Last month, I wrote about Surviving the ‘Not Yet’ as so many of us continue to live in the land of unemployment, vacillating between feeling stuck and overwhelmed, while trying to move forward with our lives. I thought I’d been doing all the ‘right’ things with my job search, while keeping a positive attitude and remaining focused on the goal. As I discovered this month, I’ve likely been sabotaging myself. What do I mean by that? And why should you care?

I’m writing from the context of a job search, but the situation doesn’t really matter. It could be about a geographical move, expanding a family, reconsidering a relationship, creating a new project, or any number of challenges that we find ourselves trying to work through when everything around us seems to be falling apart.

Am I Blocking?

Omen #1: A couple of weeks ago, one of my daily affirmation emails did not bring the morning joy I was expecting. Rather, it addressed the topic of feeling stuck by suggesting that a good part of the stagnation was the result of my own actions. It was rather shocking to read, and my initial response was ‘surely, not me!’ Yet, as I reconsidered the idea of going with the flow more broadly to mean being open to multiple ways of moving toward a goal - and even being willing to alter the goal to focus on its essence rather than particulars - I started to see my situation from a new perspective.

It challenged me to release my individual agenda of finding employment suited to my specific level of expertise and skill set in the manner I’d been working for decades, and notice the prevailing energy around me. What sectors are still hiring, and how might my skills transfer? I started to understand that by maintaining a certain focus, which I felt was being true to my values and life’s work on behalf of children and youth, I was actually limiting my options. There could be multiple paths to supporting young people if I expanded my view.

I had been laser-focused on manifesting a particular outcome, perhaps to the point of tunnel vision, and my beautiful, limited mind was clinging to only one path forward. The situations forming blockers along the path I’d chosen are beyond my ability to overcome - think national and global chaos. I was getting nowhere but Frustration Land, yet stubbornly trudging along as if sheer willpower could overcome this mess. I needed to STOP, LOOK around me, and NOTICE what alternatives might be available.

Murmurations

Omen #2: On the same day, a second newsletter landed in my email. This one underscored the need for us to rely on community and not try to go it alone in these current economic, political, and social climates. It used a lovely metaphor about how starlings murmurate by paying attention to the birds closest to them and making small adjustments to their speed and direction that ripple through the entire flock. That way, they can adapt to what is and still reach their destination. The message I inferred was –

• Stay close to your people

• Add to what they need

• Share what’s happening

Building on the first omen, this message emphasized the need for community. Don’t go it alone. Questions that arose for me were –

• What’s needed in my immediate community of family, friends, and neighbors?

• How am I contributing to meet those needs?

• In my global community, where is the flow heading, and how can I use my superpowers to contribute? (We ALL have superpowers!)

The world is changing and recreating quickly - this is not a metaphor. How do I keep pace? How do I identify opportunities to contribute to the flow rather than create obstructions?

The Groove in my Brain

Omen #3: The following day (seriously, I can’t make this stuff up), another email arrives. It’s from Shambhala Publications, announcing that Ani Pema Chödrön has published a new book, and an insightful interview with New York Times columnist Ezra Klein was included in the email. Chödrön is a true wise woman, in my opinion, and I would eventually get around to reading the book. But someone I know had posted a note about how insightful they found the interview with Ezra Klein. Of course, I had to listen - three times!!

Chödrön’s voice is like a reassuring lullaby, even when she’s effectively telling you to wade waist-deep to examine your own shit (my words, not hers). At this point, it hardly surprised me that their discussion was in sync with the two articles I’d read the day before. I encourage you to listen to the conversation because so much was covered, and Chödrön has a unique way of turning big Buddhist concepts into basic, relatable steps that anyone can try. That’s her superpower!

Here, I’m only addressing what resonated for me relative to this crazy Substack odyssey. To paraphrase, she spoke about the importance of noticing and leaning into our discomfort.

To be clear, she’s not recommending that anyone remain in an abusive or unsafe situation. Chödrön is very specific about that. What she’s emphasizing is that we need to stop avoiding, ignoring, and trying to numb ourselves from the unpleasant parts of life. Though self-care and nurturing are crucial to wellbeing,

She and Klein go on to talk about how we train ourselves to be distracted with our devices in order to avoid feelings of boredom, discomfort, and tuning into our edges. I’m sure most of us can relate.

And then she really knocks me over with the neuroscience! In speaking of avoiding discomfort through a dependence on technology and other unhealthy habits, Chödrön addresses the grooves we form in our own brains as we experience habitual patterns. Each time we perpetuate a habit, the grooves deepen. But as soon as we stop, the healing begins!

For 43 weeks, I conducted the same type of job search without success. I wore a groove in my brain that said I had to do the same thing every week to ‘earn’ my unemployment benefits. When the benefits ran out, I continued the same routine for fear of missing THE job posting that was meant for me (FOMO!!). I kept looking in the same places and in the same way because it became a habit until I couldn’t see another option. The storyline I told myself was that I had to keep pushing through the endless obstacles. I was aware of the discomfort, yet I kept at it for 43 weeks.

After listening to Chödrön and Klein, I thought, ‘What if I just stop?’ And two weeks ago, I stopped perpetuating the same job search to reset my thinking and make room for a wider perspective.

Another Viewpoint

Omen #4: Last week, a fourth email arrived. A newsletter that I read infrequently had an article that caught my attention - a commentary on Nate Hagens’ essay, What To Do As the World Falls Apart. I found it so engaging that I went to his Substack and read the full article. In it, he presents a framework for how we can anticipate and adjust to living in a world with contracting resources. There’s a lot to unpack in this article, on his Substack site, and his podcasts. I wouldn’t begin to do it justice at the tail end of this article. So I strongly encourage you to take a look at his work. Also, I appreciate his nod toward mindfulness and contemplative practice as a necessary component to weather these uncertain times - grounding us in the present moment, building awareness, and enabling clear thinking.

As I contemplate what employment contributions I will make (and in my volunteer work), Hagens’ article reiterated the futility of looking for employment based on economic and political systems that are being torn away in this present moment. Right now. The world most of us grew up in is being dismantled and reorganized. Surviving and contributing to the long-term transition to something better means shifting now, not at some future time.

And much of what he wrote built upon the ideas in the other three omens:

• Stop relying on outdated ways of learning and working that get us nowhere.

• Acknowledge that everything is falling apart, AND we have the opportunity to consciously and collectively build better systems that serve everyone, not the one percent.

• Our strength is working together, not isolating or ignoring.

Again, this is deep thinking that’s worth your consideration. We need thought partners like Hagens to help us see the reality of our situation, explore our options, and work towards creating new possibilities. We are all responsible for how this global transformation unfolds.

What Does All of This Mean for YOU and Me?

Let’s start with me. It means a mental break from 43 weeks of useless searches to allow for other possibilities. I’m starting to ask different questions of different people as I explore alternative pathways. And, I’m still busy with several volunteer projects that impact local and global communities. The important thing is a greater sense of awareness so I don’t fall into another rabbit hole of old, ineffective patterns.

For you, I’ve offered a couple of new resources to broaden your thinking. Whatever the challenges you face, I encourage you to examine the lens you’ve been using - is there another way to see things? Who in your circle can offer a fresh perspective - even if you don’t like what you hear? Remember, discomfort is inevitable but suffering is of our own making.

I’ll look for you here next month! Be well.

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I wrote this poem three years ago while traveling in northern India. It was originally displayed in a protest exhibition at the Glasgow Women’s Library (2023) and then printed in the International Women Writers’ Guild (IWWG) 2025 Anthology.

Creation Is Our Power: a Protest Poem for Women

〜 J.Catherine Tetrault

Stirring from within

churning, twisting,

restless to be born from

the sacred space of our creative source

Open wide and push hard

let it flow from you

My voice, your voice, our voices

burning hotter than the desert sun

blowing stronger than a hurricane

bursting like riverbanks swollen from monsoon rains

Lean into the edginess of your silence

harness its potent force

Bare feet pressed upon the Great Mother

hip to hip, shoulder to shoulder, arms interlocked

we are many hues of Gaia’s palette

glistening with oils of almond, coconut, jojoba, shea and sunflower

Our bodies

round, full, slender, soft, muscular, smooth, creased and kissed by time

The scent of us -

bergamot, Clary sage, lavender, jasmine, rose, sandalwood

We are beautiful, so beautiful,

more beautiful together

We are powerful, so powerful,

more powerful together

When eyes meet eyes, windows of our souls

we see each other - Look at us!

Mother, daughter, sister - we are all of it

standing on the shoulders of our ancestors

We are the ancestors

creators of this human timeline

Why do we carry the world

when we should be leading, solving,

restoring harmony

with our wisdom, heart, and strength

All we have created

given away

All we have created

taken away

All we have never created

too afraid

to use our voice

our power

Where is your voice, my sister?

When we create

with our words, music, colors, movement, maths, sciences, foods

we raise each other up

Tell me your story

any way you choose

and I will tell you mine

we will be each other’s legacy

They cannot put out your light,

silence or damage you

not as long as I see you - we see each other

as long as the power of our voices rings through

Take my hand, hold tight

birthing from the divine creation in our core

cry out -

We are here! We are here!

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The Slog and Fog

I’d like to say that I’ve been so busy accomplishing great things that April has flown by! The reality is I’m still finding my footing and moving forward one baby step at a time. Winter was heavy, and March was a whirlwind of expanding global crises, financial burdens, and hate-driven actions meant to separate and isolate us. I wrote about seeing you among all the challenges and heartaches, and I’m still here with you.

I had great expectations for April. Longer daylight (in my part of the world) brings warmer weather and spring blooms. I thought surely, I’d be jumping into employment by now. Expecting leaps and bounds, I’m still experiencing mud and residual snow.

I started to doubt myself. Is it me? Am I putting too little effort into the job search? Too much? Setting goals that are too big? Too small? Are my skills outdated? Am I underqualified? Over-qualified? Just not qualified? All the while, that sneaky, evil whisper inside says, “You are not enough. Don’t reach out - protect yourself from the world. Things are better if they stay the same. The devil you know is better than the one you don’t.”

Oh, I hate that voice!! It is the trickster, Fear, trying to throw me off balance and stop me in my tracks! I often hear it when I’m on the verge of new growth and exciting opportunities, because Fear does not like Change. They don’t get along at all. Fear tries to sabotage my progress by feeding me doubts, so Change never has a chance. But I’m much wiser now and recognize its schemes.

