This week, I had an eye exam that turned into an unexpected lesson in mindfulness. After the usual eye pressure checks, retinal scans, testing out lenses for a new prescription, and of course, dilation, I was taken to the waiting area to wait for the ophthalmologist.
The room was filled with other patients sitting in two rows of chairs, each lining a wall in a dimly lit area. Because of our dilated pupils, reading on our phones was nearly impossible. We all sat there in silence. I saw a number of people closing their eyes, and then, I followed suit. It reminded me of something familiar, like a Quaker meeting I had attended just days before, where we also sat in silence.
I wonder how many moments like this I tend to miss. How many might be approached or created intentionally, once we find ourselves in the right spaces for them?
The next time you find yourself in an unplanned moment of stillness, take a deep breath, close your eyes, and sit with it. You might be surprised how much we need this.
Hey there, You matter. Your values matter. Your compassion matters. Your work matters. You— all of you— every identity, every commitment, every wholehearted form of community belonging— You, the whole you, You matter.
One of my most beloved people has stage 4 cancer. And yet, with gratitude, he continues to live well with it, seven years after that diagnosis. I’ve heard him say this many times:
“I wouldn’t wish this cancer on anyone, not even my worst enemy. But I do wish every person I know had the opportunity to experience what it feels like to have your community catch you.”
Whether you’re catching your community or being caught and upheld by it (I deeply hope it’s both), may you know that these acts of belonging, commitment, and care matter.
I wrote this yesterday, just one hour before the executive order to freeze federal grants and loans was set to take effect. Thankfully, a federal judge has temporarily blocked the order, which could have had devastating consequences for many. The move was widely seen as a power grab, with some even calling it an administrative coup.
I suspect the administration may engage in some gaslighting today, that people wouldn’t fallen through the cracks, and that they wouldn’t have let that happen. Heroes of their own harm. But people did almost fall through the cracks, just hours ago. When people reveal their intentions and the actions they plan to take, it’s important to listen and believe them the first time.
When federal grants and loans freeze at 5pm today, there is not a lot of clarity about which programs will be affected, and to what degree, and for how long (though this is indefinite at the moment, unless a legal challenge stops it).
But we do know millions of people will be directly and adversely impacted. And since this freezes up to $3 trillion in our economy, this will impact all of us in one way or another.
It is calculated, and I feel it is callous. When our loved ones and neighbors can potentially lose access to food, employment, rent or utility assistance, shelter, medication, medical visits and procedures, assistance in education, or necessary programs and services provided by a variety of agencies, it is devastating. The loss of these funds falls across so-called “red states” and “blue states.” This loss doesn’t look at who you voted for (nor should it).
But these actions do seek to usurp power. And if a person holds your livelihood over you and says, “You only get this if you fall in line with giving me more power,” or “You only get this if you turn against other people,” it’s not government, it’s abuse.
My thoughts here are my own, and not representative of any community or party. But as we cascade this week into a loss of rights and potentially, ways of sustaining what we need to live, I have to speak up and say something.
This is another piece from the vault, first published on February 3, 2017. I hope this speaks to you in some way.
What is your resilience story?
Have you thought about that recently? A story from your life, the life of your family, or your community? It might be helpful to bring such a story to mind – to recall those chapters and moments when we endured stress, challenge, trauma, and loss and made it through.
When we were empowered to keep going. . .
When we gained grit and resolve. . .
When we experienced renewed life, despite the pain we have known. . .
When we gained insight we cannot lose. . .
Resilience is often totally unexpected, but it happens around us and through us. Certainly, none these forms of growth transform trauma into some kind of collective good. Far from it. But there are times when resiliency accompanies even our greatest pain and brings us through despite what we might have anticipated.
We are living in a time of collective stress and fear. As I talk with people, many are saying that they feel despair and dread. If that’s where we are, I encourage us to honor those feelings.
Alongside challenging feelings, some are facing tangible concerns and threats to their safety. We need to take these seriously and create protective strategies in our communities.
