_edited.png)
To say that there is a lot going on in our country right now is an understatement - no matter where you fall on the political spectrum. The upheaval of the political landscape is challenging to navigate, to say the least. I have been thinking a lot about how to navigate, how we can tend to ourselves and one another, and how to stay connected in a world that is seemingly becoming more disconnected with each passing day.
The division and noise can create such noise and chaos that we risk losing ourselves in it all. Not only can we lose ourselves, but we can also lose touch with what is real. And in this age of AI and information overload, that disconnect is taking on a whole new dimension.
When I began building my business, I identified three major disconnects that contribute to the suffering I see around loss:
A disconnect with nature.
A disconnect with our true nature as mortal human beings.
A disconnect with one another.
Now, I’m seeing a fourth emerge - a disconnect with what’s real and true. We are beginning to question the news, social media, and the intentions of others.
Meanwhile, amidst all this uncertainty, life continues. People are losing and grieving loved ones, caregiving for ill and aging parents, saying goodbye to beloved pets, losing jobs, preparing for children to leave the nest, and confronting a lifetime of ungrieved losses. There is no end to life transitions that we are navigating.
Even as the news cycles keep us in a constant state of uncertainty, the cycles of life and death remain very real.
A Shift Toward What Matters
So, what do we do with it all? I don’t have the answer for you, but I can share what I am choosing to do:
I’m moving in deeper, shifting my focus even more toward the things I can impact. I am narrowing my lens and leaning into my inner world, my family and friends, my local community, and my purpose.
When I think about the bigness of our world today, it’s no wonder we’ve become disconnected - from nature, from who we truly are, and from one another.
I believe we are built for small communities. It used to be that we knew our neighbors and they knew us. We shopped at one or two local stores. Our doctors knew our parents and grandparents. When we lost someone close, our community lost them too - and they grieved with us (this topic is of particular interest to me and I’ll be exploring this further in future writings).
In those times, we were more connected to the land, to each other, and to the reality of life and death. We lived together and grieved together because we lived alongside one another. We celebrated together, we learned together, we hunted and ate together, we acknowledged life’s transitions through ritual together - we depended on each other because the survival of the community depended on the survival of the individual. When one person or family went through hardship, it impacted the whole.
Now, I know I may be painting a utopian picture of the past. I’m deeply grateful for the progress we’ve made - hello, running water and electricity and a more peaceful and cushy lifestyle! But in moving forward, we’ve also forgotten something essential: we belong to each other.
So when I ask myself how to stay (relatively) sane, I hear the wisdom of my ancestors whispering: Move closer to the things and people that really matter. Pay attention to what’s happening, but don’t dwell there. Dwell in the possibilities, dwell in your power to bring people together, dwell in the beauty of community, connection, and belonging.
Let’s continue the good work of tending to ourselves, our families, our communities, and the gifts we’ve been blessed with - to bring forth love, compassion, kindness, and belonging. When we feel as though there is nothing that we can do, let’s challenge ourselves to turn to our neighbors who need help, to our friends who are losing family members, pets, and dreams, to the tending of our own bodies, minds, and hearts.
Because in the end, I believe we were meant to live it all, experience it all, and love ourselves and each other through it all. ❤️
Comments