Staying or Leaving?
Living in the Complexities of our Times
It was a hazy morning at Chautauqua, the last remnants of lingering smoke from far-away Canada wildfires hanging in the air. On the amphitheater stage, author/speaker/producer/poet Kwame Alexander and writer Ada Calhoun were having a conversation about poetry, creativity, life, and why we do what we do. Kwame Alexander is a huge presence and a brilliant creative. And he has a way of asking bold, unexpected, “out there” questions and sharing glimpses into his own life that open a level of honesty and transparency not often found in onstage interviews.
In the middle of their somewhat playful exchange, he became quiet for a moment and then suddenly took the conversation deeper:
I’ve been thinking about leaving America. I’m just becoming so disillusioned, fed up, afraid, worried about the state of our democracy, about the lives of friends and family. And then I begin to think about the people who came before us, and how they resisted and how they fought back and how they refused to give up. And I wonder where you stand on this, and how you wake each day at dawn in this one wild, precious life, with hope?
—Kwame Alexander, in conversation with writer Ada Calhoun at Chautauqua Institution, August 5, 2025
Although he was asking Ada Calhoun that question, I heard it as a question to all of us. How do you wake each day at dawn in this one wild, precious life, with hope? I confess I don’t remember her answer, because as soon as he asked the question, it went deep inside me to that place where I can’t not choose hope. For me, it’s mostly an unconscious choice; hope is somehow planted in my cells.
I do, in fact, awaken most mornings at dawn or just before, especially when I’m here at Chautauqua. As I first open my eyes, it often takes me a little time to locate myself once again in the waking world. Part of me is still very present in the dream world and in my “travels” through the night, so I have to remind myself to “land” on solid ground in this three-dimensional world where I will spend my day.
And so, the following morning as I “landed,” I heard Kwame Alexander’s voice asking that question again—to Ada Calhoun and to me. How do you wake each day with hope? As I laid in my bed, finding my way back to this earthly plane, I had to admit I was wrestling with this “hope” question. Because if I’m honest, even if hope is planted in my cells, I do sometimes struggle with keeping it uncovered. There’s a lot trying to cover up hope these days. Yet I was also remembering another time years ago when things in my country seemed to be heading in the wrong direction and many people were talking about staying or leaving. And it was so clear to me then that I was not leaving. And I could feel that commitment still very much alive within me now.
This is my country; it’s my home. And I love what my country has always stood for until now, what it has always represented, even while acknowledging its many imperfections and dysfunctions. And I believe that in its soul, my country still stands for those things. We just have to keep its soul alive. Every day, I encounter synchronicities, chance conversations, messages, signals that keep whispering, “Something else is possible.” I also know that transformation isn’t likely to happen from the outside. Transformation is an inside job; it starts from the core and ripples out to the edges and beyond. We transform things from the inside. And so, I stay.
I also loved Kwame Alexander’s passing reference to poetry of Mary Oliver—this one wild, precious life—and I loved that he tied it to hope. Because it’s the wild and precious aspect of my life and my deep faith that gives me hope, no matter what is happening. Knowing that, somehow, even if I don’t know in the moment how things are going to turn out, I will be taken care of.
And I have an innate hope in the human spirit—that in the end, the basic goodness in people will prevail. Yes, there are some bad actors, yet in the arc of humanity’s journey here on earth, negativity and evil have not proven sustainable. I often think of the character Sonny’s philosophy in the 2011 movie “The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel”—Everything will be ok in the end. And if it’s not ok, it’s not the end. I believe we’re here to learn and evolve in consciousness as a species. Right now, things are tough. Yet we still have way too much to learn for it to all end now.
I’ve written many times about my belief that there is an Intelligence within everything that happens. Even though I don’t always understand why we are where we are, I believe it’s our job to stay present to all that is happening, to look deeper, to listen and observe from an open heart and mind, and to trust that we will be guided. Not blind or naïve trust that “it’s all going to be ok” and we can just go merrily on our way. No, trust that if we do pay attention, if we listen for guidance and direction, it will show up in one way or another. And we will find our way. And we will be ok. Perhaps with the caveat that we might have to expand our definition of “ok”—in the end, it might look very different than we had imagined. Yet, somehow, we are taken care of.
Early in their onstage conversation, Kwame Alexander shared a quote that Ada Calhoun had used in a 2022 New York Times Magazine article about the 20th-century American poet Frank O’Hara. In that article, she described O’Hara’s true legacy as “secular religiosity.” She wrote, “He had tremendous belief in the value of one person honestly encountering another and faith in the world to provide for us.” The quote she shared came from the last line of Frank O’Hara’s short prose “Olive Garden.”
I am out on a limb, and it is the arm of God.
—Frank O’Hara, from “Olive Garden” (The Collected Poems of Frank O’Hara)
Those words took my breath away. Because they describe how I look back at so many moments in my life when I was out on a limb and yet, somehow, I was held, protected, taken care of. And I somehow found the strength to stay—to not leave—even when I was really scared. Could it have been that my strength came from being on the arm of God?