I guess that I’m not alone in this April fog, because I’ve been hearing similar frustrations from friends and colleagues. Things are moving in spurts and stops. One step forward and two steps back. In part, it’s the astrology. Yup, I said it. Seven planets aligning in Aries doesn’t bring daisies and unicorns. That kind of once-in-a-lifetime occurrence sheds light on our entanglements, personally and as a society. What are we clinging to, even if it hasn’t been working for us?

For certain, there are opportunities ahead, and transformation is happening. It just takes time, like seed growth, right? Also, it takes us clearing our personal fog - the hurdles we need to face and the icky stuff in our closets that require a good Spring cleaning. We have to do the hard work of sorting ourselves out before there’s room for opportunities to blossom.

How to Survive the ‘Not Yet’

Patience is not a natural virtue of mine. It’s more like a persistent teacher that I’d rather avoid because of all the homework. One lesson I’ve learned is that patience doesn’t mean sitting around waiting for the phone to ring or an email to pop up. During this April fog, I’ve taken intentional steps to keep the momentum going. Perhaps my strategies can offer you a path forward if you’re also feeling stuck in a ‘Not Yet’ time loop.

• Self-care for the win! Am I eating healthy foods, exercising regularly, and sticking to a sleep routine?

• Stay connected. Weekly check-ins with family and friends keep me sane, honest, and focused on mutual support.

• Service. I look for regular opportunities to volunteer. Sometimes in person, sometimes virtually. Maybe an hour, maybe a day. Helping others makes me feel better and gets me out of my monkey mind. Not surprising that research shows volunteering is good for our health!

• Just say ‘Yes!’ If I can help, I help. If an unexpected opportunity presents itself, I take it. I’m practicing flexible thinking because I never know where a possibility may lead!

• Don’t force a solution. Along the lines of flexible thinking, I’m allowing things to unfold as they should. Not pushing, prodding, or nagging. Taking a slow breath or making a cup of tea when I get anxious.

• Act as if. I continue to attend webinars and workshops to keep my skills fresh. I envision myself working in the job I desire and notice how great that feels! I keep an affirmation on the refrigerator that I repeat every day to help manifest the vision of where I’m headed.

• Have a game plan. I set weekly goals with daily tasks to achieve. The goals vary, but typically focus on self-care, service, and employment. No matter how many I achieve, I still have a plan and celebrate the little victories.

• Celebrate! This gets its own category. Every week, I find something to celebrate. Maybe I achieved a goal that was challenging. Something wonderful happened for a family member. A friend got a new job. Whatever it is, I celebrate!

• Review and reflect. At least monthly, I go back in my journal to read what I’ve written. Was there a theme or message I’ve missed? Did I meet a challenge, or was I gracious? In the moment, things can seem so urgent, and then we forget about them. We move on to the next thing. When I reflect on the week or the month, it gives me more clarity, and I feel re-energized. Maybe even hopeful.

• It’s okay to Ugly Cry. It’s important to honor my emotions. If I’m feeling frustrated or sad, I give myself permission to release it. Tears are encouraged! The world is heavy, and we can’t carry everything.

A Ray of Sunshine

The employment challenge remains, but my writing and publishing continue to evolve! I’ve had four poems accepted for publication recently, and I can share two of them with you now. I hope they encourage you to keep going, one step at a time.

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Don’t be Gollum. Choose spaciousness.

I’m aware of how constricted I’ve felt lately by the heaviness of the world. How fear can be quite the trickster. It can lead us to become small-minded, isolated, and greedy. Think of all the ways people are worried about “protecting” what is theirs. That’s fear whispering in the shadows. I couldn’t help imagining the character, Gollum, from JRR Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings, a harbinger of what can become of us when we cling tightly to what we perceive as material wealth. Though Gollum sees a glimpse of redemption, he can’t move past his shadow side, which has constricted and distorted him into an unrecognizable, grotesque version of his former hobbit self. Eventually, his shadow self causes him to lose life altogether. When I think of the ultimate danger of constriction, I see Gollum.

On the other hand, love - especially unconditional love, compassion, empathy, and kindness help expand our spaciousness. Creating space means we have to be willing to LET GO. Whether it’s cleaning out closets, attics, or basements - whoa! there’s a metaphor of our psyche - transforming relationships, releasing old habits, or putting closure on some phase of our lives. Let It Go.

Clinging creates constriction. Surrender (release) supports spaciousness. From personal experience, I know this is hard work to face our shadow side with compassion and respect. We don’t like to look at our ugly places. Seriously, who does? Yet the greatest spiritual teachers you can think of came from places of adversity and tribulation, learning to release all the feels and mind desires that could have held them back in their own shadows. Abundance came to those wise leaders in the form of clarity, wisdom, and love. Abundance comes to us when we make space for it.

I see you.

It has been especially difficult these past few weeks, like the sky is falling. Yet, life continues even during global calamities. Parents age and need our assistance, kids get sick, and the natural cycle of life means we lose people, sometimes unexpectedly. I don’t know anyone who isn’t feeling the heaviness of it all right now. When I was at fitness class this week, I blurted out how overwhelmed I was feeling about the world, the weather (so much snow), and the personal challenges of life. I saw compassion and understanding in the faces that looked back at me, and one woman replied, “You’re not alone.” That was magic. No, I’m not alone - and neither are YOU. We have each other to share our burdens, along with our small victories.

So, after the week’s experiences, I thought it was important to tell you that I SEE YOU. I see that you, too, are tired, feeling shaky and uncertain, maybe tossing at night, and wondering what the next day will bring. Perhaps like me, there are a handful of people you want to check on but haven’t had the bandwidth to do so. I’m here to tell you that it’s okay. Just do what you can. If you’re able to smile at a stranger and connect with one other person this week, then that’s enough. You are enough.

Maybe your meditation practice is counting to twenty-one because that’s all your monkey mind of racing thoughts allows. Then that’s what you can do. Pray if that helps you, but don’t beat yourself up about it. And if you need to yell at the God of Your Understanding, then go for it. God can take it.

Grab your oxygen mask!

If you’re able to exercise, great! It will help lower your cortisol levels, manage stress, and reduce inflammation. If the best you can do is turn on a YouTube video and walk indoors because THERE’S SO MUCH FREAK’N SNOW, that counts as exercise. Maybe you just walk up and down stairs. Whatever. If you’re moving, it counts.

When you’re tired, rest. Nap if you can. Avoid the news and screen time before bed. Read to your kids, your pets, or house plants instead.

Drink a lot of water - more than you think you can tolerate. It will help flush the toxins out of your body. Just maybe not before bedtime. Make an effort to eat at least one healthy meal each day that involves a vegetable and a fruit. Right now, we’re aiming for the best we can do in the face of adversity.

Find beauty wherever you can. Maybe it’s a piece of art or music that inspires you, or the natural beauty of a window plant. Give it your full attention for a few seconds each day without expectations. Tend to your fur babies. They bring us such good energy and rarely ask much in return. If you’re like me and don’t have one, pet random dogs or cats wherever you find them. Most won’t object.

And for no particular reason, hold the hand of a loved one or hug it out. We need the physical contact. Maybe not a stranger, unless you ask first.

These might seem like crazy little things, but when we’re in crisis mode (and most of us are living in crisis right now), we need to find ways to take care of ourselves. If you can do more, please be of service! Don’t hold back! For me, in this moment, it’s the little victories that are getting me through each day. I will bounce back, and so will you. As the lady at the gym said, “You are not alone.”

Art as Resistance

Last weekend, I volunteered at a performing arts festival featuring seven a cappella groups from universities across New England and our local high school group. I’m so grateful that I went, despite the ridiculously frigid temperatures. Listening to these young people brought such joy and awe into my heart! The last group to perform, the MIT Ohms, moved me to tears as they sang a medley of songs in several languages, simultaneously. Though I could only grasp the English lyrics from Simon and Garfunkel’s Bridge over Troubled Waters, the spiritual undertone filled the auditorium. It was another Sunday example of how music inspires and connects, even when it’s performed in a language other than one’s own. Though Sunday’s performance hasn’t been posted, here’s another sample of MIT Ohm’s incredible talent. Every a cappella group that performed displayed courage and creativity, building community among one thousand strangers with only their voices. It doesn’t get more divine!

What does it take to be brave?

I don’t think most people wake up and decide to be brave on a given day. Rather, it seems that opportunities arise and we have the choice whether to act on them. Courage dwells in the liminal space between opportunity and decision, when outcomes are still unknown.

Right now, being brave means speaking out through my writing, combining my voice with others to exercise my Constitutional rights and hold elected officials accountable, and caring for family, friends, and people in my community. So when I learned that a bill is, again, moving through the U.S. Congress that could curtail my right to vote, I decided to include the information here so others could take action.

The so-called “SAVE America Act” (H.R. 7296/S. 1383) would amend the National Voter Registration Act of 1993 to require documented proof of U.S. citizenship for federal voter registration and, in some cases, at the polls. In reality, it is a voter suppression bill because it –

• Blocks women (or anyone) who changed their surnames from voting unless they get a new birth certificate (that effects 8 in 10 married women)

• Eliminates online voter registration in 42 states, forcing everyone to register in person (difficult in rural communities)

• Requires a passport or original birth certificate to register (documents that 21 million Americans don’t have readily available)

• Threatens volunteer election workers with criminal charges if they make mistakes

• Creates a national database of voters’ personal information controlled by the Executive Branch

The bill passed the U.S. House of Representatives on February 11th and is now being considered in the U.S. Senate. I’m writing this because, like many other women, I could be blocked from voting if this legislation is enacted. There’s no time to scratch our heads and wonder how we got here. We need to act. Write and call your U.S. Senators to demand that they vote against this measure (Senate switchboard 202-224-3121).

I know. There are so many fires burning that it’s hard to determine what’s meant to be a smokescreen and what’s a full-out blaze. Over the past year, it’s become exhausting to hold the line in defense of our democracy. And here we are, again, pressuring Congress to hold the Department of Homeland Security accountable, reverse the horrific atrocities being committed against immigrants and their children, stop the international bullying, and protect our voting rights. That’s a tall order and feels like it’s only the tip of a really big iceberg hidden underwater.