We will be even more empowered to do so if we can remember resiliency. What is your resilience story? Can you call it to mind?
In some ancient languages, the word ‘remember’ does not simply mean that we recall something from the past. It means that we make it present.
Mental health experts tell us that people tend to gain healing from stress, challenge, trauma, and loss when they can put their experiences into a personal narrative. Can we take some time today to tell our resilience stories to ourselves? Can we put their power into our bodies, minds, and spirits?
And one of the best strategies for gaining resiliency is to connect with good and trusted relationships of support and care. Have we told anyone our resilience story lately? There is great power in sharing such stories with one another.
We can consider doing that. And wherever we are and however we’re feeling, we can let these stories guide us.
Flowing abstract patterns in pastel pinks, blues, and purples
Right now, it can feel like the world is shifting under our feet. Whether it’s changes to policies affecting our loved ones based on their immigration status, or attacks on gender identity, or the broader impact of shifts in workplace and societal norms, many of us are feeling the weight of this moment.
In times like these, it’s easy to become weighed down by the urgency and stress of everything happening around us. We may feel overwhelmed, unsure of where to turn, or simply exhausted by the never-ending news cycle. It’s in these moments that compassion, both for ourselves and for those around us, becomes crucial.
Self-compassion allows us to hold space for the complexities of our emotions without judgment. It’s okay to feel uncertain, angry, sad, or even numb. These feelings don’t need to be fixed, just acknowledged and accepted. Similarly, extending compassion to others means recognizing that everyone around us may be navigating their own struggles, often silently. A kind word, a listening ear, or a moment of solidarity can make all the difference.
As we face these shifts together, let’s remember that it’s crucial to care for our mental health as we take actions in response to the world’s changes. By nurturing compassion, we can create spaces of care, healing, and strength—not just for ourselves, but for each other.
An elevator, with “staff only” written quite prominently!
Here is a re-post of a humorous story I shared in 2018 — remember those before times? — back when X was still Twitter and had the capacity to save the day. Enjoy.
Never Step Into a “Staff Only” Elevator
Have you ever left a City Council meeting, walked toward an elevator, read a sign that said “Staff Only,” pushed the button anyway, walked inside, watched the doors close, traveled down, then realized you’re completely stuck, then Tweeted your way out of it?
I have.
Move over, POTUS. I too can use Twitter for purposes for which it was never designed.
Yes, this really happened to me! Yes, it was embarrassing. And it has turned into a good story. (If you know me, surprise. I like that part).
Last month in Ann Arbor, I attended a very important City Council meeting. Despite some frustrating moments and comments, overall, the meeting moved in the direction we desired. This was certainly good news.
When that portion was over, I decided to leave. The meeting was still in session, and the City Council members had moved onto other business. So I decided to take the elevator down and walk back to my car. Now. . . which way did I come into the chambers. . .?
Here is a unique factoid about me: It’s mostly endearing, but on rare occasions, it can get in my way. That is, if I have things on my mind — especially if I’m anxious, but also, simply, if I’m pondering possibilities, as I was when I entered this City Council meeting — I don’t adequately pay attention to my surroundings.
In other words, when it was time to leave, I didn’t remember how I had come into the chambers. But never fear, here is an elevator! I remember coming up on an elevator!
It says, “Staff Only Elevator.”
“Surely, that means only during work hours,” I fatefully assume. “I mean, I came up on an elevator.”
I push the button, step inside, and choose the first floor.
I go down, and the doors swing open just as they should. But. . . I immediately recognize this isn’t where I’m supposed to be. Hmm. . . I suppose this was the wrong elevator after all. . . So I push the button, requesting that the doors close again so I can head back upstairs and try a different way.
The doors close.
And NOTHING.
That is, NOTHING HAPPENS. Because the doors are now irrevocably shut on the first floor, and no buttons are working. “Oh my goodness,” I realize, “This requires a badge.”
This just in: I have no badge.
I am the doof who stepped into a “Staff Only Elevator.”
