Letter 168: Learning When to Turn
When we move toward letting go
We have a captivating letter today from a new TLC writer and an important voice, Karla Brundage. A poet, activist and educator, Karla shares a beautiful letter today about struggle and acceptance. Her letter comes alongside exciting news: in June, Karla is leading a writing retreat, Writers Across Oceans, an incredible gathering on the Big Island of Hawaii, nestled in the storied mountains. I urge you to visit the links below to find out more about the event, Karla and her beautiful work. —Molly
“Go to the ocean,” my mother often tells me.
My mom is not a swimmer. Growing up in segregated Alabama, most pools and beaches were off-limits to her. When she and my father moved to Hawaii in the 60s, she did not teach me to swim. Instead, she allowed me to feel brave and strong. Even as a young girl, I observed how the tide would pull in and push back, carrying sand, rocks and sea creatures. I learned how to mimic that movement and learned to trust myself within the ebb and flow.
The ocean was where I found solace, peace, joy, and sometimes answers. Because my mother and I have not always had the smoothest relationship, when she is at a loss for words, she sends me to the ocean.
A few years ago, I took a group of Black American women to Ghana. I did this as the culmination of my writing exchange project with an organization I founded, West Oakland to West Africa. After living in West Africa for three years in my late 40s, I embarked on a project to exchange slam poetry between Americans and Ghanaians in Renshi* format via email. I had hosted several pre-pandemic Skype readings. The two groups had become so connected that we traveled to Ghana to celebrate the book we had published together. That was in 2017. Now, four years later, I was back in Ghana with my second exchange and our second book.
For the trip, my mother joined the group. In our family, my mom is the diva matriarch who holds all the aces. I braced myself for this journey. She would be the star of my project, no matter what—fearing I’d be left in her shadow, the same one I had tried so hard to escape.
By the middle of the trip, it was going well. We were hosted by Ehalakasa, and the reading was held at the Goethe Center in Accra. The day after the reading, we were scheduled to begin the second leg of the trip, a tour hosted by Traveling Black, which would take the group into the interior of Ghana. That night, things took an unexpected turn.
The night before we were to leave for Takoradi, my mom developed a fever. At first, we thought it was a common travel illness, but by the next day, I asked her to take a COVID test. When it was discovered that we both had COVID, I was devastated.
What would I do? I was the organizer and leader. It had been a two-year project to arrive at this point. I turned my anger inward towards my mother. We had been sharing a room, but she had been reckless—abandoning the group to get her hair done and disregarding the time table I had so carefully curated to write poetry under a tree. I spent the first two days of quarantine in the hotel crying.
How could she do this? Who brought COVID?
I was looking for someone to blame. I was also terrified. My mom was nearly eighty, and although traveling together had been difficult, I knew I would never forgive myself if things took a turn for the worse. My thoughts were racing.
My mom, on the other hand, used this time to write, to take long morning walks, to experience Ghana differently. On the third day of our quarantine, and after a sleepless night, my mom said to me, “You have to pull it together.” We were in the hotel room, curtains drawn into false darkness on a sunny day, where I had been obsessively texting the rest of the group who had departed by text.
“I can’t,” I said. “You have COVID. You’re almost 80. I brought you here. What if it gets worse?” I was testing negative by then. Her case had been much worse; in fact, she had been sick the entire trip. I was almost screaming at her.
“Go to the ocean,” she said simply.
There was nothing else for me to do.
I left the room. The air was warm on my face. The sun warmed my skin. I could hear the roar of the Atlantic. Standing by the cliff’s edge, I looked down on the sand.
I screamed, “What? What? Why did you do this?”
Only the thunderous pounding replied. I stood there for some time, and then I heard, “Turn around.”
I did. I turned around.
In the distance was the hostel. Across a vast expanse of green, palm trees, a sparkling aqua pool. I could see my mom on our porch smoking. Yes, smoking with COVID, and my eyes filled with tears.
I have to turn it around.
Here I am in this most beautiful place, with the most difficult, inspiring, complicated woman in my life. Yes, instead of cherishing our very fraught time together, I was wasting it being angry.
I took a deep breath. I let go of my fear. I could feel myself surfacing, breaking through to the light.
I gotta turn this around, I said to myself as I took that first step back toward the room where my mom sat. I waved. She waved back.
Writers Across Oceans Writing Retreat
This theme of going to the ocean has followed me all my life. Last year, before deciding to move back to Hawaii, where I was raised, I found myself once again standing knee-deep in the Pacific. This time at Ka’a’awa Beach Park, across the street from my elementary school. After standing there for what felt like forever, I heard a tiny voice say, “Listen.”
This June, I will be launching the first Writers Across Oceans Writing Retreat: Gathered Voices. The retreat will take place June 9-14, 2026, at Waiaka Lodge in the uplands of the Big Island of Hawaii. Known for its cool air, rainbows and dramatic views of both Mauna Kea and Mauna Loa, this unique mountain location invites reflection.
Here are some highlights:
Your Guides: Work directly with published authors, change makers, and editors: Allison Francis, Audrey Williams, Marcella Bell and publisher Kathryn Takara.
Intimate Circle: We are limiting the event to 18 participants to ensure true one-on-one mentorship.
Mystic Setting: Let the rare beauty of Waimea move and inspire you, as you unlock your creative writing potential alongside a community of kindred creators.
As the director of the Writers Across Oceans Conference, my goal is to offer you a grounding, restorative experience in which nature and creativity intertwine and transform.
You can find more information at Writers Across Oceans.
Karla’s 5 Favorite Things
Listening to the poetry of Kevin Dublin, Tongo Eisen-Martin, Ladan Osman or Patricia Smith. These spoken word artists speak truth to power and bring hope when there seems to be none.
Driving through rainbows: Waimea is the land of Rainbows. At 2500 feet, this is not your typical tropical Hawaiian experience.
Hamakua’s Hidden Treazure Coffee, hot, especially when sipped from a cup from a friend.
Reading a book on the beach. Right now, I am reading When Things Fall Apart: Letters to Activists in Crisis, edited by Kelly Hayes. Sometimes I prefer just lying on the beach with my book on my face, listening to the waves.
Writing Renshi poetry with a friend. Sometimes at a coffee table, sometimes asynchronously online, sometimes via letter.
Renshi is an adaptation of a Japanese form of renga in which the writer uses the last line of their partner’s poem to start their own.
In gratitude,
Karla Brundage
P.S. The Britney Tachie Foundation raises money for menstrual awareness in Ghana. Karla met Britney through her poetry exchange with West Oakland to West Africa. In commemoration of World Menstrual Hygiene Day, they aim to support 500 girls in Ghana by providing menstrual hygiene education, sanitary pads, and self-care kits. You can support and follow the campaign through the GoFundMe page here.
Beautiful!
I LOVED this letter. My mother, born and raised in Hawai’i, also pointed to the ocean - more specifically the salt water - whenever I had something ailing me.