Strength in numbers

Recently, a title caught me short - Staying Hidden is a Privilege that Most Authors Don’t Have. The article went in a different direction than my interest in the title, but that title. Oh, boy! As an introvert, I don’t like attention. I’d prefer to keep writing blogs, publish poetry, and generally go about my days without being noticed. Yet, those are no longer the times in which we live. I cannot hope that someone else is protecting my Constitutional rights, keeping my neighbors safe, or representing my country in the way that I want the world to see us. To quote the end of Canadian Prime Minister Carney’s speech last month at the World Economic Forum in Davos:

“...We know the old order is not coming back. We shouldn’t mourn it. Nostalgia is not a strategy, but we believe that from the fracture, we can build something bigger, better, stronger, more just… The powerful have their power. But we have something too – the capacity to stop pretending, to name reality, to build our strength at home and to act together.”

What the Canadian Prime Minister spoke about is as true for the majority of U.S. Americans as it is for Canada. The time to sit back and let those in power manage the big picture is over. We start by strengthening our communities, taking care of each other, and making our voices heard.

Please contact your U.S. Senator (Senate switchboard 202-224-3121) about the voter suppression legislation called the SAVE America Act. And if you are outside of the U.S., help spread the word that this nonsense is happening in a country that once stood for democracy and whose people still believe it is possible. Perhaps a little global shaming is in order!

Here’s a balanced, fact-based article on the SAVE America Act, researched and written by the well-respected Bipartisan Policy Center in Washington, D.C.

Mutual Aid

As I said at the beginning, there are always opportunities and possibilities, even in the darkest times. It’s up to us to be willing to see what’s right in front of us. We can no longer cling to old ideas and familiar habits, sticking to the same routines because they feel secure. We have to be willing to be annoyed, uncomfortable, and agitated enough to open up space for something new to emerge. Together, we have to defend the rights our ancestors fought and died to earn.

This week, no matter what the news, please take care of yourself and your community. Consider it an act of resistance to hydrate, eat properly, exercise, pursue some type of contemplative practice (prayer, meditation, journaling, walking), and sleep. Put down your device, turn off the news, and check on a loved one. Give your mind a rest and do something creative - dance, color, knit, bake - whatever inspires you!

If we can bring a healthier self into all our relationships, then our collective empowerment benefits everyone. Together, we can find the courage to create the change we want for ourselves and our communities. We can do this.

Creating micro-connections

The bitter cold is making me grumpy because I feel limited to mostly indoor activities. It’s difficult to walk in the woods (or anywhere) because the ground is frozen and too slippery, even with microspikes and sturdy poles. For many in the US, the perils of ICE are endangering our sense of freedom and restricting daily routines.

To be fair, any feelings of isolation are a consequence of my self-imposed hibernation, yet that’s the last thing I need to be doing! Recalling my year of nomadic wandering, I thought about how I greeted each day with anticipation. New possibilities! Sure, sometimes I was tired from travelling between countries or anxious about encountering a new language. No matter. I took my wallflower-self outside to explore. I can’t recall a single day when I regretted getting out of bed and leaving my temporary accommodations. Even in bad weather, I did something, one thing, like a short walk or popping into a nearby cafe with my journal. Once I was outdoors, I felt accomplished and inevitably discovered something new-to-me.

As an introvert, I still experience that sense of achievement when I walk downtown, take a fitness class, or attend an event. I think, “Look! Here I am, doing this thing! Having this experience! How exciting!” No, seriously. I have those thoughts. They are little things, really. Maybe I’ll have a quick chat with a neighbor or compliment the store clerk’s manicure. Smile and thank someone for holding a door for me. And if it’s truly too dire outside, I text or call a friend. Check on a fellow writer in the London Writers’ Salon, or post an encouraging comment about someone’s Substack article. These micro-connections keep me going on days when I’d otherwise be a hermit in my cozy basecamp.

I like to think that, perhaps, my actions might be just enough to brighten someone’s day. Keep them going just a bit further than they thought possible. These are dark times, my friends, and I want to be a beam of sunshine pushing through the cracks because I need it, too. Maybe that small joy of interaction will ripple to another person and another. Isn’t that how we strengthen our communities? When we’re united, fear doesn’t win.

We are all called to contribute.

I read those words in a daily inspiration message and was struck by how much they resonated with my intention to create micro-connections. When I choose to share small acts of loving-kindness, be it in my local or global community, I’m expressing the gift of freedom and love. I’m acting as a rebel against the forces that would try to make us feel powerless. We can all do this - take back our personal power and our collective power by intentionally building micro-connections every day. Humans are far more likely to help people that we know rather than to help a stranger. So, go ahead and make eye contact. Offer a kind word. If we initiate those small efforts to reach out now, we won’t be wringing our hands and wondering what to do when things get messy. We’ll rely on the power of community.

Community, freedom, and justice

This week, I’ve been contemplating the words community, freedom, and justice. I’ve re-read some of the speeches and letters written by the Reverend Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., and reflected on the heroic actions of the late poet, mother, and advocate, Renee Good. Both of these brave hearts stood for freedom and justice and believed in the power of community.

I’m holding these words in my heart this week, allowing them to emanate into my daily interactions. No grand gestures or divine billboards, just ripples through the mundane. Ripples of creative power and human brilliance that will persist and strengthen. This is my resistance.

December

I see you in the shadows

cast by sparkling lights.

An apparition between the worlds,

wrapped in sorrow.

You are neither past nor present.

Hesitant eyes, searching

through bottomless wells of tears,

longing to see

one irreplaceable gift,

lost to this life.

I hear your muffled sobs

beneath the din of holiday cheer,

breaking open the silent night.

Dangling strands of words,

garbled like forgotten carol verses.

Listening for the voice of one angel

to ring clear through prayers.

A disquiet lingers.

Will that sweet voice

fade into memory?

Hands held in loving reassurance

feel empty, cold, and stiff.

The warmth of bodies breathing,

synchronous heartbeats,

and mingling scents.

Specters of the past, yet -

those moments

of pure transcendence,

soul to soul,

remain eternal.

I offer you my hand,

not to replace your lost mitten,

but to remember with you

the comfort of warmth

and the pulse of life.

To remind each other,

these hands still hold

gifts of love and

the possibility of Joy.

Every body

who has lost a body

to the unexpected,

the unthinkable,

understands

how utterly unequipped

we feel

for the one certainty of our lives.

When I grieve with you,

I grieve my losses, too.

I grieve for families in hospitals

and in war zones.

I grieve on holy ground

and in the most vile places imaginable.

At the core of it,

beneath anger, fear, greed, and malice,

I seek love, compassion, and empathy

in every grieving body.

Like Dante, we move

through layers of loss,

our personal hell,

remaining for as long as it suits our story.

Dare we go deeper

to touch the heart of humanity?

To reconnect our soul

with the whole of the living?

We, too, are guided by Grace,

even when we feel most alone.

Under the clamour and cold,

the false fervour and desire

to make everything merry and bright,

there is warm earth.

New life slumbers

until its time in the sun.

Nature gives us Hope in action

with each turn of the wheel.

Look to the trees.

Listen for the birdsong.

Gaze upon the starry night

where the Book of Life is written.

This December is one painful chapter.

Precious memories came before, and

the promise of possibility lies ahead.

Trust.

You are a part of the Creation Story, and

you have choices.

Together,

we will grieve and release our suffering.

Boiling our heartbreak until

its essence becomes

a singular godspark

filled with pure, unconditional Love.

An eternal love that connects all,

across time and space.

Like our Beloved,

it is a gift that never leaves us.

For this December, I am right here with you.

~ JCatherine Tetrault, December 2025

Grab your crayons!

I needed to visually “see” the story, so I took out my crayons and drew a house. Nothing fancy - pretty much a square. I dubbed it my Life House, and divided it into different-sized rooms representing important aspects of my life: Family, Friends, Employment, Health & Fitness, Spiritual Practice, Volunteer Work, and Travel. I color-coded each room. I can’t take credit for this exercise. It’s probably something I learned years ago in a self-help or creativity course…the stuff in the attic of my mind that I pull out when needed.

Welcome to my home

Imagine mentally walking through this house with me. Larger rooms, once filled with parenting responsibilities, a dog, and my son’s friends, now seem to echo and collect dust. The once-vibrant career room is in flux as I try to decide what the next phase of my work life will look like, and how to prioritize creative writing so it’s more than an avocation. Indeed, this metaphorical room keeps changing from office to storage, writing corner, exercise, and then to a guest room. Oh, you know that room. And there are other rooms, which never received enough attention when I was busy with parenting and work, that could be expanded to include more friendships, health priorities, spiritual practices, and the volunteer work I’ve been meaning to revisit and now have more time to pursue. This activity helped me to see how the rooms in my Life House no longer align with the realities of my present circumstances and need major renovations!

It’s understandable why parents renovate or downsize their homes once the kids become adults. Perhaps making physical changes to a dwelling facilitates that crucial mental shift. Or maybe it’s just a distraction from facing the hard truth that the lifecycle continues and our identities transform. Nothing stays the same.

Under construction

As the project manager of this personal renovation, I’m redesigning my Life House. It’s time to adjust room sizes and reconsider their purpose to better reflect my choices for deeper connections, community, and well-being as I age gracefully and fiercely. I’m setting specific goals and milestones for how I use the space, leaving some areas open for new growth as my life continues to evolve. Like all of us, I am a work in progress!

Maybe this offers you some inspiration as you close out 2025 and consider how you intend to create your life in 2026. Be resourceful - draw it, build it, or even write a song about it! Whatever the challenges and opportunities, we always have choices - even in what seems the darkest of times - to redefine who we are. I hope you’ll share with me some of your own experiences with life renovations so we can learn from each other!

Traversing new terrain

I’ll leave you with a poem that I recently published in the London Writers’ Salon 2025 Anthology: Writing in Community, Vol. 5. May it bring you courage for your own life transformations!

Unsolicited Advice from a Well-Versed Crone

~ J.Catherine Tetrault

Long have I walked this path

barefoot, lighthearted, booted, burdened,

shaped by its wisdom

as sage to its lessons and

oracle to its mysteries.

Should wandering bring you through forest or field,

bracing, breezy, steamy, stagnant,

will you linger to examine every bud and leaf,

the roots and ruts that challenge you, or

side trails enticing you astray?