I keep trying to push floor buttons to no avail. I see the red, EMERGENCY ONLY button, and with utter embarrassment, I begin to ponder what will happen if I push that. Will there be an alarm? Will I disrupt the City Council meeting that is still underway? Will emergency vehicles come? Will tomorrow’s news talk about this very important vote, then mention that the rest of the business was cut short when a firetruck arrived to save a person who took the wrong elevator?
I imagine people saying to me compassionately, “Oh, you must not have seen the sign that said ‘Staff only.’” And I ponder the truth, wondering if I would ever dare to say it aloud:
“Well, actually, I did see it, but due to my very poor spacial reasoning skills, I didn’t adequately remember the direction from which I entered the chamber. I only remembered coming up on an elevator, and here was an elevator, so. . .”
All of this felt mortifying to me.
But!
That’s when I remembered Twitter.
You see, friends, this very foolish error aside, I have a strong skill. I am an outside-the-box thinker! I remember, there is an entire community of people that uses a Twitter hashtag to hash out City Council meetings. #A2CityCouncil will be my saving day!
So I dare to craft an embarrassing, necessary tweet. I say,
“Okay, so this is verrrry embarrassing because I took an elevator that was for employees only, and now I’m on the first floor with an elevator door that won’t open. Can someone go push the elevator button on floor two so it sends me back up? #A2council”
And yes, to my further embarrassment, but even more to the necessity, people start retweeting this foolishness. And it works. The community makes a plan to collectively save me from my error (and just a little less dramatically than an emergency button) . In fact, a particular human was chosen by the community-at-large to push that button and send me back to the land of the living.
He was on his way when. . . oh, my goodness, I hear someone! An employee (you know, actual staff) was cleaning and talking on her phone right where I was. I started pounding on the elevator doors in an attempt to be just loud enough without scaring her. And that worked too.
She pushes the button to open the door, and as soon as I tell her what happened, she laughs and laughs.
I tweet again that I am free.
I walk out of that place, quite aware that I will never take a “Staff Only Elevator” again. And I tell you this tale, so that you will never follow in my not-able-to-go-anywhere footsteps.
We have a City Council meeting tonight. And God bless it it all, I’m going to pay attention to my entry point.
Great, courageous acts come from ordinary, every day people. This holds true for both individuals and communities, though I believe that individuals who act in such ways are likely shaped and supported by the communities around them.
Ordinary, every day communities shape individuals who can act in decisive moments:
Like the Rev. Mariann Edgar Budde, the Bishop who appealed to the newly inaugurated President, asking him to show mercy to immigrants and trans people. Have a watch of this powerful moment:
And like many more people who never make it into the news.
I’d like to re-share a Ted Talk I’ve shared in the past as well. David LaMotte; songwriter, author, and peace activist; talks about the danger of the hero myth. He shares that a network of communities usually build change in decisive moments.
May we, embedded in relationships, be enabled to act.
This is a time in our world when hope, despair, and determination are swirling around us and within us; at times, we feel one of these more than any of the others. Sometimes, we tend to the emotions and energy of others because they need our care, and sometimes, we need to borrow from the emotions and energy of others so we can receive care and keep going.
I am so grateful to see the ceasefire in Palestine and Israel come into effect. The hostages need to be home. They have experienced immense trauma and separation. There are Palestinian prisoners, including youth, who have not been charged. They need to come home. They have experienced immense trauma and separation.
It fills my heart to see these families reunited and people in Palestine celebrating when all they’ve known for more than 400 days is destruction and a will to survive.
And…
I also know that within the window of time when the ceasefire was announced (last Wednesday) and the moment it went into effect (last Sunday) the Israeli army continued to bomb Gaza, and more than 100 people were killed, including children. What is it like to survive more than 400 days in violence, debris, cold, and at times, a serious lack of food, only to die after a ceasefire was announced? More than 260 people were injured in the same window of time.
The people of Gaza continue to need our care and advocacy. And the Israeli hostages need to be released.
The work remains. Hope, despair, and determination are swirling around us and within us. We need each other. We need action.
Smuggling Grace 