A person hands over a sack of food. Public domain.
I put two sacks of food—one not even full—into the trunk of my car and drove them to Food Gatherers, our local food bank. “These seem so meager,” I thought. The CEO of Food Gatherers had recently addressed our City Council, sharing that the organization would soon face a $2.5 million gap due to federal cuts. Underwhelming, indeed.
Then I remembered a powerful story about a tiny offering of five loaves and two fish. Sometimes, our small offerings do add up and multiply.
When I arrived, a worker was just exiting a semi-truck. He was a driver for the organization. “Would you like me to take those for you?” he asked.
I told him I appreciated that, and then I added, “Thanks for everything you do. It’s really important.”
“You’re just as important,” he replied.
“Mutual affirmation is important!” I said, and we both smiled.
But also, isn’t it? Maybe that’s a meager offering that multiplies too.
I thought I had a great idea. My bike tires were low—not dangerously so, but still in need of air. I have an air pump for my bike, but I was struggling to get an accurate reading of the tire pressure. This left me feeling like I was just pumping air willy nilly.
“I’ll bike to Costco,” I thought. They have an air pump for car tires, and I knew it was reliable for measuring tire pressure. I checked online beforehand, and it seemed compatible. When I arrived, everything fit just fine.
But it turns out… that was a bad move. The Costco air pump blew out my tire.
That sounds more dramatic than it was. It wasn’t an explosion, but there is now a hole.
So… now what? I didn’t have a car, and I couldn’t ride my bike home. I have plenty of friends who could have picked me up, but I wasn’t sure any of them could fit my bike in their car. I was just about to try to arrange an Uber, realizing I’d need a vehicle large enough to take both me and my bike.
Then, someone overheard my predicament. He’s a young graduate student, and he suddenly said, “Can I take you home? I have space.” Sure enough, he had an SUV with the back seats already down. It was such a kind offer!
I also noticed a logo on the back of his SUV, and it turned out we shared connections to two towns. He had also lived in Texas, where I did previously. We had the nicest chat on the way home.
Next up: a purchase of new tires. It was already time for them, and now… it’s necessary.
But I’ve also been thinking about this, too. Every day, we’re bombarded with a news cycle where we constantly hear about people being awful. Yet there are still some truly great humans in the world. I’m glad to spotlight one of them.
Community photos from A Brighter Way, found on the organization’s website.
I arrived at Riverside Park and immediately saw tables and tents set up by nonprofit organizations. Joyful music played over a loudspeaker, and I watched the community gather. Some people were laughing, some were tapping their feet to the music, and others were engaged in serious conversations. The smell of barbecue wafted through the air, and I spotted a puppy happy to receive my attention (and I was just as happy to give it).
This was a community event hosted by A Brighter Way. With the motto “Reentry through Relationship,” the organization brings this vision to life through kinship, support, and resources. A Brighter Way works with people who have been formerly incarcerated, helping them find employment, housing, and, most importantly, a community that cares. All of their staff members have direct, lived experience with incarceration and the difficulties that follow when community care and resources are often withheld after release. On their website, we learn that 33% of formerly incarcerated people have not been able to find a job four years after their release, and nationally, 68% are re-arrested within three years of their release.
By expanding relationships and upholding dignity, the community at A Brighter Way has a recidivism rate of only 3%. They are clearly doing a lot of things right.
But I didn’t need stats to tell me that. It was evident at the community event, where we shared a meal and built those relationships. Adam Grant, the Executive Director, said a number of things that will stay with me. He mentioned that often people say what’s needed are more resources, but the resources are already out there. They just need to get into the right hands. He then added, “Those who are closest to the problem are closest to the solution.”
Those who are closest to the problem are closest to the solution. This rings true at A Brighter Way.
This could be true in many other places as well. Who has the lived experience to drive meaningful change? Who has the leadership and expertise close to the issues at hand? Isn’t it often those who have been most directly affected?
The book cover for The Science of Stuck: Breaking through Inertia to Find Your Path.
Britt Frank, LSCSW, has written a book titled, The Science of Stuck: Breaking through Inertia to Find Your Path. I’m sure we’ve all had moments of feeling stuck—stagnant, unable to move forward. The truth is, there are some benefits to staying stuck, so if we want the motivation to make changes, we may want to look at these honestly and with compassion (that’s key!). From her book, here are nine benefits to staying stuck:
1. Energy conservation: If you don’t do things, you don’t have to expend valuable energy doing things.
2. Image Preservation: If you keep yourself stuck, you don’t have to worry about people finding out you’re a “fraud.”
3. Risk management: If you don’t start doing things, you don’t have to worry about failing at things.
4. Control: If you keep your ideas safely confined to your head, you can maintain control over them.
5. Pain numbing: If you never start doing things, you can numb out by fantasizing about “someday” doing things.
6. Familiarity: We often accept the discomfort of the familiar rather than risk the unknown of change — even positive change.
