Filling my cup

Hope in the face of horror

I don’t want to write my newsletter this week.

I’m exhausted, for reasons including (but not limited to):

• Work stress—I’m juggling a lot of projects with tight turnarounds, and generally speaking, we’re understaffed

• COVID booster—my reaction to the shot makes it pretty obvious that I’ve never actually had COVID itself; fever, chills, muscle aches, the song and dance

• Lack of sleep due to the aforementioned COVID booster

• The healthcare industry—navigating getting a surgery consultation, learning that insurance won’t cover my therapy anymore (back to the beginning of the therapist search)

• Grief—so much grief, large and small, for so many living things

Normally, writing my newsletter fills my cup, but I’ve been at such a loss for words lately that trying to say anything meaningful feels pointless. So, I’ll keep this brief and get back to things that are filling my cup.

Image Description: Emory’s left hand rests on top of his quilt. Some of his hand-stitched quilting is visible above his hand. He is wearing his wedding ring and holding the sewing needle.

Hand-quilting has been a balm, something to do with my hands while my mind runs wild. I sew while talking to friends, while watching television, while cuddling with Zoe and Marmalade. It feels good to make something—and to make something useful, something that will keep people warm and add a bit of character to a bedroom. Something that will live on, and on, and on, even when my old bones won’t need it to keep me warm anymore.

Image Description: In the foreground, a tree with a mix of green and yellow leaves stands tall against a blue sky. In the background, brick buildings are visible, their facades painted with murals.

My other bit of daily peace comes from walks with Marmalade (and sometimes with Zoe, too). The time outside is a reprieve from the doom scrolling. I’ve been enjoying seeing how the leaves change from one day to the next—change that feels both gradual and immediate. The days are finally cooling off, which I appreciate especially because on sunny days, the cool air is the perfect contrast for the sun’s warmth on my skin.

In the coming days, weeks, months, years, I will have more work to do. Not just my job, but the work of making the world just a little bit better. Really, the work will never end. But I can only take care of my community—whether that’s my little family, my friends, my city, my country, or the whole world—if I take care of myself.

Yes, even if that means being lazy about my newsletter.

This isn’t a moment of calm before the storm; the storm has always been here and isn’t going away anytime soon. I’m just stopping under an umbrella for a moment to catch my breath before continuing on.

I am thinking of Gaza. Of Palestine. Of oppressed peoples around the world.

I am thinking of Lewiston. Of all victims of mass shootings. Of everyone who scared because nowhere feels safe.

I am thinking of Matthew Perry. Of people who struggle with substance use. Of all the people who love those who are struggling.

I am thinking of Acapulco. Of communities ravaged by extreme weather events. Of every living thing.

I am thinking of the people I love and the struggles they are facing.

I am thinking about all of it. I can’t not think about all of it.

Image Description: The sun, shining through leaves.

In the midst of everything, I am trying to cup hope in my palms and hold it close to my heart.