In another poem, “To the Harbormaster,” Frank O’Hara wrote:
I trust the sanity of my vessel; and
if it sinks, it may well be in answer
to the reasoning of the eternal voices,
the waves which have kept me from reaching you.—Frank O’Hara, from his poem “To the Harbormaster” (Meditations in an Emergency)
Having trust in a greater Intelligence. Having the trust to stay, even when it would be easier to leave. It’s a practice, and sometimes it’s really hard. Yet through a lifetime of practicing, I keep learning to discern more and more clearly when I can trust and when it is not safe. And when I realize it is not safe, if I pay attention, I have always found a passageway to safety. I’m getting better at knowing when and what to trust and sensing when something or someone is not trustworthy—better at knowing what is worth standing up for, and what, much as I might care, it’s time to let go of.
Kwame Alexander curated last week’s Chautauqua lectures around the theme, “The Power of One.” While he fully grasps the power of “we” and “us,” his intention was to invite to the Chautauqua stage creatives who had stepped forward to make the world a better place through their own creative choices and endeavors. In an interview in The Chautauqua Daily kicking off the week, he said:
I think we all have to have something to offer to this world to help make this world better… So, you've got to be great. You've got to be great at who you are and who you are becoming so that you can then use that greatness in whatever it is you do and then offer it to us to help us be great.
—Kwame Alexander, as quoted in The Chautauqua Daily, August 4, 2025
Notice he didn’t say you’ve got to be great, great, great in a larger-than-life kind of way. No, he said you’ve got to be great at who you are and who you are becoming. An important distinction. In listening to each of his guest’s stories, it seemed to me that all of them, at one time or another in various circumstances in their lives, had chosen to stay. They had said Yes to a calling within—a calling that would not take “no” for an answer. They had, in their own ways, practiced living into their greatness of being.
And then came Amna Nawaz, co-anchor of the PBS Newshour. She joined Kwame on the stage a couple of days later, and she started by sharing a moment from the last time she interviewed him on the Newshour. She asked him why he had put his poetry anthology This is the Honey out into the world.
He responded, “We deal with trauma, we deal with drama, but there is always triumph. We deal with woe, but there is always wonder.” She described his belief that “even in the darkest of places, there is always some kind of light; that what this world needs more of is not naysayers and cynics—people telling you how dark it is—it needs people who show up and light a torch and help to lead the way out. It needs people who care.” She went on to talk about people and stories she has covered over the years as a journalist—ordinary people who have shown up in extraordinary ways, lighting and carrying a torch in service of something bigger than themselves. It was one of the most powerful, moving, and inspiring talks I’ve ever heard.
On the morning of her talk, Amna Nawaz was quoted in The Chautauqua Daily:
A lot of people think things are beyond their control or things are happening to them, and this is one of those moments in history where people acting in the smallest of ways in their own communities—to show up and make sure their voice is heard—all of that matters and all of it makes a difference.
—Amna Nawaz, as quoted in The Chautauqua Daily, August 7, 2025
Since sharing The Deep Simple exercise here on Substack last week, I’ve been asking every morning what three things I know as I begin my day. A few days ago, one of the three things was “I’m here on this planet for as long as I’m here.” The great liberation in that moment was that I could let go of thinking about how long something would take or whether I would see results or outcomes in my lifetime. I’m here for as long as I’m here, and I don’t know how long or short a time that will be. So, I can’t worry about whether I’ll be able to see it through. I need to just go for it—to stay with what calls out to me—to not hesitate to go for anything that feels like it is mine to do.
And so, I’m staying. I’ll continue to stand tall, be love, and shine my light from where I am. I’ll stay present with whatever continues to unfold and I’ll do what is mine to do. Every day, I can make a difference, even if only for one person. My whole life has brought me to this moment. I’ve travelled the world and worked in many countries and cultures. I’ve met incredible people and experienced extraordinary moments. Yet I’ve always been happy to come back home to my own country. So, I’ll stay and keep doing my part to nurture hope for a world that works for all.
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There's so much nourishment in your essay, Alan. Yesterday, a heard a historian say "when we get to the other side of this," and that gave me hope. But being here now, shining our torches for others and for ourselves – in other words, finding our way through whatever it is we're going through – is, in a way, such an opportunity. A call to be great at who we are and who we are becoming.
Thank you for your profound sharing, Alan, gives me loads of energy. And your quotes and reflections make me think of this story: "One night I dreamed I was walking along the beach with the Lord. Many scenes from my life flashed across the sky. In each scene, I noticed footprints in the sand. Sometimes there were two sets of footprints, other times there were one set of footprints.
This bothered me because I noticed that during the low periods of my life, when I was suffering from anguish, sorrow or defeat, I could see only one set of footprints.
So I said to the Lord, “You promised me, Lord, that if I followed you, you would walk with me always. But I have noticed that during the most trying periods of my life there have only been one set of footprints in the sand. Why, when I needed you most, you have not been there for me?”
The Lord replied, “The times when you have seen only one set of footprints in the sand, is when I carried you”
(c) Mary Stevensonhttps://the-quietplacewithgod.com/inspiration/footsteps-in-the-sand/