Trust the path and give yourself to it

through brilliant meadows, far and wide,

or hidden woodlands, dense and deep,

dampening your skin with earthy sweat.

Should you meet a mountain pass,

dry, dusty, thick with mud, slippery stones,

do you stop to question

the placement of pebbles and boulders, or

twists and turns of the ascent?

Steady your resolve and climb

along narrow footpaths hugging ridges,

and steep rocky trails,

making your heart pound.

Should you reach the water’s edge,

gentle stream or fierce sea,

must you measure the crossing, when

the tide will carry you and

wind and flow will set your course?

Meet the currents as they are

near the sound of lapping water,

the froth of foaming waves

leaving a salted kiss upon your lips.

The journey will shake your core,

demanding humility,

stealing innocence,

granting courage,

bestowing wisdom.

Avoidance is futile

It’s late October, and I haven’t published a Substack since the beginning of August. In my mind, there’s a good reason for the absence: avoidance. I’ve been busy cleaning, running unnecessary errands, diving down internet rabbit holes, and journaling about not writing. But the omens are piling up, and it’s become more work to NOT WRITE THIS SUBSTACK ISSUE than just do the thing. Ugh…can you relate?

As I’ve explained to a few friends who’ve noted the dearth of my Substack articles in their inboxes, I don’t like to write fluff. It’s not me. With you, I try to be authentic about my observations and experiences. That’s my job as a writer. As author Anne Lamott once said,

If you don’t know where to start, remember that every single thing that happened to you is yours, and you get to tell it. If people wanted you to write more warmly about them, they should have behaved better.

You’re going to feel like hell if you wake up someday and you never wrote the stuff that is tugging on the sleeves of your heart. Your stories, memories, visions, and songs. Your truth. Your version of things, in your own voice. That’s really all you have to offer us, and that’s also why you were born.

Thresholds have been crossed, and there’s no turning back

Like thousands of other hard-working, dedicated professionals, I lost my job this summer. It was unexpected and most unwelcome. Truth be known, it was wholly unkind, as well. I know that I’m not alone - as nearly one million Americans have experienced job loss thus far in 2025, and that number is expected to surpass one million by year’s end. This is the biggest job loss in the U.S. since the pandemic.

Job searching has become a daily activity, and the estimated time to find a new job has expanded to at least six months. I’m blessed to live in a state that not only provides reliable unemployment benefits but also offers substantial help in the job search process. I know that’s not true in every state. Still, the clock’s ticking on how long my modest allocation will continue.

Another shocker about unemployment is my category as a “mature worker.” That means I’m old by job-search standards. Ouch. Equally unsettling is that all of my hard-earned education and experience have become less appealing to the limited number of employers looking to hire at lower salaries. At a time when I should be near the top of my profession in earnings and expertise, I find myself back on the ground floor. Humbling.

The U.S. economy is in bad shape on many fronts. Sadly, that’s not much comfort to the unemployed. Far worse, those relying on additional government assistance like SNAP food benefits and affordable health care are about to see those supports ripped away. But hey, we can still afford to illegally bomb foreign countries, deport our neighbors and co-workers, and attempt to take over U.S. cities for political theater in true authoritarian fashion. Who agreed to this?

Change arrives when we need it, not when we want it

I can’t afford to retire early, though I’m not sure anyone who’s lived the single-parent life can ever fathom such a concept. As a “mature worker,” my interests and goals have shifted from the fast-paced, overachiever mode of my earlier years. I’m moving into a wiser aspect of my life that’s more strategic about how I direct my energy and resources. Given the global and domestic challenges of the past decade, what matters more and more is building meaningful connections and knowing that my work continues to benefit a Greater Good. I remain mission-driven. Yet, I’m aware that time is precious and there are goals to achieve in other aspects of my life, like writing. So during this time of unemployment, a lot of reflection and reassessment is happening. I’ll share about that in the next issue.

But wait! There’s more…

In her 2017 TED Talk, Anne Lamott offered twelve truths she’d learned about life and writing (also the source of her previous quote). If you need a fifteen-minute pep talk, this is it! Lamott’s third truth is that we can’t create happiness for others -

…it’s an inside job, and we can’t arrange peace or lasting improvement for the people we love most in the world. They have to find their own ways, their own answers. You can’t run alongside your grown children with sunscreen and ChapStick on their hero’s journey. You have to release them. It’s disrespectful not to.

And this, too, is where I am. My mother identity is transforming as my young adult son becomes an independent, responsible, contributing member of society. Most would say I did my job well - and yes, I think that’s true. Yet, allowing your child to grow into the independent human you’ve invested countless amounts of energy and prayers to help them attain comes with the price of, well, them attaining it. So, now what?! It’s a paradox of being immensely grateful for who he’s become, while mourning the loss of a particular type of mother role that, after a quarter century, is no longer relevant. No one told me this empty-nest business would rip my heart out.

Another nature lesson to sustain me

While finding my way through life’s changes, I took solace in visiting a particular wildlife sanctuary to observe how the flora and fauna moved from summer into autumn. In the spirit of Anne Lamott’s twelve truths, here are two of my own:

1. If monarch caterpillars didn’t molt and pupate, they’d never experience the beauty of a Mexican sunrise in winter. They’d either suffocate in their own skin or be eaten by birds. Be the butterfly.

2. Summer wildflower blossoms are spectacular, but would never happen without a sticky, chaotic seed dispersal, and the decomposition of barren stalks and rotting leaves. Learn to let go.

There are no big reveals about what’s next for me. However, I’ve spent a good amount of time over the last few months examining the changes in my career and mother identities. I’ve learned a few things that I’ll share in the next Substack issue, and perhaps these observations and experiences will help others. Look for Part II in the coming week! Until then, stay safe and take care of each other.

Eleven months of the year, I patiently wait to embrace one. Like the fireflies and dragonflies, it arrives in a burst of splendor and celebration, mesmerizing and enchanting me into believing it will last forever. Then abruptly, without a proper adieu, it leaves. I am forlorn, left with so much more I want to experience in July - so much more I wish to say in whispered devotions and boisterous praise. I want to testify in gratitude for all Sweet July has given me. Perhaps I should write it a love poem?

But my month is gone, and we’ve crossed the threshold into August and at its mid-point we begin to experience a harbinger of autumn’s approach - the return of chilly nights. August arrives and departs like a high-speed train. Dwadle, and you miss it. I must remind myself that it’s still summer, with long, sticky days to spend among green grass and thick woods. In my opinion, it’s the only month when the Atlantic is tolerable for swimming in Maine. There’s still time to sit by my favorite little pond here in the valley, watching frogs and swallows compete for water bugs as I absorb the heady aroma released by drunk pollinators in the meadow.

Here be August

August is my reminder that nothing loved remains unchanged. Rather than waste the month lamenting July’s passing or preoccupying myself in quiet angst for the cold that inevitably returns, I intend to do my best to be fully present for whatever gifts August brings. I’ll soak up every bit of humidity my sunscreened skin can tolerate, knowing I don’t have to shovel it. I’ll vie with mosquitoes to own sunset walks, allowing that they, too, serve a purpose in the summer cycle. They’re far less annoying and more manageable than the political banter that bombards my inner peace. I’ll bathe in salty sweat and sudden downpours to rid my body of toxic worries over what I cannot control. I’ll make my peace with the crawling critters and food-greedy yellowjackets whose boundaries are not as firm as mine, perhaps attending to whether my own behaviors may have similar unwelcome effects on others at times. I will bless every thread of corn silk that finds its way onto my kitchen floor, appreciating the juicy, sweet kernels stuck between my teeth. I will appreciatively inhale the pungent wafts of cow manure permeating the valley from pastures to Walmart’s parking lot. It’s those blessed bovines that create the farm-made ice cream I devour in too-frequent quantities. Make no mistake, farmers are the most important people in this valley.

There’s a never-ending list of must-dos and should-dos, and I fancy myself a master list-maker. Yet, August insists that I focus my attention on the fertile soil of experiences that remain of summer’s bounty. So let the melon juice dribble from my chin and the earth’s dirt accumulate under my fingernails while I explore one more new-to-me trail. I’ll forgo that extra hour of sleep to watch another sunrise over the Mount Tom Range, and frequent the roadside stands and farmers’ markets for fresh produce, knowing exactly where my food was grown.

Viva la salsa!

As an act of good faith in August, I ignored yesterday’s dust bunnies running amok in the apartment and opted for an afternoon of reading under a stately ginkgo tree near the Smith Botanical Gardens. I fancy that Miss Sylvia Plath once enjoyed the same bucolic splendor of this shady spot. Except for two raucous squirrels having a row above me, then behind me, then beneath my chair, and onto the lawn, I was at peace.

Last evening was surprisingly cool enough to head downtown and enjoy the Colombian salsa band, Lulada Club, from New York City - Brooklyn, to be specific. Pulaski Park was filled with people grabbing partners and showing off their fancy footwork on a dance floor laid out for just the occasion. There was laughter, singing, and twirling - a joyful celebration of salsa and life! The last time I was in the park, we were packed as protestors for No Kings Day. Life is both demonstration and dance, lament and laughter, resistance and revelry. The secret is continuing to care for ourselves and others. So grab a friend or make a new one and appreciate the NOW of this August. It will make us all stronger for the road we travel.

Peaceful walking trails meander through woodlands and meadows, revealing hidden surprises behind walls of rhododendrons and thick shrubs. I’m absorbed by the thresholds that seem to guide both the internal and external flow here. There are archways, gates, and doors that beckon a crossing of sorts. Some lead inward to buildings, others lead to gardens, trails, a three-hundred-year-old American Beech, the entrance to a labyrinth, and the remnants of a former building. Most of the thresholds are functional; all are symbolic. They are portals that lead to transition.

A fellow sojourner, Diane, has been keenly aware of the thresholds, too, and we’ve talked about the physical sensations of crossing them. Have you ever noticed a subtle shift in demeanor or how your energy feels when you cross a threshold? For me, it can be a lightness or heaviness, depending upon the circumstance; sometimes, it’s a little jolt of energy similar to experiencing an “Ah-ha!” moment. Anxiousness? Excitement? If you haven’t given it much attention, try noticing how you feel the next time you walk through an entryway from one space to another. Pause before crossing - what monastics refer to as a statio, or holy pause - to mark the transition between one thing and the next. It’s similar to noticing the pause between an inhale and an exhale of the breath, or stopping to admire the liminal space of twilight.