7. Safety: Sometimes it feels safer to stay small.
8. Financial security: Staying stuck doesn’t require you to risk resources for an unknown outcome.
9. Relationship equilibrium: If you don’t do things, you don’t have to worry about shifting the dynamics of your relationships.
If you’d like to do a deeper dive, I invite you to read the book and/or watch this video below.
And if you’re unable to view this from Instagram, here’s a YouTube video about the Annual Pencil Sharpening. All of these people come out to celebrate a former-tree-turned-pencil getting a sharpening.
Two adolescents sitting together on a pier, facing a pond. Public domain image.
Yesterday, I spent time with some of my most beloved people. Then, while driving home, I found myself reflecting on how I felt afterward, including how I felt physically.
We often say things like, “Oh, that just fed my spirit,” or “That really lifted my spirits.” All of that is true, but these kind of experiences are ultimately embodied. We feel physically enriched when we’ve been in the presence of people we love.
Never underestimate belonging.
Then, during the drive home, I listened to a podcast episode of Hidden Brain, entitled, The Lonely American Man. This is a very important episode. It delves into research and a number personal stories that reveal the cultural socialization of boys and men to shut down emotions and cease language of intimacy in their own connections with one another. Ultimately, this leads to painful forms of isolation, impacting physical and mental health.
The opposite is true as well. The episode also gives examples of what is possible when we cultivate spaces for boys and men to be vulnerable, emotional, and connectional with others.
Never underestimate belonging.
This then reminded me of an important TED Talk by Susan Pinker. It’s entitled, The Secret to Living Longer May Be Your Social Life. Susan Pinker discusses research revealing how small interactions with acquaintances and unknown neighbors can have a large impact on health and wellness.
Never underestimate belonging.
We are living in an era of social upheaval. Anxieties and tensions are higher, and in the midst of these, people are working for collective change and greater safety. That work often requires disruption of systems and confrontation of forces that are doing harm. This is all vital.
But also, never forget that it is a radical, transformative act to cultivate spaces where people can belong –
where people can feel at home –
in their bodies, in their relationships, in their communities, in their callings, and in their purpose, toward collective purpose.
Two dirt paths split apart in the woods. Public domain.
Psychologist Bruce Perry shares a particular adage in in some of his books which may seem a bit pithy, but there is a lot of wisdom and thought behind it too. He says,
So often,
“We prefer the certainty of misery to the misery of uncertainty.”
There are times when we assume that pain, chaos, or conflict are going to be constant. Maybe not in every situation, but at least, in particular ones.
There are times when harmful rhythms, patterns, and practices (our own or others) become normalized to us, even though they are causing great difficulty.
There are times when we come to expect very little with resignation or cynicism.
These cause misery, but we feel settled in their sense of certainty. Rather than risking uncertainty, we sometimes prefer what we have become accustomed to because goodness knows,
uncertainty is vulnerable.
Risking hope is vulnerable. Saying, “No More,” is vulnerable. Cultivating new possibilities is vulnerable.
It really is vulnerable.
And if you’re doing anything of these things, or if you want to do these things, give yourselves a lot of gentleness and grace. But also give yourself hope and trust. Uncertainty requires risk, but it is generally the pathway by which newness comes.
I am greatly enjoying the spring season, which is leaning into this vision of summer.
A leaf grasshopper, Wikimedia Commons
The Summer Day by Mary Oliver
Who made the world? Who made the swan, and the black bear? Who made the grasshopper? This grasshopper, I mean — the one who has flung herself out of the grass, the one who is eating sugar out of my hand, who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down — who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes. Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face. Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away. I don’t know exactly what a prayer is. I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass, how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields, which is what I have been doing all day. Tell me, what else should I have done? Doesn’t everything die at last, and too soon? Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?
I’m a fan of curiosity questions — the kinds of questions we might ask and never answer fully. These are the same the kinds of questions that take us on fun information quests.
I was biking around town yesterday when I saw a bunch of bees flying around and landing upon some wildflowers. That’s a sight I see often while exploring my town. I wondered, “Do bees remember routes?” and “If many of these wildflowers are perennials, returning each year to this very spot, do they have some way of sharing that memory across their generations — after all, they have rather short lives — so that wildflower locations don’t have to be rediscovered each year?”
I’m grateful to live in an era of Google and YouTube.
And like a good curiosity question, I haven’t yet answered this fully. But I’ve learned some neato things.
Smuggling Grace 