Vol 2.14 Aware of being unaware.

Learning to listen.

The Sober Glow Studio is a weekly newsletter providing stories, recommendations, and resources on the art of living an alcohol-free lifestyle, navigating midlife, and anything that simply feels good.

However, todays newsletter is a bit different. I also recorded this for verbal tone - because it matters.

I want to start by acknowledging my lack of knowledge. There is so much I don't know. It is Tuesday, Oct 10th, and across the world, innocent people are being killed. Innocent Palestinians. Innocent Israelis. Women, children, grandparents. Kidnapped, raped, tortured, bombed, killed.

I mentioned in my last newsletter that I was traveling to Morocco for a writing retreat. Thank you for being so generous with your grace as I took time away from here. I am home now, and I have many stories of beautiful moments and (life) lessons learned over the past three weeks, and I want to share them all with you. However, today is not the day for giving you the prettiness of travel. Today, I feel it necessary to write about my own ignorance and how acutely aware I am of how unaware I am. Those of us who are lucky enough to travel to other countries will hopefully take the time to learn about different cultures, religions, history, and the multitude of stories. However, it doesn't always happen that way. For some of us, it takes war, genocide, televised tortures, and killings. And even then, some of us still look away.

My retreat was held in a Muslim country, a beautiful, kind, peaceful Muslim country. It was my first time in Morocco, and hopefully not my last. This country recently suffered a great tragedy in the form of an earthquake. Mother Nature once again showing us all who truly writes the story. If I hadn't known about the earthquake before arriving in Morocco, I would not have known anything had happened. The few crumbling parts of rubble I saw could have been from anything. So many people in the medina, busy working, smiling ear to ear. From what I could tell, everyday conversations and banter went back and forth between the locals. All were seemingly getting on with life. When I was able to ask the individuals that I came into contact with - the guides, drivers, riad caretakers, the beautiful people who cooked food for me; if they were okay, whether their families were okay, what did they experience, all of them gave me some version of – we are fine, the news is making it very bad for us, the people in the mountains are suffering, we are thrilled you are here, please tell your friends, can we please change the topic and move on. In each conversation I had with someone, I felt they did not want to talk about it. Big smiles, quick conversation changes. I sensed the need that they would rather speak to me about all the beautiful things in the country rather than their tragedy. They did not want this to be their story. I can understand.

Beauty over tragedy is often chosen.

The retreat was held outside of Marrakech in the Ourika Valley. The majestic Atlas mountains surrounded us and created a container that felt equally welcoming and intimidating to me. The first morning I woke to the sight of these mountains, I cried. No mountain range has ever made me cry just from their mere presence.

Along with the Atlas, I was surrounded by women who felt equally welcoming and intimidating. Women I have never met. Women from all walks of life. From every corner of the world. Beautiful, intelligent, worldly women I had the honor of getting to know over a week. This retreat welcomed walls to come down, vulnerability to be at the forefront, and truth to be both written and spoken. There were so many moments in which I was moved by these fierce and brave women—and unexpectedly, moments of me sitting in my own discomfort. But I stayed. I stayed in awe of them. I stayed to learn more. I sat on my hands and listened to words and worlds I don't get the honor of visiting every day.

I was invited to share in ways I have never shared before. I read my words aloud in front of strangers. Strangers who write for a living, for goodness sake! So many moments I didn't shy away from. Even with my sweaty palms, a pounding heart, and a shaky voice, I shared my writing and pieces of myself. This experience and these women shifted me and the perspectives I carry. I learned so much more than they will ever know and more than I ever expected to learn on a writing retreat.

So, upon returning home and hearing of the Hamas attack on Israel, I was already in a headspace of listening and learning. I have friends who are Muslim. I have friends who are Jewish. I am scared for them equally. My heart is breaking for them equally. I don't know what to say or do. But I do know I want to learn as much as possible. Not so I can personally lay claim to knowing what's right, but because everyone deserves to have their story told and heard. What is happening is as extreme and as violent as it gets. And I absolutely stand against terrorism and innocent lives being taken.

And I also want to know why.

Why is this happening?

How do I not know all of this?

Why haven't I listened to these stories?

What are the stories of the people of Palestine?

What are the stories of the people of Israel?

I found myself googling the most basic of basic questions today. Questions I am embarrassed I had to ask. But I am not ashamed to admit it. These are questions that my privilege allowed me to be ignorant of for far too long.

If you are wondering what is happening and why, start asking questions.

Start reading people's stories.

Ask your Muslim friends.

Ask your Jewish friends.

Sit on your hands and listen.

Learn and listen.

May we all become better listeners,

M