What happens when you lose the thread?
What’s kept me from curling up into a fetal position under the bed when I see the news is finding and expressing what’s meaningful. In my world, that’s been the act of “making”; reweaving the thread of what’s important back into the fabric that’s become frayed.
Recently I was reminded, thankfully, that our nervous systems were never designed to carry the emotional weight of every troubling event happening everywhere, every day.
And that there’s a difference between being compassionate and carrying the entire world's suffering in your own body.
There are, and are going to be, outcomes we cannot control, and what I’m continuing to learn is how to stay rooted in a larger reality rather than that of fear.
This doesn't mean pretending nothing is wrong. It means refusing to let fear become the atmosphere in which I live.
Your deepest contribution to the world—and to yourself— has never been to carry (or run away from) the life. It’s been from helping yourself and others remember a wider perspective.
Beauty, love, and goodness are always present. Our spirits need to draw from this, especially when conditions are difficult.
Isn’t this the truth that people have drawn strength from throughout our darkest moments? This reminder of a larger reality. Parents know it when they hold a newborn. People in grief sometimes glimpse it. This recognition doesn't erase the effect of our circumstances, but it does change our relationship to them.
History remembers not just those who resisted through politics or protest. It also remembers the composers, the painters, the poets, the storytellers, and the ordinary people who have kept alive our capacities for wonder, tenderness, and imagination. They were never a distraction. They were part of what was worth protecting, the part of reality that fear cannot create and cannot destroy.
It’s important to honor both those who work directly against injustice and loss and those who keep alive the human capacities that make justice worth pursuing.
I think one of our greatest acts is to protect those capacities. They aren't luxuries reserved for easy, peaceful times. They're essential for remaining fully human.
You can’t manufacture courage or serenity. Nor do you need to convince yourself that everything’s fine.
You only have to remember, again and again, that the wider field you've experienced so often, whether it’s in moments of awe, joy or inspiration, has not disappeared. Fear may obscure them, but it will never destroy them.
Recently I was reminded, thankfully, that our nervous systems were never designed to carry the emotional weight of every troubling event happening everywhere, every day.
And that there’s a difference between being compassionate and carrying the entire world's suffering in your own body.
There are, and are going to be, outcomes we cannot control, and what I’m continuing to learn is how to stay rooted in a larger reality rather than that of fear.
This doesn't mean pretending nothing is wrong. It means refusing to let fear become the atmosphere in which I live.
Your deepest contribution to the world—and to yourself— has never been to carry (or run away from) the life. It’s been from helping yourself and others remember a wider perspective.
Beauty, love, and goodness are always present. Our spirits need to draw from this, especially when conditions are difficult.
Isn’t this the truth that people have drawn strength from throughout our darkest moments? This reminder of a larger reality. Parents know it when they hold a newborn. People in grief sometimes glimpse it. This recognition doesn't erase the effect of our circumstances, but it does change our relationship to them.
History remembers not just those who resisted through politics or protest. It also remembers the composers, the painters, the poets, the storytellers, and the ordinary people who have kept alive our capacities for wonder, tenderness, and imagination. They were never a distraction. They were part of what was worth protecting, the part of reality that fear cannot create and cannot destroy.
It’s important to honor both those who work directly against injustice and loss and those who keep alive the human capacities that make justice worth pursuing.
I think one of our greatest acts is to protect those capacities. They aren't luxuries reserved for easy, peaceful times. They're essential for remaining fully human.
You can’t manufacture courage or serenity. Nor do you need to convince yourself that everything’s fine.
You only have to remember, again and again, that the wider field you've experienced so often, whether it’s in moments of awe, joy or inspiration, has not disappeared. Fear may obscure them, but it will never destroy them.