Trebbe Johnson is the author of Fierce Consciousness: Surviving the Sorrows of Earth and Self, Radical Joy for Hard Times: Finding Meaning and Making Beauty in Earth’s Broken Places, and other works. She is the founder and director of Radical Joy for Hard Times, an organization devoted to making beauty in wounded places. An award-winning multimedia producer, she is fluent in four languages; has camped alone in the Arctic wilderness; studied classical Indian dance; and led contemplative journeys for healing. She lives in Ithaca, New York.
What past event do you often reflect upon, and how that event change you?
When I was 25 years old, I moved to the Berkshire Downs in England. I planned to devote my time to my writing. As that first June evening was gradually turning to night, I glanced out the window to see something glowing. A patch of lilies that had been white as starlight in the day flared silver in the bluing twilight. They looked as if they were radiating back into the air the sun they had absorbed by day. Then, even as I gazed, the lilies were extinguished. I was stunned to have witnessed such an extraordinary thing. I felt I had peered into some mysterious cosmic process that humans were not usually given to see. If I had looked up just seconds earlier or seconds later, I would not have been privy to the sight of lilies holding the last light of day — and would not have seen that light drain out of them. In that instant I understood that if I were to pay attention to the spaces between and what was just behind before me, there was no limit to what I might witness.
This experience changed forever my relationship with the natural world. I began to expect wonders. Even now, 50 years later, I still go into nature with the expectation that I will experience something extraordinary. And, always, I do.
How does your work add to the quality of your life?
When I was in college, I earned money by doing temporary secretarial work. I absolutely hated working for men who treated me as if I had inferior intelligence. I vowed that I would never again do a job I hated, and I have managed to be self-employed for more than 50 years. I have been perseverant and lucky in this respect. Although I have never been able to live off my writing, I have been able to do freelance work in very interesting ways, from writing and producing multimedia shows to abridging books for the audiobook industry, to founding and leading my nonprofit organization, Radical Joy for Hard Times. I am also lucky that I have known since I was in college that my primary work is my writing. For decades the thing I do first thing in the morning is work on my writing. Everything else follows.
Tell us a story you would like to share with the world.
Editor’s note: The following text from the introduction of Trebbe Johnson’s Fierce Consciousness: Surviving the Sorrows of Earth and Self.(Ithaca, NY: Calliope Books, 2023) has been abridged.
The United States was in the sixth month of the coronavirus pandemic when my husband died. Andy had had bladder cancer for about six years, but his doctor assured us just three months before, it was manageable, non-invasive, and non-aggressive. Then in July his health started to decline. On August 4, I took him to the hospital. Andy died in a hospice facility five days later.
So. The worst thing in my life had happened, the thing I had been dreading. The thing I had tried to prepare myself for before ever since I fell in love with that creative, sexy, sweet and brilliant man. I was alone. An hour after he died, I walked out of the hospice building on a hot summer’s midnight to be greeted by katydids singing in the trees all around me. The beauty of their voices shot right into me. I put down my bags and listened in amazement. That song plucked me up for one full moment and then dropped me hard back down on the pavement, bruised with gratitude.
Beauty and sorrow, joy and ugliness co-exist. Many people assume that sorrow and beauty are enemies, but they aren’t. You could say they’re lovers. They exhibit their own radiance most fully when their partner is on stage. When you make friends with one, you get its wild soulmate as well.
Author photo: Courtesy of author.
Side bar image: Pixabay/Edar.
