Howl & Challah

I’ve been unearthing old journals, and pulled out this beauty last night — etched with lines from Allen Ginsberg’s epic poem Howl: I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving, hysterical, naked.

I have three of this journal.

I purchased each one on separate trips to City Light’s Bookstore in San Francisco between the late 90s and early 00s.

The one pictured here is the third — Starving Hysterical Naked III !

It chronicles life in New York City from December 2002 — July 2003.

Keeping a journal for most of my life has been the gift that keeps on giving.

For one, the subconscious / artistic mind knows things before the day-to-day conscious mind; I knew so much in my early twenties (The catch — I didn’t know I knew it)

Also, it reminds me that life stages which feel infinite at the time: Soul crushing office job / dramatic roommate configuration / haphazard romantic prospects, actually pass.

This too. This pandemic.

But it’s easy to get stuck.

This past Friday afternoon, before Shabbat, I went to pull a challah out of the freezer. But there was no challah in the freezer.

It was past 3pm and all of the bakeries were closed.

I had no challah. But it spiraled fast into something else: I have no challah! I have no career! I have not published a book! I have no school for my children!

See how quickly that happens?

And a moment later, I saw a Facebook post pop up on my phone: A friend had baked two challahs, and asked if anyone needed one.

Within an hour I had a challah.

My kids have a school.

I may never have a traditional career, but I am working on my book. I have many pages written.

I have the consolation of, not one, but a trilogy of Howl journals. They remind me of what’s true, what I’ve known is true all along.

Prayer + Action: Let’s Talk: A Virtual Conversation about Race, Love & Truth