Last week, I had the privilege of reading from my novel, Hold Love Strong, at Pete’s Candystore, a great venue in Brooklyn, a few blocks from 334 Manhattan Avenue, where once I lived in the middle of a friend’s apartment and often climbed the fire escape to the roof where I began to piece my life back together; or rather, began the process of reflection and self-possession necessary for living a full and meaningful life. After I read, Nadia and I had the chance to speak with Mira Jacobs, one of the curators of the event and a mother to a one-and-a-half-year-old son, Zakir, a name that means remembering and/or grateful. Talking about new motherhood, pregnancy, and childbirth, Nadia repeated a phrase a friend had recently said to her, and although she meant it in reference to having a baby, it is, I think, at the very core to the solutions of our present social and political problems, and thus what we — those of us who wish for a peaceful, humane world if not for ourselves then for our children — must do and anchor ourselves to in order for there to be the chance for the world we can imagine, the world we deserve.

“Be ready,” she said, “for overwhelming joy.”

Mira agreed with Nadia, and she expanded on the statement, speaking about her son and motherhood with exuberant reverence. I sat quietly and listened as the two young women, one with a toddler and the other with her belly eight months holy and swollen, conversed about the new world related to becoming a parent. But was that all they were speaking of? I don’t believe so. Nadia’s bold statement, such a glorious, insightful warning, is certainly applicable to us, all of humanity — from the angriest Jews in Israel and Arabs of Palestine to those on the far right and far left in the United States — for each of our days, every dawn and evening. Imagine what we might become as individuals, as religious and ethnic groups, and as a larger, global community if such a simple instruction was the mantra that crossed our minds when we opened our eyes in the morning and closed them at night.

“Be ready,” she said, “for overwhelming joy.”

Remnick and Coates converse at the NY Public Libarary. Image courtesy of Peter Foley.

But I digress. So let me stop and say that for two weeks, I have tried to write about an event I attended at the New York Public Library, a discussion between David Remnick, the editor of the New Yorker and the author of the recently released book about President Obama, The Bridge, and Ta-Nehisi Coates, a senior editor at The Atlantic and the author of the memoir, The Beautiful Struggle: A Father, Two Sons and an Unlikely Road to Manhood. The title of Coates’ book — which on the Tavis Smiley Show Coates credited to Chris Jackson, an editor who, in addition to working with Coates, has worked with highly acclaimed authors such as Edwidge Danticat and Victor Lavalle — hearkens Martin Luther King’s speech Beyond Vietnam in which he states:

“Now let us begin. Now let us rededicate ourselves to the long and bitter, but beautiful, struggle for a new world. This is the calling of the sons of God, and our brothers wait eagerly for our response. Shall we say the odds are too great? Shall we tell them the struggle is too hard?”

The title also connects to an album of the same name by Talib Kweli, a quote from the rapper Mos Def, and the Pacifica Radio program (also called Beautiful Struggle) which wrestles with political and social issues, and the struggles for equality and justice affecting the African American community. And the title of Coates’ affecting memoir brings to mind the poet Nazim Hikmet, who in his poem On Living wrote:

“Living is no laughing matter:/you must take it seriously,/ so much so and to such a degree/ that, for example, your hands tied behind your back,/ your back to the wall,/ or else in a laboratory/ in your white coat and safety glass,/ you can die for people – /even for people whose faces you’ve never seen,/ even though you know living/ is the most real, the most beautiful thing.”

The title of Remnick’s book (The Bridge) is a reference to President Obama’s life, the rite of passage he took to ascend to president. It also refers to what many of us hoped and still hope he represents, that connection between the world we live in and the world we dream of, that promised land which, fueled by irrepressible hope, men have wandered in deserts and discouragement in search of since the dawn of modern history.

“Be ready,” she said, “for overwhelming joy.”

I had hoped that I might find something in Remnick and Coates’ discussion to reflect on, some political or social commentary that I could consider in a deep and thoughtful manner. But I have not been able to. Looking over my notes, Coates and Remnick, both brilliant, well spoken men, raised many intelligent and insightful points. They highlighted President Obama’s journey of selfhood, how it was not easy for him to come to terms with his identity, and what it means in relationship to who he is today. They spoke about how President Obama has, at times, been a stranger in a strange land, and how he has found both a literal and a figurative home in such places. President Obama has been lost; and he has been found; and they have been both curses and gifts in his life.

I don’t believe I can compare my life to President Obama’s, and, as a sort of guiding rule, I don’t think anyone should ever should compare their life with another’s; but I will say that my life has also been a seeking of selfhood, and the search has caused me to become the man I am today. Am I saying that this make me like Obama? No; and yes; but no more or less than any of us. But is this all that I have taken away from Remnick and Coates’s discussion about President Obama? Was there no larger social or political message I understood?

It seems that way. In fact, it seems that right now all I can think about are the recent events of my life, how a gunman stood on a roof of a building a few blocks from where I live and shot four young men on the street below; and how Nadia’s mother hosted a baby shower for Nadia; and how last week I was fired from my new job for a mistake my boss made which, when firing me, he described as, “it’s either you getting fired or me.” And so I worry: what will I do for work; will we have money for rent? Am I ready to be a father?

“Be ready,” she said, “for overwhelming joy.”

What would happen if there was no war? What would happen if Israel and Palestine established peace? And what would happen if the far right took a step towards the center and the far left took a step to the center as well? What would happen if those of us with power, and those of us without it, and those of us who presume we are powerful, and those of us who perceive ourselves to be powerless took responsibility for our actions, held ourselves accountable, and granted ourselves and each other forgiveness for the mistakes and blatant wrongs of yesterday? And if such things are possible, how do we bring them about? What are our responsibilities? What can we contribute?

Remnick’s book is an expansion on “The Joshua Generation,” a piece he wrote in the November 18, 2008 New Yorker after Barack Obama was elected president. The term, as many of us know by now, is a biblical reference, a phrase conjured by President Obama when he spoke during a speech commemorating the voting rights march at the Brown Chapel A.M.E. Church in Selma, Alabama, during which he said:

“There are still battles that need to be fought; some rivers that need to be crossed. So the question, I guess, that I have today is what’s called of us in this Joshua generation? What do we do in order to fulfill that legacy; to fulfill the obligations and the debt that we owe to those who allowed us to be here today?”

Let us not forget that Joshua led the Hebrews but he walked with them as well. Certainly, he must have wearied; and certainly when his feet grew tired and his faith wobbled, he must have been cheered on, propped up, and maybe even carried for a brief spell by someone walking near. But at night, when Joshua lay in camp and reflected on his exhaustion, and he worried — because certainly he worried, because no matter how great one’s faith is, worry is an intrinsic element of the human condition and journey — what came to him, what words did he fall asleep holding fast to?

“Be ready,” she said, “for overwhelming joy.”

The Promised Land is not a concrete physical location. It is an intimate place we come to, one we must expect, one we must forever strive towards.

What is overwhelming joy? Certainly, it must be a beautiful struggle. ­­­