Main Course
Zooming In, Zooming Out, Finding Hope
As the young people say, it’s been a minute since my last newsletter.
I’ll be honest, I’ve been in a weird headspace the past few months, which has left me feeling pretty unmotivated to write. I’m generally an optimistic person, someone who actively looks for possibility. But the start of this new federal administration has left me feeling anything but hopeful. I only recently put my finger on the sensation I've been carrying: it’s akin to grief.
Now, believe me, I’m not naive about the many ways in which this country has fallen short of its promises. But I have long carried a faith in its highest ideals. That faith has been deeply shaken recently, leaving me feeling strangely bereft.
What's been even more disorienting for me has been the zooming in and zooming out from day-to-day life to the larger national landscape.
It’s been surreal, moving from the mundane micro to the Machiavellian macro in the same day, sometimes in the same hour...
Time to walk the dog… While billions of dollars of humanitarian aid have just been eliminated.
Need to remember to pick up that birthday card… At the same time that judges and due process are utterly ignored.
What should I make for dinner for my family… As science is under siege and public education is gutted?
I’ve felt guilty thinking about such insignificant things against the backdrop of so much. And at the same time, the sense of overwhelm, that the big things “out there” are intractable, created a kind of paralysis.
And yet, the sun will rise and set tomorrow, and again the day after that, too. Paralysis isn’t an option when the world continues to spin.
A few weekends ago, my husband and I visited Foster Botanical Garden, a gem of green space tucked into urban Honolulu. We wandered among palms and shower trees and nut trees, listened to the chirp of Java finches, and gawked at the enormity of a giant Quipo:
Weaving our way from breadfruit to baobab, from a bamboo cluster to the butterfly garden, we ended our visit at the orchid conservatory. It is a feast for the eyes in the greenhouse: the intricate detail, the bold patterns, and the vibrant hues beckoning for a closer look:
For that hour at the garden, I was reminded that honoring and maintaining these mundane things are important even—and maybe especially—when the larger world can feel bleak. Finding beauty and joy in the small things around us still matters. We may feel like non-player characters in the macro, but we are each meaning-making contributors in the micro. And we are creating that meaning one walk, one celebration, and one shared meal at a time.
I’m starting to reframe the zooming in and zooming out I’ve been experiencing as an invitation to find a way out of paralysis. For some of us, keeping the frame wide is motivating; calling on elected officials to take action, fighting for legal and policy wins—these goals can provide a powerful sense of purpose. For others, maintaining a narrow frame feels like a call to action; it offers small and accessible ways we can contribute to forward movement.
Author John Green recently spoke of hope in this way on NPR's “Wild Card” podcast:
"I keep learning again and again that hope is the right response to the human condition… Despair is so powerful because it tells this complete, holistic story. It explains everything. Everything is the way it is because everything and everyone sucks. What an incredibly powerful way to look at the world. It just happens to not be true… I have to relearn that lesson, that there is cause for hope… because we have this incredible capacity to collaborate together, to make the world better together.”
This relearning rings so true to me, especially as I’ve begun to feel myself moved to action again. After pulling back for a bit, I’m rediscovering how energizing it is to simply share space, time, and conversation with friends and colleagues. I’m recalling the spark that comes from communities of practice. I’m finding inspiration from others who are cross-pollinating their own networks. I’m remembering that these connections offer an antidote to the venom of distrust that can seem so pervasive.
Fundamentally, these micro actions on a zoomed-in scale are relationship seeds planted for a future harvest, for multiple sunrises and sunsets from now. The micro framing reminds me that systems, institutions, and governments are made of people. And in the end, it’s always been people in relationship with one another who manage to ignite hope.
Where are you finding hope in this current moment? What's giving you reason to be optimistic?
I invite you to hit "reply" and send me a quotation, photo, song, book, podcast--anything that is helping you find hope these days.
I may share some of these in my next newsletter. Looking forward to what you all send!
Quick Bites
Zooming out can offer unique doses of hope, too, as these Quick Bites below demonstrate...
Screen grab from The Weekly Show with Jon Steward
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"I have no doubt a better country is in our future," Heather McGhee on The Weekly Show with Jon Stewart
Author, speaker, and advocate Heather McGhee joins host Jon Stewart and explains why remembering the resilience of previous generations can give us hope for the future.
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Screen grab from The Late Show with Stephen Colbert
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"Maybe the earth is special, very special, notwithstanding its physical insignificance," Brian Cox on The Late Show with Stephen Colbert
In a conversation with host Stephen Colbert, physicist Brian Cox suggests that despite our cosmological insignificance, being a human on this planet is pretty remarkable.
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Something Sweet
They say that many hands make light work... It turns out, in fact, they can relocate an entire bookstore. Residents of Chelsea, Michigan, created a "book brigade," moving more than 9,000 books, one by one, to their new storefront home down the block. They even reshelved the books in alphabetical order!
With warmth and aloha,
Joyce
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