My social media feed is serving up some pretty horrific things lately. There seem to be endless ways that people are cruel to one another and I know many people are worried that the recent U.S. elections will embolden more of that kind of behavior. But people aren’t only cruel, they’re also kind.
What follows are two examples that remind me people do still care about one another. I’m organizing a retreat for my spiritual community and the retreat site doesn’t have strong wifi throughout, which is a problem because our retreat will be a hybrid one. We need to borrow a wifi booster/extender and instead of buying a new one to use for literally five days, I emailed my tech friends. Wouldn’t you know it – one of them has an extender I can borrow.
You might be saying to yourself, “So? That’s such a small thing. And you asked a friend for help. That’s what friends do.” True. But also this weekend a Substack I subscribe to opened up the comments for people to “take one/leave one,” meaning ask for something they need like a beta reader and offer something like critiquing a query letter. There, too, people are supporting one another, not friends – strangers.
We are still kind to one another. Photo by Dominik Lange on Unsplash
These small things give me hope because this is always how the world works. We lean on one another for support and care. Dr. Clarissa Pinkola Estés wrote:
“Ours is not the task of fixing the entire world all at once, but of stretching out to mend the part of the world that is within our reach. Any small, calm thing that one soul can do to help another soul, to assist some portion of this poor suffering world, will help immensely. It is not given to us to know which acts or by whom, will cause the critical mass to tip toward an enduring good.
“What is needed for dramatic change is an accumulation of acts, adding, adding to, adding more, continuing. We know that it does not take everyone on Earth to bring justice and peace, but only a small, determined group who will not give up during the first, second, or hundredth gale.”
Her sentiment echoes the famous Margaret Mead quote: “Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world; indeed, it’s the only thing that ever has.” And don’t doubt that you are that citizen. The small things we do every day – lending wifi routers, offering to babysit someone’s children, bringing someone soup – these are the things that remind our brains and bodies that we aren’t alone. That people are still good and kind and helpful. That matters.
In times when it seems like people are hellbent on tearing one another down mentally, emotionally, and physically, these small acts of kindness are huge. They let us know despite the barrage of negativity, we still have each other. And that makes all the difference.
I dream of a world where we continue to show up for one another. A world where we give and receive what we can. A world where we focus on our circles of influence and help those around us. A world where we don’t let negativity drag us down because we remember that we still have each other.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.
When I take a zoomed-out perspective on my life since the start of the year, I notice numerous endings that led to beginnings that led to endings. There has been so much upheaval in practically every area of my life – health, finances, relationships, and where I live. It reminds me of a story from Dr. Clarissa Pinkola Estés’ Women Who Run With the Wolves.
The one that speaks to this dynamic is the Skeleton Woman. Click the link for an animated rendering of the story, but the abbreviated version is a fisherman hooks a skeleton woman and not realizing she is caught on his line, tries to run from her. He bumps along the land with the woman on his tail and dives into his hovel thinking he’s safe. Alas, it is not so. She is inside his home, limbs akimbo.
In the candlelight he takes pity on her, untangling her from his line, righting her limbs. Then he falls asleep and a tear leaks from the corner of his eye, which the Skeleton Woman drinks up thirstily. While he’s still sleeping, she pulls out his heart, holds it in her hand and flesh is drummed back onto her bones. She becomes a human again. She returns his heart and then falls asleep next to him, and “that is how they awakened, wrapped one around the other, tangled from their night, in another way now, a good and lasting way.”
A sunrise follows every sunset. Photo by Óscar Dejean on Unsplash
Estés asserts for any relationship to survive and thrive, people must reckon with Lady Death, which the Skeleton Woman represents. They must welcome her into their home, tend to her, and make peace with her in order to breathe life into something new. I think the principle applies not only to relationships but all things. We must make peace with the fact a beginning will have an ending, followed by another beginning. I’m getting better at remembering that but it’s still hard. When I experience an ending, some part of me tries to hold on, to make it be what it was. But an ending always clears the way for something new.
A concrete example is I’ve made a bunch of new friends because many of my old friendships have withered or died. Instead of looking at the tattered remains of what was, I’ve started cultivating new friendships with people who make time for me. I’m profoundly grateful and as a result, I’m doing some cool and interesting things I wouldn’t have before like singing in a one-day choir.
The more I give into and accept the life/death/life cycle, the more serene I feel. The less scared I am of the future and what could happen because I understand death will always bring a beginning and then an ending and then another beginning. And that’s true for everyone.
I dream of a world where we embrace Lady Death. A world where we no longer fear death as something permanent and final, but instead see it as the precursor to something new. A world where we mourn, we grieve, and we accept we’ll always have to confront death in some form or fashion. But it doesn’t have to be as scary as we are led to believe because an ending is always followed by a beginning.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.
I keep thinking about a poem/quote I read from Dr. Clarissa Pinkola Estés that I’ll share an excerpt of:
“We do not become healers.
We came as healers.
We are.
Some of us are still catching up to what we are.
We do not become storytellers.
We came as carriers of the stories
we and our ancestors actually lived.
We are.
Some of us are still catching up to what we are.
We do not become artists.
We came as artists.
We are.
Some of us are still catching up to what we are.
We do not become writers…dancers…musicians…helpers…peacemakers.
We came as such.
We are.
Some of us are still catching up to what we are.”
Her quote/poem speaks to me because for about the past year I’ve engaged in a deep recovery and reclaiming of my artistic self. For a long time, I joked that I couldn’t write fiction to save my life. It was a joke but also, I meant it. I didn’t think I could write fiction, didn’t think of myself as creative or artistic. I had moments where I proclaimed, “I’m an artist!” and then quickly forgot those and fell back into the belief that I’m not a creative person.
Why this picture? Unclear! It came up when I searched for “reclaimed.” Maybe the wood is reclaimed. Photo by Chris Lorensson on Unsplash
That might sound strange considering I wrote a novel but in my mind, the first one didn’t count because it was based so much on my real life. And this second novel, which isn’t based on my real life, has been a struggle, let me tell you. I fight against the belief that I can’t write it pretty much every day. In part, the struggle is because I have a perception that I’m not a storyteller, that I’m a journalist who tells stories about real life and real people but can’t create imaginary worlds. But is that really true?
The other week I found a modern retelling of “Little Red Riding Hood” that I wrote when I was probably 10. The text is in calligraphy and the pictures were also drawn by me. There is literal evidence to show I’ve always been a storyteller. As Estés says, I didn’t become a storyteller, I came as a carrier of the stories I and my ancestors actually lived. This is true in more ways than one. I’m VERY attuned to intergenerational trauma and collected my ancestors’ stories, both good and bad. I’m the family historian because stories matter to me. I am a storyteller and storykeeper.
I am reclaiming the identity of storyteller and catching up to what I am, to what I already came here imbued with. I wish it could be a “one and done” sort of thing but for me, it hasn’t worked like that. It’s been a daily process of remembering and reclaiming my artistic self.
This post is about me but I’m sharing it because I wonder if there’s a part of you that’s been long buried that it’s time to resurrect. What has stayed hidden for too long that wants to see the light of day? What do you want to reclaim, recover, or remember? I bet it’s something powerful and important.
I dream of a world where we recognize some things we don’t become, some things we already are. A world where we understand we came into the world with certain gifts and sometimes we need to retrieve those gifts. A world where we let go of identities that no longer serve us and reclaim who we truly are.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.