Syncing an entire planet of breaths
Miscellanea #56: On the backroads to Hope and Change
When this all started, I was not well-informed enough to know we’d be staying at home, our lives upended, for over a month. Today is day 35.
By the end of just the first week – by necessity – I’d completely rerouted my life and routine. But it wasn’t just me — the entire world’s systems of operation were legitimately altered at the drop of a hat. Be it consciously or subconsciously, I think this is something we’re all reckoning with.
How could it be? May the implications of these changes upend our sense of time and belonging and justice and value. It’s easy to long for a return to normal, to whine of our first-world problems. And it’s difficult to mourn the death and iniquity. But it’s harder still, to hope — to imagine our world anew, years removed from plagues of hate, selfishness, and indifference.
But harder is where we are; so let’s try. Let’s try to hope harder and to care deeper and to love stronger — syncing an entire planet of breaths, in…out, in…out, in…out. We are one; everything is connected. Let’s act like it.
Today’s little note has been unabashedly inspired by Rebecca Solnit’s wonderful essay, What coronavirus can teach us about hope.
A mini-methodology for getting a hold on hope
It may be hard to access some inner dialogue with hope in this time, and I bet some of that discomfort you’re feeling is grief. I’ve found that pushing forward and just making new things has been substantially soothing. “In America everyone expects to achieve. But in life, trying, simple trying, has great value.” This short essay on the point of making pointless things helped me get started this morning. Sometimes all you need is a little inspiration — maybe Letterform’s new archive could kick you into gear. Or maybe you need a dose of thankfulness: Quartzy’s email bit on a subtler spring did the trick for me, and if that’s not your thing, here’s a timely poem called Small Kindnesses. Speaking of small kindnesses, one nice thing you can do to boost your spirit is buy some stamps — which is something I did after reading this wonderful thread from a USPS postman (click through to read the whole thing):
As we collectively try to make sense of this see-saw of emotions and observances, it’s important to remember that we can learn beautiful things from this ugly one. We can also learn beautiful things from those who’ve gone before us: “We must first succeed alone, that we may enjoy our success together.”
On our front porch, photo by Caleb Phillips