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I’ve lost my voice the last few weeks. Not literally. I wish it were literal – it feels like that would be less painful.

No, it’s nothing physical. It’s not that kind of laryngitis. Political, personal and professional happenings of late have landed a sucker punch that’s left me breathless, angry, and frankly, beside myself. I don’t even know what to say, where to say it, or how to speak.*

So I do what many of us do, in times when we need deep counsel and something meaningful but would rather hide behind bright pictures and quick distraction: I surfed social media. This time, Pinterest delivered an important reminder, by way of the brilliant Shel Silverstein.

I felt my voice start to recover as I read this. So I read it a few more times, gained a little more strength, and remembered that laryngitis is temporary, no matter how bad it feels at any given time.

So here’s baby step, a first attempt, at the many things I’d like to say right now:

• I’m angry as hell at our legislators and leadership that continue to disregard the needs and reality of our people. I cannot fathom how threatened women make some people feel, that those people continue to try to control and censure us. (Don’t even get me started about treatment of People of Color and marginalized communities; I know I’m late to the “woke” club, and have so much more to learn before I speak, but the egregious horrors of hate crimes and police violence we see on a day-to-day basis right now feels like an assault on all that we hold dear).
• I am also reminded that, on a personal level, my instincts are generally good, and when I ignore them, that’s almost always when depression comes to roost.

I’ve got a bit of emotional laryngitis right now, but I know that I will get my voice back soon. And in the meantime, I am so grateful for the many people — legislators, activists, community leaders, colleagues, and friends — who are shouting from the rooftops for what is right. I will be back in the mix soon enough, and if they need a break, I hope I will be able to shout just as loudly and effectively when that time comes.

Thanks, Shel Silverstein, for delivering just the message I needed at just the right time, today and since I was a kid.

And thank G-d for the artists. What would we do without them?

*Sidenote: I like to think that others wouldn’t be able to tell how hard I’m struggling if I didn’t write this here. But now the cat’s out of the bag. We should all come clean about our struggles more often, in my opinion.

New Englanders survive the winter for a week like this. The first really warm, sunny week that screams spring (or in this case, with highs near 80, early summer). We race for our shorts and sundresses, ignoring the goosebumps that arise with every breeze. We rush to grill something, anything, to spend just a few more minutes outside. We raise our heads to the sun and bask in the warmth.

For many of us, this winter has been especially long and dark. We’ve wondered where we are headed as a society. We’ve read the headlines and wondered what the hell is wrong with us as a people. We’ve fought the urge to give in to powerlessness, and we’ve struggled to keep reading, even as the stories get more and more distressing.

The circumstances of our world haven’t lifted — the headlines this morning have me even more stunned than ever, with national airlines dragging paying customers off of planes and college students hazing classmates by using their allergies as a weapon.

But for just an instant, when we walk outside and see fresh green grass, we feel that eternal sense of hope that comes with spring.

It’s one of those feelings that you can’t explain to a person – they have to experience it.

Recently, I saw a local art show that captured the feeling on canvas. Carrie Simon captured the joy of springtime, that moment of hope, in an art gallery. Even before this week had arrived, I remembered this feeling by looking at her images. Rich, lush flowers that flowed endlessly on every inch of her canvas. Pinks and blues and purples and yellows. Just rich, lush and full of joy.

On a rare occasion, art can capture a moment that’s otherwise ephemeral. This is the art we hold on to. Whether a poem (Wordsworth’s The Daffodils) or a painting, these are the emotions we seek to capture. And when it works, boy is it beautiful.

So to my fellow New Englanders, enjoy this week. Bask in the sun. And if you can, see if there’s a piece of art that reminds you of this moment – the inspiration, the joy, the hope. Make note and hold onto that. We will need it. Because as the weather improves, we will begin to take it for granted. It will get hot and muggy, and our enthusiasm will wane.

We will need the hope and unbridled joy of this week. And the only way to capture it for a rainy day is through art. So thanks, Carrie. I’ll be revisiting your paintings again soon.

Because isn’t that what we want from art, to capture a moment and bottle it for us, ready to share at any time?

Color is my go-to mood booster, especially this time of year. I’ve been known to search Pinterest by color (put “Magenta” in the search engine and see what happens to your psyche when you are greeted with a wave of hot pink dresses, rooms, paintings, and more). Immediate rush of energy.

I did it this weekend by buying all yellow flowers. It’s like sunshine just took over my kitchen, and it makes me smile every time I sneak a peek.

It’s amazing how many artists across geography and time have played with color to amazing effect. Some of my recent favorites include: Mark Rothko, whose interplays of colored squares make me want to stare and stare; Gustav Klimt, whose use of gold and geometry are immediately recognizable; Vanessa German, whose contemporary sculptures and use of color speak their own language; Kofi Agorsor, who brings the colors of Ghanaian art into the contemporary art world.

