I’m noticing that I feel very differently about the state of the world than a lot of the people around me. It’s not that I’m minimizing it or ignoring it. In fact, it’s directly impacting me and people I know. Like so many other small businesses we know, sales have been very slow this year. Our clients and partners have lost funding and some have been forced to stop the impactful work they were doing. But somehow, it’s not impacting me in the way that I see it impacting many others. I’m scared. I’m horrified. I’m nervous about what’s to come. But it’s not overwhelming me. I can hold it and keep moving forward. And I think there are a few reasons for that, none of them simple or easy, but it’s given me a certain perspective that has been helpful in these times.One very much not easy or simple reason - I’m in the middle of a heavy season of grief. Death and loss are all around me. Someone I love dearly who is way too young and way too precious is dying. I’ve been on a two year fertility journey which is just a nice way of saying I’ve experienced loss after loss after loss. And there’s more but it frankly feels like emotional dumping to list it all out here. It all feels unfair and impossible to make sense of. The loss itself doesn’t make sense at all, but it’s helped me make sense of so many other things in my life. It’s so clear what’s important to me. There’s no doubt about how I want to spend my time. Connection and community is the only thing that feels right.
What doesn’t feel right? Stupid check the box tasks, the chaos of the news cycle, social media, having a clean house, impressing people, unrealistic revenue goals, productivity metrics. Aren’t all of those things just a way to avoid thinking about the surety of death? Isn’t that what being busy is all about? How much of what’s happening in the world right now is because of our culture’s avoidance of loss and death? What if we leaned into grief? What if we made space for it?I’ve been trying to do that as much as I can. It’s messy and some days all I do is play a stupid, mindless and very addictive game on my phone (I’m not going to tell you the name of it because I don’t want you to get addicted too - trust me on this one.) Most days, it’s just feeling the hole in my heart, and often that involves crying. It sucks. And it’s also sometimes beautiful. Because that’s what it is to be human - to love and to lose.
One thing I’ve noticed about grief is how it impacts my view of time. All of us are here on this miraculous planet for such a short time. Some are here for such a short time it shouldn’t even be allowed. Some are here for a mere 100 years. Either way, it’s still such a short time. And the change we all want to see is not likely to be in our lifetimes. The change that I want to see - a regenerative planet and ecosystem, a world in which the strength of the collective determines the success of the economy - is not going to happen in my lifetime. There is a grief that comes with that too. Accepting that means I’m accepting a loss. The vision I have that I so wish to see - I also know I’m not going to see it. That’s devastating. That’s what makes this work so hard.
And also, what if? What if we accepted that? Would the hourly chaos of the news be less difficult to accept? Because if 100 years is barely a blip on the radar then an hour is, well, nothing. I have a belief that things will get better. That in the great arc of history, justice will win. But I don’t know how bad it has to get first. And maybe it’s going to get a whole lot worse before it gets better (I recommend reading The Ministry for the Future for a surprisingly hopeful outlook on this concept). That doesn’t mean I stop doing what I’m doing, staying the course. Because my work is for the many generations after me.With love,Rebecca 
