Start with what you know
a short love note for hard times
Wild Letters is a newsletter about self-exploration and building a right-fit life.
Thank you for being here with me!
My dear reader.
Often, when things feel hard (personally, collectively), my first response is to agonize over not knowing what to do.
That is the story I tell myself: Oh my god, I don’t know what to do! And what I really mean when that story starts playing on a loop in my mind is that I do not have an exact step-by-step plan for how to fix it, whatever “it” might be.
And that’s true, I do not have a plan to fix… anything. Not my mother’s dementia, not the increased pace of climate catastrophes, not the cruel attacks on immigrant and trans communities, not the rise of fascism — I cannot fix it, any of it, and that causes a near constant ocean of grief to churn inside of me. And yet this truth (that I cannot fix things) also provides me with a useful opportunity to look into the depths of my own conditioned individualism with grace and curiosity, because why would I ever expect myself to have The Solution to such huge and complex things? Or perhaps a better question: Who benefits when I believe that unless I know exactly what to do and how to do it, I shouldn’t do anything at all?
Because here’s another truth: I do know some things. And so do you.
I know that taking walks and naps and deep breaths helps to regulate my nervous system, and that a regulated nervous system allows me to show up in my life and relationships with more joy and rigor.
I know that I can’t scroll the news all day and expect to be of service to anything or anyone I care about.
I know that it feels good to hug my partner, to pet my dogs, to check on my friends.
I know that my body feels more alive when I drink enough water and get some fresh air.
I know that laughter matters, and art matters, and love matters, especially in times of despair.
I know that while capitalism and white supremacy have taught me to believe that the only meaningful impacts are those that happen at scale, that’s simply not the case. Sharing what I have access to — money, food, kindness, connections, presence, time, patience — with even one more person matters. And so it is that the pain I feel right now is not because I do not know all these things and more, but because I so badly wish these things were enough to instantaneously liberate the entire world. It’s not enough, of course, but just because I cannot operate at that scale doesn’t mean these things aren’t worth doing, and doing together, again and again and again.