Looking for Light with Love to Ukraine

Two journal entries nearly 30 years apart in which I contemplate the future.

Transcript

Hi. This is Ginger Johnson and you’re listening to Past Perfect: A Podcast. 

It snowed yesterday, and thought it’s sunny here now, my heart is not cheered by it. The news from almost every angle is simply dreadful. I am heartsick about what is happening in Ukraine and I am angry that the love of power has warped men into believing that it’s justifiable to simply start bombing their next-door neighbor. 

So I’ve been scouring my journals looking for a happy memory—something to balance the doom-scrolling. Last year gave me a good entry. Due to three canceled flights and some fancy footwork, we ended up spending much of the year in Bermuda while life went remote. I’ll be forever grateful for the safe harbor that Bermuda provided while we waited for the pandemic surge to subside. I can only hope that the thousands of people currently seeking a safe haven can find one as welcoming as Bermuda was to us.

February 25, 2021

Yesterday was such a beautiful day—the kind of day where you have to throw open the windows and the doors and bid the spring air to come in and stay for dinner. The kind of air that makes me feel like a teenager, that reminds me of living in Siena, that convinces me that anything is possible and the future is, without a doubt, going to be brighter than I can imagine. That was a gift I needed after my state of mind yesterday morning. 

After I wrote in here, I did a challenging yoga practice with Adrienne, then showered and got ready to go. We all three walked to the horse barn, found Mike Watson, and he put us on horses. There was an all-black barn cat, blind in one eye, who took a shine to Bill. She leaped up on the freestanding steps and rubbed her face all over Bill, claiming him. 

The mare I was given was named Freckles. She was calm—perhaps even lazy—but I had an easy enough time with her. She was panting and heaving up two of the hills. To be honest, the incline was so steep I was a bit worried. She was unshod and only slipped once slightly down one hill, which made me gasp. She also once gave a great shake because of the flies, and I had to hold on tight or I fear I would have gone the ways of the flies, too. 

Mike took us along the rail trail and the tribe roads past the golf course and over to Long Bay Beach. At the beach, he led the horses down to the water’s edge where the waves splashed us, getting our feet wet. We got some pictures there—it was unbelievably beautiful. The unreal blue of the sky and the water and the perfect, nearly empty beach. It was beyond stunning. But I’ll be honest—I’m sore. The bouncing from when the horses trotted was bruising.


 

Going further back in time, I found this little except from when I was in college at Brigham Young University.

February 28, 1993

I am sitting in my living room at Richmond Court. My roommate is next to me on the couch, out like a light.  It’s a lazy Sunday in the middle of midterms. In fact, I have an exam on early Renaissance literature tomorrow (which I am not prepared for) and a paper due (which is prepared). There are times when I love being an English major (most of the time) and times when I despise it (like grading times—i.e., NOW). 

I am so interested in words and in language and in literature. Sometimes though I suppose I’m not very good at it. It’s another art form to master, though I don’t suppose I’ll ever truly master it. That’s me—the jack-of-all-arts, master of none.  [But l]ife is good as an English major.

I got this book in Siena this past summer while I was travelling with Beth. It’s funny how my thoughts have turned to that experience so often lately. When I went to Siena the first time, I remember writing in my journal on the day we went to San Gimignano about how I should remember that day always for the happiness it brought me—that I would need to look back on it in times of trouble. Well, these aren’t especially times of trouble, but that’s how I’ve felt these past couple of weeks about our Europe trip this summer. Since last year, winter has been very hard for me, so I keep a mental picture of the beach on the Lipari Islands close at hand to recall when I can’t handle the snow-covered mountains anymore. I wish I could let Grammy know how important that trip was for me, or Beth know how I enjoyed it so. I wonder if I’ll ever return to Europe. 

I wonder what the future holds for me.  I’ve engendered an attitude lately of “whatever happens, happens,” like I’m fated to do certain things, but not others. 

In regional conference today, Richard G. Scott spoke and gave me the jumpstart that I need. It brought me to a remembrance of my goals and I realized I’m going to attain my goals, not just wander through life…

Both of these entries remind me that the future is unknown. We don’t know what the future holds, but as I wrote in Bermuda, “anything is possible and the future is, without a doubt, going to be brighter than I can imagine.”  

From my quiet office to your ears, wishing you a future brighter than you can imagine. Until next time, be well and let your light shine.