Throughout our lives, we are reminded: there is a time for planting, a time for letting go.  As I menstruate today, I am humbled by the reminder that all that I am will one day return to the earth.  Therefore I focus my presidency on the future generations that will spring up, and not only toward benefit in my lifetime.

Sometimes menstruation means our hopes for new life are dashed.  Sometimes menstruation means unwanted change has been averted.  Always it reminds us that we are never fully in control of our lives, and that we must focus our attention on what we can control – our attitudes, intentions, deliberate actions.  Let us be prepared for both abundance and drought.  I dedicate my presidency to humble readiness, to mighty action.

Menstruation teaches us that the “down cycle” is part of nature’s plan, not an illness; in fact, the only thing in nature that grows without renewal is cancer.  Let us become ready as a nation to face leaner times, and not be economically and psychologically dependent on a constant upswing.

Menstruation makes room for innovation by letting go obsolete plans and dreams.  Thus renewed, we face the future and see, not what hopes were on our foremothers’ and forefathers’ horizon, but what magnificence lies in wait on our own.

Here we go: when I am in the presence of nature, beauty or moments that feel miraculous in some way, I immediately think, how do I keep this going?  As you know, that question is kill-joy.

But I am most wily!  I think, how can I improve myself to stop thinking these kill-joy thoughts?  Should I meditate more, think “good” thoughts, and probably behave in some kindly, saintly way?  If only I could get clear on what that way is and how it makes room for raucous sex and good dark chocolate.

Then I remember:  the manger.  Stay with me.  In the 1^st century,  “god” (whatever that means, to me that word is just a convenient handle for an unnamable experience)  was POWERFUL and SCARY.  You had to do lots of stuff to avoid being smited.  But then came a new story: “god” got born in a stinky manger, the helpless baby of a working class couple.  Revolutionary.

Why do I love this metaphor?  It reminds me: so what if I’m a stinky manger, not as shiny-nice as the fancy rooms at the inn.  “God“ gets born in that manger.  I need not change a thing – attempts at self-improvement actually get in the way.  While I’m sweeping up, I might miss the birth.  

In fact, if I think I can do something to cause a moment of grace, then I’m really screwed.  Only the deepest moving into myself will make me relaxed enough to be there when grace enters.  Raucous sex, dark chocolate and ”not-good” thoughts… welcome!

 When, such as we do in circle, we create space for individual truth to be heard, spoken, valued, we are literally building a better world, and not just through the magic of vibes reaching out across the Universe.

Nafisi “fought” totalitarianism with literature classes.  It may seem insufficient to teach “The Great Gatsby” when daily public executions of innocent people were taking place, but it was the only rock she had to stand on in the flood of deception and inhumanity that was drowning her country.  The executions, and a plethora of brutality, could only occur when people no longer knew how to tell or recognize the truth, after decades of looking the other way.   

Great novels, though make-believe, tell the truth, as Nafisi well knows.  The truth evokes more truth, and in knowing it we become strong, right where we stand, wherever that is.  This is how we become and stay free and powerful – as individuals, as families, as nations.

The truth need not always be spoken.  But we always need access to it; we need to practice hearing the truth from our depths, making space for others to hear theirs, and every so often, speaking, acting, taking that necessary scary step. 

Seriously.  The world is counting on it.

But I knew there had to be a better way to face the daily flood of emails and opportunities for my book; there had to be a different spirit with which to attend to the million and one tasks of taking care of life and a budding new enterprise. When by the end of the day, I compare what I’ve done to all I think needs to be done, I often feel I have failed – no matter how much I’ve accomplished.

But then I remembered another conversation, from years ago. My friend Helene’s sister was very ill, and Helene told me, “No matter what I do for her, it never seems enough.” I had told her then, inspired with sage advice I am better at giving others than myself, “Only divine love is complete and sufficient. As human beings, all we can do is give our all, and live with that feeling of wanting to do more. That is what it is to love.” This touched her, and helped her some, I think.

And now it can help me, and maybe you, too. I love my work. Nothing I do for my book is enough, but now I’ve found the key: it’s not because I am insufficient, but because my love is infinite.

And a day spent in love can be no failure.