During the morning Meeting, I thought about the more subtle thresholds we traverse when greeting each other in communal worship, focusing on the breath during silent meditation, or using a particular gesture to begin a period of prayer. Each of these signifies the beginning of an inward period of reflection - a journey. There is an element of profound intention that seems to precede these threshold crossings, as we seek to connect with something beyond our usual thoughts and actions. Outward ceremonies for weddings, births, and adoptions also create thresholds to help couples, families, and friends mark momentous life transitions. Indeed, there can be something sacred about thresholds.

But what happens when a threshold is crossed as an unexpected interruption or even a violation? I’m thinking about the thousands of ICE-initiated disappearances in the news. The death of a loved one. Even an overheard argument or a screeching sound in the middle of the night can create a jarring threshold that moves us from a state of ease to dis-ease. A fox stealing a chicken from the neighbor’s yard (yup, that happened). A Monday-morning email to notify you that your job is being eliminated. These events result in unexpected experiences for the recipients and/or unsuspecting observers. They are shifts in life’s flow, disruptions in the status quo, and however unwelcome or lamentable, they create thresholds of change.

Also, thresholds don’t appear to be mutually exclusive. A disturbing experience can prompt us to seek communal support, solace in prayer, or guidance through contemplative practice, perhaps moving us from a difficult place to higher ground. As a result, maybe we initiate a community response to a violation, repair the chicken fence, or initiate a job search. Crossing a threshold alters our way of being and leads somewhere new, whether there’s joy, sorrow, anger, or fear in the process. Thresholds are transformational and continual.

Perhaps that’s one of the messages of the thresholds I’m observing around Pendle Hill – that change is an inevitable and continuous part of life. Sometimes we experience it as good, sometimes not. Challenges equal opportunities. We can choose to become more aware of the thresholds that appear in our daily lives. Taking time to pause and collect ourselves before moving through them, consciously and with intention, helps build resilience and sustain us through the tricky business of life.

I will leave you with a poem that seems suited to this idea.

What If It All Works Out

What if I stand here and

prepare for there?

What if there arrives here?

Am I able to receive

with curiosity, grace, and humility?

Can I conjure the courage to

stand my ground,

and welcome possibility?

What I want to know

of all unknowns,

is what my soul requires

to accept my heart’s desires.

~ J.Catherine Tetrault

In early January, I drafted a Substack post that I never published. Curiously, six months later, I’m writing about the same topic - a sure sign that I need to share.

When I was in Scotland (2023), I began the spiritual exercise of living the question after listening to an On Being podcast by Krista Tippett on the contemplations of Rainer Maria Rilke, one of my favorite poets. Tippett’s thoughts on Rilke resonated with me as I explored what it felt like to face the unknown during my nomadic travels. Time and again during my year-long journey, I was called to examine what it meant to confront the internal and external unknowns in my life, and the fear that often tagged along. I’m still called upon to courageously reflect on the unknowns, especially in these challenging times, because we don’t really “graduate” from such big questions. Instead, we incorporate them into our lives as they shape us through new experiences.

Perhaps leaning into the not-knowing bits of life and the tenuous times of today organically planted the seeds for the questions I began nurturing at the start of 2025:

What’s right in front of me? Am I sure?

As I was reflecting on these questions, the same topics began to appear in articles from mindfulness scholars and practitioners. Good omens that I was on the right track! So 2025 became the year I would examine my perceptions and how attaching to an idea or viewpoint can create unpleasant experiences and block what I choose to create.

The venerable Thich Nhat Hanh described it this way:

Nuclear scientists have a view concerning electrons that they are pleased with, but they are careful…they know that there is more to be discovered…that all views about electrons are wrong views. We practitioners must do the same. We can never be sure of our views. Attachment to views is the greatest obstacle in the practice. We should be patient and careful, never too sure of our perceptions…In each of us there is a river of perceptions flowing day and night. To meditate means to sit on the bank of the river and observe all perceptions. With the energy of mindfulness, we can see the nature of our perceptions and untie the knots that bind us to our wrong perceptions. All our suffering has its roots in our wrong perceptions, so please practice the mantra, ‘Are you sure?’ Always refer to it, and try to look more and more deeply. (Center for Mindfulness & Justice, Facebook post, Dec. 28, 2024)

If I get caught up in a story created about an experience or situation, or if I perseverate on an idea, then I could be missing opportunities that are right in front of me. I might even form an instant opinion about an event or the people involved. Doesn’t that happen to us daily? Sometimes it feels like it’s moment to moment with my monkey mind! The thought arises that something or someone is pleasant or unpleasant, good or bad, safe or dangerous, and my mind then begins to find reasons to justify the opinion. If I allow myself to get sucked into the story my mind creates, it puts me on an automatic loop, and I become stuck in my thinking. That can be dizzying and immobilizing! So it’s important for me to do my best as an objective observer, gently questioning what is right in front of me, and whether I am sure.

Beth Kurland’s article for the Greater Good Science Center addresses the notion that our perceptions can cause us great suffering and suggests how mindfulness can mitigate the dread that may arise (January 2025). She, too, goes back to the question of what is right in front of us versus what our minds may conjure up. This feels particularly relevant during the events of these times. How do we ground ourselves in the present moment?

Questioning my perceptions isn’t about second-guessing or doubting myself. Rather, it helps me take an important pause, allowing for space between observation and interpretation, which might provide room for another perspective. It’s me being the scientist that Thich Nhat Hanh described.

Two weeks ago, I had an intriguing experience with perception while attending a week-long conference held by the Mind & Life Summer Research Institute. Standing at the main entrance of the historic Garrison Institute and admiring the view of the Hudson River, my attention turned to an unusual bush growing along the stone wall near the driveway. Deep red bursts seemed to explode from a tangle of green vines and overcrowded shrubs. Curious, I walked to the wall to sort out what type of plants these might be. Observing my keen interest in the visual cacophony, a fellow attendee pointed out that the red blooms didn’t belong to the green shrub, but were the top branches of a smoketree pushing through the upper-level shrubbery and wandering vines that bordered the wall. My perception was suddenly upended by new information!

As I walked down the driveway along the wall, I kept my eye on the bursting red blooms as more of the smoketree came into view. Now, I could see leafy branches cradling the maroon puffs, their elongated panicles exploding like fireworks into tiny red berries and delicate white flowers. Motivated to investigate further, I found an entryway into the lower garden.

A narrow gravel path shaded by a canopy of Japanese maple trees snaked through an overgrown border garden, leading me to the base of the smoketree. Its modest trunk, scaled and knobby, fought for space among the wild undergrowth and pesky vines that wound their way up to its top branches. What a marvelous, resilient tree! The smooth, older branches begot prickly new shoots that I touched with great care. The leathery leaves harbored shades of green, red, and purple, depending on where the sunlight landed. Though the tree held no particular scent to me, its tiny five-petaled white blossoms attracted a delightful band of small pollinators weaving in and out of branches laced with fine spider webs. The circle of life was rich in the ecosystem of this lone smoketree.

As the days at Garrison unfolded, I thought more about the smoketree and visited it several times. My initial view was limited and caused me to make incorrect assumptions. It took some effort (and buggy inconvenience) to search out a full view of the tree, and the closer I looked, the more wonders unfolded within its microhabitat. Without question, this gift of life needed to be absorbed by my senses over multiple visits and from multiple viewpoints. One piece in one moment was not the whole.

The lesson of the smoketree appropriately brought me back to Thich Nhat Hanh’s teachings on perception and the question, “Are you sure?” Clarity came with curiosity, patience, and perseverance. Yet, I still only viewed one aspect of the smoketree in its spring bloom. What might it look like throughout the seasons? Whether or not I have a future opportunity to visit this particular smoketree, I’ll continue to improve my mindful observation skills thanks to its magnificent presence! It’s become a visual representation of how I choose to live the questions - What’s right in front of me? Am I sure?

The Priest and the Politician

I am seriously late with the April issue, so late that it’s now the May Day issue. I wrote most of this Wednesday morning, starting at 4:30 a.m., from the Hartford airport. I was on my way to a day-long meeting in Minneapolis. Yup - I made the three-hour flight each way within 24 hours because I felt this meeting was important enough to attend. I spent the day with social scientists - researchers who examine the impact of mindfulness on youth, families, and the systems that support them. These measures are considered “upstream prevention,” a phrase derived from the sage and much-revered late Archbishop Desmond Tutu.

Both Archbishop Tutu and the great statesman Ben Franklin were big thinkers, well ahead of their times. They understood the importance of prevention as a fundamental component of systems change - getting at the root causes of societal problems rather than just treating the resulting symptoms. Not-So-Fun Fact: Benjamin Franklin was writing about the dangers of lead poisoning and the need to limit human exposure to lead in the eighteenth century. Hellooo? How’d we miss that?!!

Prevention in the Twentieth Century

Preventive measures work best when they are universal, both scalable and accessible to everyone. Since the 1970s - maybe earlier, but my pre-dawn brain wasn’t reaching back any farther - western culture has increasingly focused on healthy lifestyles to prevent physical illness, so much so that exercise, nutrition, and physical wellness are now booming industries. To be fair, there’s been a lot of marketing and media-hype fueling the wellness industry. Yet, there was enough scientific research to convince health and auto-insurers to cover many preventive measures, from gym memberships and nutrition programs to child safety seats and bicycle helmets. The return on investment (ROI) demonstrated that low-cost prevention measures yield big savings compared to the expensive costs of prescription drugs, emergency room visits, and hospitalizations, and the economic and societal costs of lost work hours.

Along with healthy habits such as physical fitness, nutrition, reductions in tobacco use, and dental care, science has given us new ways to prevent disease and chronic illness - including and especially with vaccines. Also, we have significant improvements in traffic safety, environmental health, and workplace safety that can be categorized under the “prevention” umbrella. Workplace prevention measures date back to the nineteenth century, thanks to organized labor, social workers, and public health workers, so a big MAY DAY shout-out to all of you in those fields!!

Trust the Science

Prevention measures weren’t just somebody’s good ideas. They began with rigorous scientific research before evolving into policies (sometimes laws), products, and best practices for our homes, schools, work, and communities. Of course, we haven’t solved everything because situations and technologies constantly change. As new research emerges, we adjust accordingly. That’s part of human evolution and why continuous research is so important.