I can’t possibly name the many artists who inspire me with their remarkable color work. Nothing is better than a new color combo that surprises, an emotion expressed perfectly in a particular shade, or a nuance in shading that introduces a whole new way of looking at something.

Color speaks to me in a way that words can’t.  As we dig deep to keep fighting for what we believe is right, as we seek to ensure civil rights for all, as we try to connect with one another in new and different ways, a colorful palette is powerful. Colors themselves can make a statement when we don’t have the words to articulate the thought.

Do you love a particular artist’s palette? What color speaks to you? Can color motivate you when times are tough, energy is hard to come by, or calm is light years away?

Since the election, I started taking voice lessons. The symbolism isn’t complex: when the world looked bleak, I had an undeniable urge to conquer my fears and make my voice heard. Years ago, my fears manifested in nerves whenever I spoke publicly. After five years of Toastmasters and a ton of practice, I can speak. Now it’s time to take my turn and sing in public. (Shhh, please don’t mention this to anyone. I am so. not. ready.)

We do a vocal exercise called “The Reeds.” You imagine a space in front of your eyebrows, relax, and let the sound come. It’s as if the sound comes through a thread from your sternum to your forehead, bypassing your throat completely.

The Reeds are my own personal form of magic.

I have been told often in my life that effort isn’t the only thing. I have been told often that, if you just let go and open yourself up, good things will flow in. I haven’t easily found proof of that.

But the Reeds are my version. The sound is not beautiful until I let go. I don’t need to force it. Doesn’t mean I don’t have to work hard – even in the Reeds, my diaphragm is working hard to power me up. Forcing things, however, doesn’t work in this case.

I find this exercise comforting during challenging global times. We can’t let up, can’t stop being who we want to be, can’t collapse under the weight of things. We can, however, delight in wonder and awe, celebrate those we love, and envision – always – the world we want to see.

Let’s place our sights in a good spot, envision what we want to see, and let the music flow through us. Find our own Reeds and make our own magic.

When I see others this morning, they will ask me, How was your weekend?

To which I will have no good answer.

Because my weekend wasn’t relevant. This weekend was our weekend. It was a global weekend, where the specifics of what I did or didn’t do are beside the point.

This weekend, people around the world celebrated the Spring Festival, also called Lunar New Year, especially across East Asia including places like China, Japan, Korea, Mongolia, and Vietnam.

This weekend, communities around the world joined together for International Holocaust Remembrance Day with tributes and events, including a beautiful one in West Hartford.

This weekend, the United States turned away people traveling from specific countries, with valid visas, detaining them for days, because of a presidential executive order.

This weekend, the White House issued a statement about the Holocaust that didn’t mention Jews or anti-semitism at all, instead remembering only “innocent people” who died.

This weekend, people marched. People spoke up. People connected. People said, we are a country of immigrants. We are a country of diversity. We believe in every person’s civil rights.

It wasn’t my weekend. It was ours. And it was quite a weekend.

I don’t know about all of you, but I have been overwhelmed lately, riding a rollercoaster cresting at the demonstration of our collective power and crashing on the awareness of the damage being done with each stroke of a president’s pen.

I have fallen short of words, again and again. I have fallen short of art to write about, not because there hasn’t been gorgeous, meaningful art being made, but because I didn’t know what to say that wouldn’t sound trite or hollow. I have tried to assuage my anxiety, disappointment, rage, and exhaustion with comedy, literature, music of every type. Sometimes, it helps me to forget for an instant. Often, it has felt like nails on a chalkboard, inadequate for my headspace.

So imagine my surprise when, amidst all of this, two movie scenes keep popping up, actually, succeeding in calming and comforting where others failed. They are not ones I would have guessed:

The scene at the end of Steel Magnolias, when Shelby (Julia Roberts) has died, and the ladies have a knock down dragout screaming match. Sally Fields, playing the grieving mother, pops veins in her face and neck where I never knew we had them. Then smart-ass Ouiser (Shirley Maclaine) makes a crass comment and they laugh through their tears.

Forgive me, I might have the sequence slightly off (it’s been at least 20 years since I’ve seen it, after all). That scene, old as it is, still resonates as a perfect example of the rush of emotions that comes with grief and the comfort that comes with true friends.

The other scene comes from Moonlight, when Chiron is taught how to swim by his mentor, Juan. As a reluctant swimmer myself, the intimacy of that scene and the patience that Juan displays provide a deep sense of comfort. The fact that swimming becomes a lifeline for Chiron shows this moment as a true gift. Somehow, thinking back to that scene helps me connect to giving, kindness and comfort.

They don’t fix today’s issues, and we have so much work to do. But they do provide some relief.

What are your guideposts right now? Your go-to art, entertainment or otherwise to help keep you in the game and on your toes? I can’t wait to hear.