Jenny Kuderer
Poet Writer Thinker
April 26, 2020
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Pandemic Fear and Nature's Balm
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As I write this, a global pandemic of COVID-19 is ravaging the U.S. In my lifetime, I've certainly never experienced anything like this. The threat to health is always paramount, but the threat to livelihoods has proved catastrophic as well. I'm fortunate indeed to still possess paid labor, three squares a day, and a place to call home. In order to ground myself at this time, in my relatively fortunate circumstances but with a heart that aches for all the suffering occurring in the world right now, I've been frequenting local trails and state parks. On a recent amble, I encountered a sign that read, "Ponding Area." For a brief moment, I thought it read "Pondering Area," as if it were a place where thoughts could seep out of the gray matter to be expressed and collected. I have so many thoughts these days about what type of a future our nation will be able to carve out in the months and year ahead. But I try to pause and reflect on the cadence of my breath, on the glorious rest found in a peaceful moment beyond the incessant news cycle of more death and more labor lost. It is not that I am without compassion for what is happening, but rather that my sensitive nature will be swallowed up if I concentrate solely on the wily movements of a virus I cannot contain and the heartbreaking pain it is inflicting on so many. I gather my thoughts and point my Asics toward the nearest trail to revel in the late-spring air, in a muskrat encountered, in ducks bobbing in the pool of water, and in the flight of a crow overhead. Indeed, in such moments, my cup still appears overflow with blessings that can't be purchased, with peace that is a welcome gift in times of such global angst and struggle. In those lovely encounters with nature, wholeness draws me near and holds fast to my precious, mortal being.
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January 14, 2020
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On Kindness
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Seeing the calendar reflect the passage of half of the first month of January, it makes me wonder what goals would be best for this new year. Lose weight? Learn more French? Tackle some more classic novels? Those would all be good goals aimed at self-improvement, but the more I contemplate our world and my place within it, two words come to mind: be kinder. And be sincere about it. With the political climate and the tensions that seem to reach out from the newspaper headlines and the evening news, the energy of the universe could use a little tipping in a more positive, united direction. Have you ever noticed how unexpected kindness often softens the reaction of those who were expecting only confrontation, how it causes the weapons of verbal warfare to be put down before the fencing has begun? When I apply the armor of persona to make it through daily life as someone with a highly sensitive core, I’m always amazed when someone—often a stranger—goes out of his or her way to treat me with a level of respect that I no longer take for granted. A sincere joy in assisting one at the grocery store or a smile that invites all in and isn’t just for show provide micro lessons to me in how to be a kinder, better person. It is these lessons that I hope to learn more fully and enact with genuine enthusiasm in the eleven and a half months of 2020 that remain.
December 24, 2019
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Timeless Gifts
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On this Christmas Eve, I am reminded of how fortunate I am to have plans to gather with family to celebrate the holiday, how truly blessed I am in a way that I don’t always appreciate. As I was thinking about those material gifts that I might like under the tree this year, I read an article describing the wish of some children in difficult circumstances who had been asking social workers for toothbrushes for Christmas. How easy it is for me to take my relative abundance for granted, to give into that impulse for more, when materially I have all that is necessary and then some. The spirit of kindness is what my heart really longs to experience, to give to another in a way that only my singular self can. Instead of hoping for a silk skirt or a pair of earrings, it would be wiser of me to seek out new avenues for creatively gifting a loving heart back to the world. That is where the real riches of this night are found, even more precious than the gold, frankincense and myrrh that the Three Wise Men brought with them to offer to the babe, Jesus. The wealth of good that a determined and good heart can bring to the world’s door is immense and will have more lasting value than even the most prized presents in that velvet bag of gifts that weighs down Santa Claus’ sleigh. Whatever this season means to you, may you discover the gifts of lasting value that are most dear to you.
November 18, 2019
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Waning Daylight and Giving Thanks
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As the darkness descends more rapidly in these shortened November days and the holiday of Thanksgiving approaches, I'm left more time to ponder in the coziness of a fall evening the particular blessings for which I am grateful. I am very aware that living in the United States gives me access to clean water and abundant food and secure shelter in a way that not all peoples in other nations enjoy. I am thankful that providing for these needs is within my grasp, though I mean to take nothing away from the rich cultures and tightly woven communities of any other spot on the globe.
Outside of the accident of birth that makes fulfilling basic needs attainable, I am very grateful for caring family and insightful friends. I remember with gratitude a few years ago or so having a lovely conversation with an old friend on Thanksgiving morning before we each were to enjoy a Thanksgiving gathering with our respective families. The mix of family and friends of that particular holiday still moves me, especially since friendships seem somewhat expendable in our modern, nomadic culture and the ties that bind us to each other can seem a bit looser and less taut than I might prefer, given my inclination toward fewer but deeper connections. So, any moment of connected conversation where there is an empathic silence and a patient, sacred space for sharing, for self-revelation is a moment I find hard to ignore when tallying up a lifetime of blessings.
October 31, 2019
Masks and Vulnerability
Given that October 31st is Halloween, it seems fitting to reflect on the masks we wear in our daily lives. Do we wear a mask of enthusiasm when it seems required even though our hearts do not leap at the thought of performing a particular task? Do we cover over grief with a smile when those around us gently prod that we should be over that by now, no matter how large the vacancy left, no matter the nature of the loss? Do we perhaps pretend to be better than we know ourselves to be, a bit too self-congratulatory when we see the pettiness that still slithers like a grass snake through the unkempt fields of our minds, our aspiration toward largeness of heart not quite fulfilled?
While it is true that modern life often seems to require a persona in certain arenas, where do we go to let the truth of our being spill forth? In our closest relationships, are we able to tend the garden of our souls and let another see the blooms struggling toward the sun even as all-too-hardy weeds threaten to choke off their beauty? Are we able to find and embrace that vulnerability in a sacred space that seems a great deal safer than the boardroom or the supermarket? With whom can we be our fullest selves as we lay the mask aside and dive into the waters of intimate connection where fears and strengths alike are revealed? I have been fortunate to know such deep connection in my life, and I am forever changed by the gifts aplenty that arose from being bathed in the light of gentle understanding and warmed by the glowing embers of profound presence. It is most certainly a deep dive worth taking.
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October 30, 2019
Roots and Leaves
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I walked along Whitewater River last Sunday. It was a beautiful, slightly crisp autumn day. While the deciduous trees are beginning in fast clip to lose their leaves, I still felt grateful to be a sacred witness to the changing of the seasons, a witness to the rising and falling of nature's breath as the draining of the chlorophyll from the leaves signals the impending blanket of white from winter's sure march toward Southern Minnesota. As a born-and-bred Midwesterner, I'm not sure if I could happily reside in a part of the country where the four seasons are not demarcated by drastic changes in temperature and visual surround, where spring doesn't signal abundant new growth and winter isn't marked by hibernation and flurries of white. The dance of seasons is so intertwined in how I experience a year of my life, how I know to anticipate a Christmas of white or an Easter of new blooms or a birthday just at the tail end of summer. To live in a place where the temperature changes but slightly and trees don't lose their leaves and the blanket of white never arrives might throw off the delicate balance that greets me like a soothing metronomic beat where nature somewhat neatly divides my outdoor environment into four rich and hearty slices to enjoy, each slice with a flavor and appeal all its own. A grateful Midwesterner I remain, though travel to other locales still beckons my restless soul. But the roots in this rich, black soil adjacent to the Mississippi know a pull all their own.