And… we can trace nearly all of these public and environmental health initiatives back to support from federal, state, and local governments. We don’t think about all of the preventive measures that make our lives safer and healthier each day because they’re woven into the fabric of our daily lives. But when a service, regulatory protection, or product ceases to exist or malfunctions, or a public health emergency arises, the effects can be immediate and devastating. The measles outbreak in the southwest United States comes to mind, as does the increase in plane crashes (air traffic safety) in the past several months, which I tried NOT to think about as I flew between Hartford and Minneapolis.

Minneapolis. That brings me to the purpose of the trip. I spent the day in conversation with social scientists studying the effects of upstream prevention measures - in particular, mindfulness strategies and programs for children, youth, families, and school communities. These upstream prevention strategies can mitigate the mental health and substance misuse challenges plaguing our youth since before COVID. Ask any educator (including me), and they’ll likely tell you that the pandemic only exacerbated student struggles with academics, mental health, physical health, and wellbeing. The problems were already there, but largely ignored. Moreover, the majority of challenges our students face in academic performance can be directly linked to their mental health and wellbeing. But mental health challenges are severely stigmatized for adults and youth, so what could be prevented or identified early remains dormant until acute symptoms arise or a full-blown crisis occurs.

Prevention and Public Education

So why did it take an international pandemic to move the youth mental health crisis out of the shadows? As with nearly all things involving our children, schools are most often the first line of defense. Beyond home, children spend most of their time in schools. If a challenge arises, teachers are often the first to identify it - sometimes even before parents - because they are experts in child development, academically as well as socially and emotionally.

When schools shuttered during the pandemic, students were cut off from a safety net of support and from the social connections that promote healthy development. Isolation fuels mental health challenges. Because our country lacks a comprehensive system of mental health care for adults and children, including a strong prevention component, mental health challenges soared during and after the pandemic. The deeply flawed system that triages youth mental health through a disjointed patchwork of limited acute care services and recovery programs was quickly overwhelmed. I wonder if Archbishop Tutu would lament how we’re not able to pull all of our kids out of the deep waters of this mental health crisis. We’re losing so many of them. We have to turn our attention upstream.

Researchers like the ones I spoke with in Minneapolis are learning more about what strategies and programs are effective in supporting youth mental health, promoting wellbeing, and preventing risk factors that cause long-term harm. With informed research, we can better focus our efforts upstream to build public awareness and educate decision-makers about what’s necessary to support our young people. Raising healthy children requires a village of scientists, policymakers, mental health professionals, educators, families, and community leaders.

May Day Protests

Yesterday evening, I picked up my protest sign and headed out to a little nearby town to join their May Day Protest. About seventy-five of us gathered at a rural crossroad, from ages one to eighty, to exercise our Freedom of Speech and demonstrate what democracy looks like. I could have gone to one of the larger towns or cities, but our small rural communities have big voices that deserve to be supported. Staying home and catching up on travel sleep didn’t seem like an option.

This May Day, I stood up for students, scientists, and worker solidarity. I thought about how much progress we’ve made in education and public health, and how much more is needed. I thought, too, of the recent article written by my colleague, the writer and activist , about the court challenges to disability rights that we’ve worked hard to secure since the 1970s. There’s just too much at stake to stay home and doom-scroll social media.

It’s overwhelming. I get it. But feeling the pressure of political forces that seek to diminish our power doesn’t mean we are powerless. The folks I stood beside yesterday were in this for the long haul, literally scheduling protests into their weekly tasks. They were committed to standing up against autocracy and oppression. And isn’t that the kind of grassroots activism and commitment to democratic principles that fueled our country’s independence in the first place? Like us, our revolutionary heroes and sheroes were simply hard-working people taking action to preserve their freedom.

Our democracy depends on all of us speaking out in whatever ways we are able. How are you standing up for democracy this week? I invite you to share your May Day experiences in the comment section. Together, we can raise each other up!

Inspired by an unusually warm, sunny day in March, I took my computer to a local coffee bar to write. I was breaking one of my cardinal rules - never go into town on a Sunday afternoon because there are PEOPLE. I usually perch in a coffee shop on weekdays when most people are in the office or class, and blissfully write without interruption - a distinct advantage to remote work. You can imagine my shock to see hundreds - maybe thousands - of humans strolling around downtown! After the winter hibernation, I’d forgotten that more than a dozen people lived here. To be more honest than a president, the crowd count may be a bit exaggerated; but for an introvert like me, it felt like thousands.

After finding two of my favorite cafes packed, I scored space at a shared table in another favorite haunt - the third time’s a charm! As I began tapping away at the keyboard, a young person approached and asked, “Can we share your table?” Since there was ample space, I smiled and replied, “Of course!” In hindsight, I might better have replied, “Only if you do not sit directly across from me and talk about deeply personal topics as if I’m not here.”

My laptop wasn’t fully charged and this particular cafe offers internet but no electrical outlets so I couldn’t waste the battery running Spotify while working. I wore earphones to give the appearance of not listening and not wanting to engage in conversation. It was either try my best to write in a crowded cafe or give up and leave. When their very personal discussion began, I thought about moving seats but that would’ve been so obvious that I heard them. I didn’t want to make anyone uncomfortable except me.

When the coffee bar closed, I opted for the longer route home to walk off my frustration over the lack of writing accomplished. Rather than brood, I contemplated what was right in front of me during that unusual experience. It seems like the sky is falling around us, yet people are still striving to love, connect, and carry on. Of course, they are! Isn’t that what we should be doing? The couple sharing table space was likely far wiser than I. Maybe they’re protesters or social media influencers. Like me, they might work for nonprofits or teach young students. What if Sundays are their sacred time together to just BE? I began to think that my Sunday experience wasn’t supposed to be about writing, but about observing human interactions. With my head buried in the laptop and ears plugged up (though clearly not enough), what else had I missed in the cafe - laughter, a reassuring touch on the hand, or a compassionate gaze? What about the solitary patrons who were writing, reading, or observing the crowd - would I have found kindred spirits among their faces?

Moving forward, I think that my Sundays downtown may be better spent observing and being open to the possibility of spontaneous interactions. Risky business for an introverted writer. I did it during my nomad year, so experience tells me I’m capable. In times of uncertainty, it’s easier to bury our heads in screens searching for answers or wanting an escape. Personal interactions can bring differing views, maybe even disagreement. We’re all so drained that engaging in conversation can seem like a monumental task. I get it. But the situation we find ourselves in calls for greater connection and compassion - to step out of our shells, face-to-face, and be with one another. I’m going to keep practicing.

In the spirit of St. Patrick’s Day, I’ll leave you with a bunch of four-leaf clovers picked by my son. We could all use a little luck right now.

Changing the Vibe

The disruptions in the U.S. political environment feel chaotic and overwhelming - which by the way, is the intent of those in power. As I observe the mainstream media, the reports don’t reflect what I see in my corner of the world - people protesting, boycotting, flooding town hall meetings, and taking legal action. The news outlets that try to be more authentic are branded as peddling misinformation and punished for not aligning with the “truth” of the administration. What irony! I’m curious about the situations in other areas of the U.S., so please share what you’re experiencing in the comment section. For my friends outside the States, I hope my perspective contributes some balance to how you reach your own conclusions about our democratic crisis.

While traveling in the U.K., Europe, and India, I used these posts to reflect on my observations and adventures through a mindful and compassionate lens. I’ll strive to continue that tone as I recount the events and experiences that unfold in 2025.

Keeping the Beacons Lit

Last weekend, a long car ride with my son inevitably led to a deep discussion about life. Those remarkable conversations that occur while suspended in time between the arrival and departure destinations, creating an ethereal space where profound thoughts and feelings can emerge. Soul conversations.

I was lamenting about how best to communicate on Substack through authentic, creative expression without adding to the political fervor and doom scrolling that has reached this platform as well. He simply replied, “Mom, there's a difference between fueling the fire and keeping the beacons lit.”

And this is why I say, let the young people lead!

So my Substack commitment is to keep the beacons lit - I’m not the lone lantern protecting America’s democracy. There are many more, even if you don’t see us on mainstream media. I’ll continue to do my best to empower and inspire you to courageously connect with one another - and with yourself - at a heart level. We have to keep building those bridges of communication and understanding where we can, and where it feels safe to do so. As I’ve said many times, we are stronger together. I’m not looking for thousands of Substack subscribers.

I’m looking for thousands of beacons.

How Do I Find My Lantern, You Ask

I didn’t listen to this week’s address to Congress - it would have ruined my sleep. I try to avoid anything political or news-related in the evening. Wednesday morning, the Democratic rebuttal given by U.S. Senator Elissa Slotkin of Michigan caught my attention. Typically, I don’t watch rebuttal speeches because they’re mostly political posturing - but Slotkin’s words echoed values that I’ve shared with you in prior posts.

Like the Senator, I grew up during the Cold War when we had bomb drills in school. My father was a first-generation American and World War II Veteran (Battle of Iwo Jima) so patriotism, democracy, hard work, and education were deeply held family values. Like Slotkin, core values were always more important than political affiliation in our home. The American values we cherish evolved because of our differences - especially our belief that everyone could have opportunities. It hasn’t been perfect and a lot of systemic oppression remains embedded beneath the foundation of capitalism and democracy. America has always been a work in progress, yet our DIVERSITY is what makes us strong.

Towards the end of her speech, Senator Slotkin talked about how we can each contribute to making our democratic government more responsive to the people it’s meant to serve. Her words have been my words to you since last summer.

1. Don't tune out and don’t wait for someone else to ask you to participate. If you need an ask, I’m asking now. As Slotkin notes, “If previous generations had not fought for democracy, where would we be today?”

2. Hold your elected officials accountable. Watch how they're voting. Go to town meetings and demand they take action. Lately, I’ve contacted my U.S. Senators almost weekly. They need to hear what’s important to us.

3. Third, organize. Pick just one issue you're passionate about and engage. And doom scrolling doesn't count. Join a group that cares about your issue and act. And if you can't find one, start one - or ask in the comment section below. Chances are, I can help you find one.

4. And the one I continue to add that Slotkin didn’t is to find ways to express your creativity - dance, sing, build a fort, make a fabulous meal, or just grab your crayons! It benefits your mental and physical well-being, and it’s a lot healthier than doom scrolling.

