I just got back from spending two weeks in Oceanside with my twelve-year-old granddaughter while her parents (my daughter and son-in-law) celebrated their anniversary in Costa Rica. It was such a joy thinking of them there, surfing and strolling along the beaches, exploring the rainforests that I visited the previous year.

It was such a joy spending time with my granddaughter too. She lived with me for many years before my guardianship was transferred to her aunt and uncle, who she calls her parents now. Many of you here know about this, which I wrote about over the years. You may be happy to hear she’s thriving in her new home, getting straight A’s and starring roles in school performances (she will be Glinda the Good Witch in the Wizard of Oz this spring.) She still stays in touch with her mom and dad (my son) too, who both, eventually, consented to the guardianship, knowing it was in their daughter’s best interest.

While in Oceanside, I watched no news, and that was a joy too. For two weeks my head was clear of all the political turmoil going on in the United States. Instead I worked on creating a book cover for my novel, which I wrote about recently.

But coming home I turned on the news again and was shocked and dismayed by how quickly our democracy is being dismantled. I’ve always been socially and politically engaged in current events, and the need for this seems more urgent now than ever before. And yet here I was, joyfully engaged in a personal effort of writing and publishing novels rather than fighting the good fight on the political front.

Most of my adult life has been spent trying to make the world a better place. When I was teaching college, I helped found a state-wide organization to advocate on the rights and protections for adjuncts (professors teaching part-time at colleges and universities) who were being underpaid and exploited. I organized a union at one college and as president helped to negotiate our first contract for better wages and healthcare.

Later I started a service-learning program at the college, where teachers could place students in the community to gain real-time experience in professions and organizations they were interested in as part of their course work.

Eventually I became the board president of a nonprofit advocating for social and environmental justice, including more funding for affordable housing and public transportation. I went on to become the executive director, speaking at city halls and supervisor meetings, and writing columns in the local papers about the importance of our work.

But when I retired, I wanted to devote the rest of my life to writing, which I felt was my real calling, the thing I love the most, that makes me, me. The thing I’ve been putting on hold for so long.

Do I put it on hold one more time to address this existential threat to our nation, to engage in the kind of activism that could make a difference, but is so often so exhausting and disheartening?

Should I put my joy aside?

I think not.

I came across this quote by the great dancer and choreographer Martha Graham on the importance of being faithful to one’s own inspiration and creative endeavors:

“There is a vitality, a life force, an energy, a quickening that is translated through you into action, and because there is only one of you in all of time, this expression is unique. And if you block it, it will never exist through any other medium and it will be lost. The world will not have it. It is not your business to determine how good it is nor how valuable nor how it compares with other expressions. It is your business to keep it yours clearly and directly, to keep the channel open.”

There was a quickening in me as a young adult to take my family and sail around the world, to live that adventure on the high seas.

In my middle years, there was a quickening in me to try to make the world a better place through my political activism and advocacy.

And as a grandmother, there was that quickening to create a safe haven for my granddaughter in my home.

All the while there was another quickening–to write, to publish–that I put on hold all these years.

There’s a time and season for everything, they say.

I think I need to trust this quickening spirit within to continue the work of writing and publishing and not worry so much about what’s going on in the world, where my influence to change things has waned. Not to worry doesn’t mean not to care, or not to do what is within my capacity to do to make a difference. But it does mean that I prioritize the writing. And the joy.

Perhaps choosing joy, living a life we love, if we are able, is the best each of us has to offer the world, no matter what the circumstances.

I know that all I’ve written here is a kind of self-justification for continuing the work I want to do. But it reflects, I believe, an inner struggle that many of us are having.

How much do we give ourselves over to justified grief and worry about what is going on the in world, and how much do we allow ourselves to experience joy and live a life we find fulfilling despite that?

This is my answer. What is yours?