intensive interventions, they were able to save her, but she did lose her sight.
The world as a suddenly blind dog was understandably terrifying for Loulou. It didn’t help that my brother lives in the East Village of New York City, which is busy and loud, and since he’s a fourth-grade teacher, she was alone in the apartment five days a week. She was petrified of sirens blaring outside and skateboarders rumbling down the sidewalk, and she cowered in fear, then began shutting down. A few months ago, my brother made a very difficult decision that she needed a different home, and he asked if I would take her in. I did, very happily.
On my road trip, I stayed with a fisherman on the Oregon coast, and he told me that if you’re lucky, you get one, maybe two great dog loves in your life. Sometimes I can’t believe that I have two of them at the same time. To see Loulou regain her strength, to watch her learn how to navigate the world is such a wonder. She’s somehow humbled Oscar into becoming her seeing-eye dog. She follows him everywhere, and they run and play. At times I start to wonder if she’s still blind—that is until the poor thing runs smack dab into a bush!
Loulou’s two short years of life have been hard ones, and it’s very moving to see her blossom in spite of that—to watch her loping with Oscar through the fields each morning. She’s so trusting and loving and gentle, and I’ve come to view her as a beautiful, four-legged reminder of how adaptable and resilient we can be.
I write all this as a kind of response to today’s prompt, by the one and only Mavis Staples, about counting our blessings. In this very difficult year, Loulou has been among my greatest. I can’t wait to hear about yours.
Sending love,
Suleika
DAY 4 of 30. Blessings by Mavis Staples
Many times in my life, I’ve come across someone who won’t smile, who won’t speak to me. I’ll get on an elevator and say “good morning,” and that person won’t say anything in return. My sister Yvonne—she’s different from me. When people are rude or unfriendly, Yvonne’ll tell them, “I didn’t do anything to you! Whatever is on your mind, don’t take it out on me.” But I’m wired differently. I keep a smile on my face, and I say to myself, “Alright. I’ll say a little prayer for you.”
And I’ll say a prayer that whatever they’re struggling with, they’ll get through. That whatever is heavy, whatever is burdening them, they’ll find a way to lighten that load. That they’ll realize, even in the middle of great struggle, there are things to be thankful for.
This is especially true in hard times like these. When things are difficult, when troubles seem overwhelming, it’s helpful to look back and consider all you’ve gotten through and how far you’ve come. It’s important to remember your blessings, starting with the fact that you woke up this morning. The sun rose again, and you did too—and here you are, breathing, above the concrete.
And just acknowledging that simple fact as a blessing—that can make you feel better. That’s what I’m hoping for when people come hear me sing. When they leave a concert, I want people to feel better, to feel good—because I feel good. I’m singing for myself too.
You prompt for today:
Write about your blessings. About what it was like to wake up today, about the people you love, about the songs that have lifted your spirits. Write about the wind in the trees, or rebirth in spring, or of freedom. Write about whatever gives you life, which—especially in troubled times, we remember—is so precious.