In the spirit of sharing creativity and honoring International Women’s Day, I’ll leave you with a poem I wrote in 2024 about the power of feminine creativity. It first appeared in an exhibit of protest poems at the Glasgow Women’s Library (Scotland) and will be published by the International Women Writer’s Guild in its 2025 Write Forward Anthology.

Creation Is Our Power: a Protest Poem for Women

〜 J.Catherine Tetrault

Stirring from within

churning, twisting,

restless to be born from

the sacred space of our creative source

Open wide and push hard

let it flow from you

My voice, your voice, our voices

burning hotter than the desert sun

blowing stronger than a hurricane

bursting like riverbanks swollen from monsoon rains

Lean into the edginess of your silence

harness its potent force

Bare feet pressed upon the Great Mother

hip to hip, shoulder to shoulder, arms interlocked

we are many hues of Gaia’s palette

glistening with oils of almond, coconut, jojoba, shea and sunflower

Our bodies

round, full, slender, soft, muscular, smooth, creased and kissed by time

The scent of us -

bergamot, Clary sage, lavender, jasmine, rose, sandalwood

We are beautiful, so beautiful,

more beautiful together

We are powerful, so powerful,

more powerful together

When eyes meet eyes, windows of our souls

we see each other - Look at us!

Mother, daughter, sister - we are all of it

standing on the shoulders of our ancestors

We are the ancestors

creators of this human timeline

Why do we carry the world

when we should be leading, solving,

restoring harmony

with our wisdom, heart, and strength

All we have created

given away

All we have created

taken away

All we have never created

too afraid

to use our voice

our power

Where is your voice, my sister?

When we create

with our words, music, colors, movement, maths, sciences, foods

we raise each other up

Tell me your story

any way you choose

and I will tell you mine

we will be each other’s legacy

They cannot put out your light,

silence or damage you

not as long as I see you - we see each other

as long as the power of our voices rings through

Take my hand, hold tight

birthing from the divine creation in our core

cry out -

We are here! We are here!

Reprints only with permission of the author.

On this Valentine’s Day, I write specifically to the generous souls across the globe who opened their homes and hearts to an unknown American, to my steadfast Canadian friends, and to the global writing community that daily nurtures my creativity. In case there’s any doubt, I want to remind you of who I am. Reports on mainstream media don’t reflect my views. I can only speak for myself.

I respect Canada as a sovereign nation, faithful ally, and generous neighbor. Never become the 51st state.

The Gulf of Mexico is the Gulf of Mexico.

The Panama Canal belongs to Panama.

The autonomy of Greenland is the business of Greenland and the Kingdom of Denmark - not the Kingdom of Chaos.

Gaza is not the new Mar-a-Lago.

I continue to stand with Ukraine.

I oppose a tariff war. Nothing has ever been resolved for the Greatest Good by way of a pissing match. That lesson should have been learned in kindergarten.

I will continue to do everything I can to lessen my carbon footprint. I respect the science.

I listen to the young people.

I’d like the ingredients of any processed food to be no more than two lines and include only one- or two-syllable words I can identify and pronounce.

I don’t want my food genetically modified.

Sugar should never be the first ingredient in anything except sugar.

Vaccines save lives.

In my home, the principles of DIVERSITY, EQUITY, and INCLUSION reign supreme.

The care and wellbeing of my body is my responsibility. I respect the same for others.

I happily use non-gender bathrooms.

I love who I love. You love who you love. Everyone else, mind your own business.

I believe the authors of our Constitution did not intend for guns to murder our children.

I value the public servants of this country and understand the critical importance of their work. Without them, we’re fucked.

The ELECTED public servants of this democracy must be accountable to their constituents - THE VOTERS.

If you’re over 70 and holding public office, thank you for your service. Retire.

Let the young people lead.

NO ONE VOTED FOR ELON MUSK. Pandora’s Box. If he knocks on your e-door, don’t open it.

We are a global village and the wellbeing of one country relies on the wellbeing of all countries.

Migration has occurred since the beginning of civilization and will continue. Actions based on fear and hate have never solved its challenges.

I check my privilege daily. The leaders of white, Eurocentric countries (including mine) should do the same.

I love my country and will continue to help bridge the divides and heal the wounds.

Speaking the truth is a step forward. Finding common ground with compassion and kindness is another.

Please don’t lose hope in me or US.

Oh Judy, My Sage!

Last issue, I wrote about my trip to D.C. for a youth mental health summit that surprisingly gave me hope, post-election. What I didn’t share was my equally transformative Judy Garland experience. It’s no secret that I adore her and believe everything we truly need to know can be learned in The Wizard of Oz. Perhaps I’ll break it down for you in a future Substack.

While waiting for my flight and reading the Maine Beacon, an unexpected article caught my eye, “What Judy Garland can teach us about politics in 2017.” No idea how this popped up on the news feed but there it was - the Judy Garland magic! The author, Professor Ron Schmidt (University of Southern Maine), graciously permitted me to reference it, so here we go!

Schmidt published the essay seven years ago after the U.S. teetered between a jaw-dropping election and the great unknown ahead of us. Eerily, I find myself reliving a similar experience today. After reading his column, I watched Meet Me in St. Louis again for a fresh perspective. What resonated with me was Esther’s (Judy Garland) spirit as she croons “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas,” to comfort a distraught little Tootie (Margaret O’Brien). On the eve of the family’s last Christmas in St. Louis, Esther and Tootie mourn the release of their beloved family home and community and grapple with a fear of the unknown as they prepare to move to New York City. As Schmidt notes, songwriters Hugh Martin and Ralph Blane worked and reworked the lyrics with Judy Garland until they evoked in Esther a resigned determination to celebrate what the family had at that moment despite their overwhelming sadness and uncertainty. A glimmer of hope resonates as well, but it’s the kind that one experiences amid the heavy reality of a situation. As Schmidt observed in his 2017 article, “You certainly can’t call it a hopeful song, but it’s not despairing either. It’s a song for people who know they have a hard fight ahead...”

Remember, the movie wasn’t intended to be a holiday one. Yet that fairly short Christmas scene and Judy Garland’s incredible rendition of the song changed the course of the film’s destiny. Written and released during World War II, the lyrics convey the unknowns that war brings along with a steadfast mindset that brighter days will follow. Understandably, it was hugely popular with servicemen and women.

The fight against fascism and facing unknowns have been two threads weaving through my thoughts and into these posts over the past year. As I’ve shared before, my dad (much older than my mom) was a veteran of the Battle of Iwo Jima. World War II never seemed to leave our house and heavily weighed upon my childhood. Likewise, my mom adored so many of the classic movies released in the 1940s and ’50s that it’s no wonder Judy Garland defined a significant portion of the popular culture in our home. While other families were wailing with the Beatles on the radio, we were singing the Golden Era classics on our Sunday afternoon drives.

Does James Stewart Measure Up to Judy?

Some of you may be thinking, “Wait a minute, what about It’s a Wonderful Life? Isn’t that the best of the American classic holiday movies?” I see your point. Director/Producer Frank Capra created something magical and timeless, even though it flopped at the box office in comparison to what it cost to make. An entire essay could be devoted to the evolution of this movie, but I’m on a different mission here.

Another wartime production released in 1946, Capra’s film tells the story of George (James Stewart) and Mary Baily (Donna Reed), a couple destined to leave an indelible mark on their little town of Bedford Falls through a lifetime of good deeds. In it, there are plenty of moral messages on how helping one’s neighbors can raise an entire community to higher ground. George and Clarence (Henry Travers) deliver powerful reminders about the importance of living in the present moment rather than preoccupying oneself with a future that hasn’t arrived or lamenting lost opportunities. Sorry George, but it’s Mary Baily (not the other Mary of Christmas) who is the true messenger in this movie. Through her, we find reasons to create the beauty and joy we seek and celebrate all that life gives us. Mary doesn’t wait around for things to happen - she manifests her visions into reality! You know I’m all about creation - as was the other Mary, I suppose - so this theme resonated with me the most.

Esther and Mary offer reasons to pause and reflect during these cold, long nights of December when we don’t have enough hours for all we perceive needs accomplishing. They’re calling us to stop where we are and take a good look within. If we aren’t okay or struggling, we need to say so. Tootie cathartically whacked the heads off her entire family of snowpeople right after Esther sang to her. God, it felt good just watching her! Though I’m not encouraging you to go around knocking off snowpeople, I think it’s important to express how we’re really feeling rather than faking a happy holiday kind of attitude.

In a world of media imaging and gaslighting, our collective sanity calls for authenticity. Sure, things might suck in some ways, but everything doesn’t suck, and not forever. Maybe the best way to renew ourselves and find our footing before we venture into 2025 is to be wide awake to where we are right now and still see the blessings for what they are. Maybe small. Maybe big. Maybe freaking miraculous. Doesn’t matter, as long as we can lean into all of it - the good, the bad, and the unknown. Give yourself that gift - show up right where you are and lean in a little to explore what it feels like to be fully present for all the triumphs, bliss, challenges, and uncertainties. Your future self will thank you.

A Contemplation from Rilke

My merry-present-moment gift to you is this poem by the timeless poet-philosopher, Rainer Maria Rilke. A brilliant mind and tender soul who lived during the war to end all wars and truly understood what it meant to lean into the unknown and all its questions. He was a present-moment kind of guy, and from all the muck he experienced, Rilke found a way to create beauty. Here, he does just that using a violin as his muse.

At the Brink of Night

My room and this distance,

awake upon the darkening land,

are one. I am a string

stretched across deep

surging resonance.

Things are violin bodies

full of murmuring darkness,

where women's weeping dreams,

where the rancor of whole generations

stirs in its sleep . . .

I should release

my silver vibrations: then

everything below me will live,

and whatever strays into things

will seek the light

that falls without end from my dancing tone

into the old abysses

around which heaven swells

through narrow

imploring

rifts.

~ Rainer Maria Rilke

I don’t possess the background of the Rilke scholars or their expertise in translating the original versions of his poetry from German to English, though I rely on a few to help me explore the depths of his verse. I recommend experiencing Rilke through the translations and contemplations of Mark S. Burrows, PhD. Likewise, the poet Pádraig Ó Tuama frequently offers insights on Rilke in his “Poetry Unbound” podcast. Finally, no homage to Rilke would be complete without including the introspections of Krista Tippett, producer and host of the On Being podcast.

