/reader

A song I’m loving:

I’m writing to you from bed, morning light pouring into the room and filling it with golden honey brightness. I was up in the night and didn’t sleep so well; my ear has been clogged and aching, there is a fourth birthday party to plan, world chaos and violence seeping into my psyche, book edits to finish, life to tend to. But yesterday I spent some time with the redwoods, and that closeness with something larger and older than the news cycle seemed to calm what has been stirring inside.

The one word that keeps coming to mind when I sort through this time, this season, this news cycle, this place I and many are in, is Disorienting. I looked up the definition and it says, “causing someone to lose their sense of direction.” Everyone I talk to seems to be in this place of, Where am I going? What am I doing? What is my role? How do I keep going? Who am I? What is happening? Which way is up versus down? What the hell?

It is hard to find steady ground amid a wobbly world. It is hard to feel tethered when everything around you seems to be shifting, changing, crumbling. It is hard to feel rooted when the very ground shakes. And, I keep reminding myself, there are pockets of rootedness to be found. There are pockets of ease to be felt. There are pockets of safety, connection, love, presence, and Hereness to be gathered. I keep asking, where are the pockets? Can I find them, allow them in, let them be available? Can I let them bolster me as I look out and face what feels unimaginable yet real? Can I use them as allies in not turning away, in staying with the heart amid the hurt, in grounding into my voice, my work, my life, this world we are all traversing for the first time?

Here are some things that are helping me find my way back to center, back to my body, back to the present, back to the path of Being Here, even when Here feels disorienting, confusing, wobbly, or heartbreaking —

1. Going to the redwoods, the ocean, the walking path around my neighborhood, the garden in my backyard, the single sunflower widening in the sun. Touching grass, as they say. Noticing all that continues to grow in a rhythm so far outside of the news cycle. Planting my body in the way of abundance, life cycles, regeneration, beauty, resilience, decay, and shedding… and remembering I get to do the same.

2. Bringing my whole heart to my work. In my writing, in sitting with clients, in working on my tedious book edits, in tending to my daughter’s big feelings, I’m practicing bringing all of me to what I do. Imperfectly, obviously, but holding the intention brings presence and care more alive right in front of me. I do this quite literally by placing a hand on my heart before entering into working/relating and inviting my heart forward, reminding myself it’s safe to do so.

3. My own personal therapy, which is relational and somatic in nature. Being in regular therapy has transformed my insides; it is a mirror, a holding space, a sacred ground. Weaving in psychedelic work with my ongoing therapist to support me in accessing places my body hasn’t let me prior has offered a depth and self-attunement I can’t put into words. For all the bashing of therapy these days, my gratitude for it feels larger than ever.

4. Movement. I can’t sing the praises of Range enough; the sense of embodiment I feel while moving has become such a gift after not quite knowing how to feel my body for so long. Also: walking, stretching, morning yoga with my family, yoga classes at the sweet studio downtown, wiggling my fingers and toes, un-scrunching my eyebrows, dancing, swaying, shaking… all of it.

5. Long phone chats with my dearest friend. We are both busy working parents and live in different states, yet we’ve built in consistent ways of staying deeply connected. Our talks during the week always feel like a salve to my spirit, a mirror of what is true, and a reminder of oh yes, I am not holding any of this alone.

6. Deep-cleaning our house: purging what isn’t needed anymore, finding new places for flowers, donating books I don’t need instead of clinging to all of them as if having them means something about me, embracing our old, un-updated kitchen instead of thinking our home is supposed to look like an Instagram photo.

7. Meeting and connecting regularly with a local group of “political moms” I facilitated near the beginning of this year. We meet for coffee and in an ongoing group chat to connect around the current climate, raising kids in this world, and supporting each other in committing to regular action on issues that matter to us. Having this in-person anchor has been like fresh air amid the pain unfolding in our collective.

8. Eating enough food. Drinking enough water. Going to sleep by 9:30 every night. No phone from 8pm-8am. Herbal infusions. No alcohol (I haven’t drank for years). Trying to be kind to my body. Trying again when I forget.

9. Reading and learning from wise leaders and teachers who feel like lighthouses in this time. Lately (always): Joanna Macy. Prentis Hemphill. Tara Brach. The Working Families Party. Rebecca Solnit. Francis Weller. adrienne maree brown. Robin Wall Kimmerer. Pema Chodron.

10. Softening enough to cry. Softening enough to ask for a hug. Softening enough to know when I’m wrong. Softening enough to notice my defenses and ask them to rest. Softening enough to trust my knowing. Softening enough to feel my edges. Softening enough to let grief rise. Softening enough to let joy penetrate.

11. Regular visits to local bakeries. Favorites: Stellina Pronto. Marla. Blooms End.

12. Noticing when I’m reading too many hot takes and asking myself, is this facilitating more understanding or more confusion? Is this adding to my awareness or hindering it? Is this contributing to my knowledge or making me feel more hostile, angry, and out of control? Reminding myself I don’t need to read every opinion. I don’t need to consume every angle. I don’t need to take in everyone’s feelings. I can stay engaged without needing to consume far more than I can digest.

13. Noticing when I’m checking out entirely and asking myself, what am I feeling? What might I need to come back? What am I afraid will happen if I reengage? What is feeling like too much, too fast? How can I give myself permission to check out when that’s actually what is needed?How can I slow down and tend to self as a path back?

14. Noticing my breath. Practicing slowing it down and widening it into my ribcage instead of my chest. Practicing breathing in for four, holding it, and breathing out for longer. Practicing simply paying attention to how I’m breathing and what information it might be sending to my brain. Staying in contact with my sensations and letting them inform me about what I’m feeling and needing.

15. Doing all of this so imperfectly it feels silly to make a list as if I’ve figured out how to be a person during such an unstable and disorienting time… yet also taking stock of the ways I’ve learned to take care of myself, the things that are working, the things I’m already doing. It is so easy to assume we aren’t doing enough. It is so easy to feel like we’re always falling short. Yet if you make a list of what you’re already doing to center yourself, you might surprise yourself with its simple depth.

May you notice the ways you are already being the person you want to be in this wild world. May you pay attention to the things you’re already doing and let them point you toward what you might need next. May you let your own practices bolster your heart. May you reach out for help and care when it’s too much to hold alone. We’ve never done this before — this is our first life. May you stay so tender and gentle with yourself in it all.

Thank you, as always, for being here.

△ This clarity from Ann Friedman

△ Such a deeply healing convo for my adoptee heart

△ Brilliance and tenderness from Prentis Hemphill & Dean Spade

△ Re-listening to a favorite conversation again and again

△ Hanif Abdurraqib on Mary Oliver

△ "This world is too fragile and too beautiful for us to hesitate for a moment in service to peace."

△ The beauty still available to us everywhere

With care,
Lisa

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