Whether your jam is Garland, Rilke, or somewhere far afield, I hope you’ve found a bit of inspiration in this holiday post. I wish you space in your days to pause and reflect, laugh out loud, and create some beauty for the world. I’ll meet you here next year.

Connecting is a Revolutionary Act

My post-election discussions have moved beyond immediate family and close friends to include political action organizations and mental health coalitions I belong to, personally and professionally. In the past month, we’ve spent the first minutes of each meeting reflecting on how we felt impacted by the election, voicing our questions, and identifying our strengths. After spending time in community with others, I typically feel better informed and empowered to carry on with my personal advocacy efforts and professional work. In the early days post-election, those connections got me out of bed in the morning because they gave me hope - yes, that muscle I’m learning to flex and strengthen. If nothing else, the experiences of the past month have underscored how important community is in challenging times.

Whether video calls or in-person meetings, a common theme has been taking care of ourselves - our mental health and well-being - and reconnecting with people. Now is not the time to isolate and hunker down, as we New Englanders say. Take to the streets, the pubs, Zoom, wherever you gather to converse, debate, hug-it-out (if that’s your jam), and create some joy. I was about to write “find some joy,” but if the thing you’re searching for isn’t there you must create it so others can find it, too. Wise movement leaders have said this - and my friend Sudhir says this all the time - we have to welcome joy into our lives even when the world feels bleak. We are what we create.

History shows that autocrats gain power through fear, isolation, and causing the masses to abandon their creative powers. We are all creatives so no opting out!

Every morning, I’m up and back at it. My life’s work focuses on the well-being of children and youth. Each of you also has your mission - whether it’s your day job, side gig, or volunteer path. There are intersections and opportunities for us to connect in so many ways. Your mission may not be mine, but in the forty-plus years of doing this work, I’ve always found common ground to make progress. Whether drafting federal laws or negotiating student support plans, I’ve learned that progress can be made by sharing our stories, listening deeply and mindfully, extending compassionate awareness, and committing to finding common ground that benefits the greatest good.

Life is not an all-or-nothing game. Looking for the places where we intersect and can agree is how progress is made. It’s how problems become opportunities for change. How ideas become strategies. It’s how campaigns become movements. We don’t have to agree on every nuance or detail. We are unique human beings with different life experiences. I believe that democracy is about bringing together the diversity of populations to find a mutual path forward - governance of the people, by the people, and for the people to quote President Lincoln.

Siloed solutions won’t move the needle of progress. We must work collaboratively. Sometimes it seems like a tall order. Yet just two weeks ago, I sat in a Washington, DC conference room filled with a diverse group of creative, motivated, dedicated bright lights who helped restore my hope that our work has not ended. Endings are just new beginnings. Problems are opportunities. For transformational change to occur, things need to be shaken up. I formed new connections and alliances with others committed to building our nation’s mental health system and radically improving well-being. Also, I made time to reconnect with old friends who’ve known me for over thirty years (and still love me!). In both instances, I shared stories of my experiences and listened attentively to theirs. This is the magic of human connection that feeds and sustains us, sparking our creativity and igniting our commitment to forge a better path ahead.

Storytelling and Neuroscience Can Help Us Change the World

That motivating meeting in D.C. and a conversation with my friend (and one of the smartest people I know), Jacqueline Samuda led me to consider how the power of stories can raise us to higher ground or, when perpetuating stereotypes or other misinformation, can hold us down. Storytelling can be a fictional portrayal of real struggles and timeless themes; also, it can be how we personalize the daily struggles in life - especially those that can be improved through civic action. As a policy specialist, I view sharing true experiences as a critical way to humanize the facts and data that can bombard us - say, for example, our global mental health and climate crises - and motivate policymakers and thought leaders to respond. Make no mistake, accurate facts supported by proven data are foundational to good public policy. Yet, we can too easily disengage without the real-world experiences and situations that underlie the numbers. When making change, we need to balance both.

As a writer of poetry and fiction, I also see the importance of storytelling in reflecting the human condition and empowering us to connect in ways that transform stagnant, outmoded thinking and dismantle institutional oppression. Author Marita Golden illustrates this in her book, The Strong Black Woman: How a Myth Endangers the Physical and Mental Health of Black Women (2021). I found one excerpt particularly relevant to how storytelling can help build momentum for change.

Golden writes (pp 175-6) –

“According to science, one reason the brain falls in love with a good story is because hearing and reading stories releases the hormones oxytocin and cortisol. Oxytocin is a hormone that regulates empathy and social interaction. Cortisol is connected to the stress response.

When a story introduces a likable character facing a difficult problem, oxytocin causes the brain to empathize with the character’s situation, and cortisol causes the brain to feel stress over the character’s problem. These fractions lead the reader, or viewer to become invested in the character’s plight.

Stories, because of their imaginative power, have much greater impact than simple facts. Increased brain engagement leads not only to increased thought on the engaging topic, but increased memory as well. When that engagement and memory are controlled and focused in a positive way, the brain’s love for storytelling can be the key to healing and happiness.”

So there you have it. Just like a consistent mindfulness practice helps promote oxytocin and keep cortisol levels in check (see what I did there?), so does storytelling. Whether you’re writing that epic poem, short story, or next great novel - or humanizing the social and economic struggles of our time - sharing stories can be transformational.

Creating is a Revolutionary Act

As I mentioned above, many thought leaders on well-being encourage us to practice self-care during these challenging times. I wonder what that’s been like for you? My strategy this past month has been daily contact with at least one person in my pod (yes, that is a COVID analogy) and writing. Writing! Writing! Writing! I journaled. I wrote letters to my ancestors. I wrote poetry and a short story. I wrote down my dreams. Connection and creativity have been clear lifelines to help ground and re-center me.

In one of the first post-election advocacy calls I joined, six of the eight people in my breakout room were artists/writers/performers. It’s no wonder autocrats seek to silence or control the arts as a way to suppress freedoms and spread fear and isolation. Book burnings, smear campaigns, and stolen artwork have been historical tactics of oppression - while much of the art was secretly preserved by those who publicly condemned it. I don’t have to give you examples - you’ve probably thought of at least a half-dozen while reading this and efforts to undermine the arts still happen today.

We creatives are a feisty lot - shining the light on injustice, giving voice to the marginalized, and igniting movements! Creativity and heart-based connections are spiritual expressions that unite us. Oppressors can damage bodies and weaken minds, but it is far more difficult to crush the spirit, especially if it’s nurtured and supported through connections.

Write! Paint! Sculpt! Craft! Bake! Sing! Perform a monologue! Score music! Go outside to play! Whatever your creative gift, DO IT. Express yourself - and share it with someone to build connection. It’s a shout-out into the wilderness that we are still here, perfectly imperfect and doing the best we can. And don’t you dare let the Committee in Your Head talk you out of creating! This is Heart Work. It builds connections. Let creativity be your revolutionary act for today!

Shock

The initial feelings of being groggy, stunned, and numb may remain seared in my mind for some time. Glancing at the news update on my phone, I made my morning coffee, sat down, and stared at NPR’s tracking map of the Electoral College votes. Examining it like the corpse of a beloved. In disbelief, I kept looking for signs of life - some hope that what I was seeing wasn’t true. 

I tried crying and was moderately successful when my son arrived to check on me before work. For a moment, I was able to dampen his shoulder, but it wasn’t grief that bubbled beneath my skin. It was the anger that comes with betrayal - when a lover is untrue or an age-old lie is exposed. Anger towards the members of this dysfunctional American family who blackened the ballot bubbles in a way that may have relinquished our freedoms. Anger with the God of My Understanding who seemingly ignored my daily prayers.

I wanted to obscure the profile pictures on all my social media. Go dark. Passively tell the world I’ve quit. 

But I didn’t. 

Instead, I picked up my pen and vomited all my thoughts and feels onto a blank journal page. 

We need the dark to see the stars

Scrolling my social media feed and still debating whether to shade my image, I happened upon a quotation written nearly ten years ago by the incomparable Toni Morrison. I found the original article published in The Nation, “No Place for Pity, No Room for Fear: In times of dread, artists must never choose to remain silent.” Her words from 2015 rang true to what I was experiencing now. Reading the article shook me back into myself. I’m a writer and an advocate. In the darkest of times, I have a responsibility to keep writing. 

Especially in the darkest of times, we have a responsibility to keep moving forward. Grab a hand and raise someone up with you. Just like the day after the 9/11 attacks when - nine months pregnant - I insisted on returning to my DC office. It was my affirmation that terrorism did not win. Humanity would prevail. Love would triumph. We would reclaim our Light and find our way forward. 

By mid-morning, I started to find my resolve. Instead of a black background, I changed my social media image from the “I Voted!” message to a sunlit tree. I took this photo on a late September afternoon in Childs Park, Northampton. It’s hope. It’s perseverance. It’s possibility. It’s a reminder that creation continues and we are part of it. Of course, we can choose what we create - aesthetic or repugnant - but we have little control over how our creation is received. Likewise, if our elected leaders choose to create what is hateful and harmful, we do not have to accept it. We can and we will rise above it. 

A friend referred to my photo as “the giving tree.” In Hinduism, trees are believed to be the givers of knowledge and enlightenment. As Vice-President Harris said this afternoon in her concession speech, we don’t have to throw up our hands in despair. Instead, we can roll up our sleeves and get to work. We can use what we’ve learned to continue building bridges among diverse groups - listening to each other and supporting one another. Yes, it will continue to be hard work - we like hard work. And as she also said, we must spread the Light of optimism, truth, faith, and service. 

Self-care is an act of survival ~ Audre Lorde

Too often these days, I find myself turning back to the wisdom of Audre Lorde as a reminder that it’s okay to not be okay. That with suffering comes power, strange as that may sound. We have to dig deep for it, but our power is still here.

Like so many, I’m still processing and trying to find my footing again. It will take some time. As this day ends, I have no solutions to offer about a way forward. Maybe you are feeling the same? I do know that we must take good care of ourselves during this time of upheaval and transition. Tend to your physical, mental, and emotional well-being. When you are able, check on your people. Find your compassion and kindness - even for the smallest of things. We can Be the Light for each other.

And if you need to fire yourself up again - please enjoy this quick performance of The Low Road. It’s one of my favorite protest poems; written by Marge Piercy.