Keep going, still
the art of continuation
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A song I’m loving:
I answered this question at the beginning of the year (part one is here) and, for obvious & maybe not so obvious reasons, it feels like a good time to return — to explore the contours of the current answers. Here are some of mine.
How do I keep going?
Stay close to your own knowing amid the noise. Remember your knowing doesn’t always need to be shared or displayed. Remember your knowing can be slowly and quietly tended to. Remember how much grows in the dark, in the places no one but you can see. Remember your knowing is enough and, when it’s not, there are others you can turn to for guidance, for wisdom, for help. Let your knowing reflect your deepest values, your widest compassion, your boldest vision for what’s possible.
How do I keep going?
Let your grief keep you soft. Let your grief remind you of just how tender you can get. Let your grief make the humanity of others more vibrant, more seeable. Let your grief bring you closer to your truth. Let your grief move you toward right action. Let your grief take on the shape of presence. Let your grief help you touch life more fully. Let your grief unfurl you.
How do I keep going?
Order a Strauss chocolate/vanilla swirl soft serve at the Marin Cheese Company, lay out a blanket on the grass next to the pond of geese, and let your daughter drink said soft serve out of the cone with a curly straw. Watch her eyes widen as she slurps the sweetness. Watch it drip down her chin, onto her knees, everywhere. Let her delight teach you how to truly savor, how to indulge, how to say yes to what might bring a little more play, a little more joy, to the messes that are proof of fully and unabashedly enjoying something.
How do I keep going?
Talk to others who are also figuring out how to keep going. Stay close to others who are leaning into the nuances and dualities of the current moment, who aren’t so quick to throw each other away, who recognize the complexity of what it all means while also naming what is so clear and obvious, who seek to cultivate a future where every single human being is safe and loved and seen in their dignity.
How do I keep going?
Sing. Remember the seven years you spent in choir growing up? Remember how gathering to sing with others saved you, helped you heal, showed you a steadier ground? Remember your trip to the New Orleans Jazz Festival in 2005, the feeling of being surrounded by music? Sing in the car & to your child & while you do the dishes. Sing Om with others at the yoga studio. Sing lullabies & oldies & hymns & hopes. Sing prayers & grief & possibility. Let life come out of your throat. Let the vibration of your voice help you remember what is real. Maybe start looking for a local singing group to join, for others also trying to remember. Sing. Sing. Sing.
How do I keep going?
Stop trying to keep it all together. You are not glue, or stone. You do not need to remain solid at all times. You can drop some, let some fall, let yourself come apart. You can pour out what you thought you needed to keep contained. You can stretch what is tightened and expand what is scrunched. You do not need to keep it all together. You are not meant to keep it all together.
How do I keep going?
Forgive yourself for what you didn’t know when you didn’t know it. Forgive yourself for pretending you didn’t know when you did. Forgive yourself for acting certain when you were actually confused. Forgive yourself for acting confused when you were actually certain. Forgive yourself.
How do I keep going?
Have hope that this is the least wise you’ll ever be.
How do I keep going?
Put your feet in dirt. Put your hands on the trunk of a tree. Caress the stem of flowers and the face of leaves. Let wind wrap itself around you. Let the ocean’s water drench you, the cool of it a pleasant shock of aliveness. Commune with the bees buzzing around the lavender in your yard. Say hello to the unexpected blooms you find along the concrete sidewalk. Seek where you can join with nature, where you can remember you are already part of it all. Let yourself be part of it all.
How do I keep going?
Notice where you’re afraid of connection and, instead of forcing it, tend to the fear. Tell the afraid part of you how brave it is for trying. Tell the scared part of you it’s welcome, it doesn’t need to rush, that you’ve got you. Let your fear be a place of beloved contact instead of a place of harsh shame. Let your fear point you toward what you might need. Let your fear become part of the process of trying instead of a place to hide within. Have reverence for what you once pushed away and notice how it shifts what’s possible, how it brings things to the light.
How do I keep going?
Turn toward the spiral — toward all the stuff that comes back around again, in need of new attention, a new vision, new tending, new healing, new nourishment, new lessons. Something old or “already moved through” returning again isn’t a sign of failure or moving backward; it’s a sign of deepening, of going further in, of regeneration. What returns has something to receive and something to teach when you allow it to.
How do I keep going?
Let yourself receive. Practice feeling the safety of letting love in. Practice feeling the safety of loving someone wholly. Practice feeling the potential that they won’t go anywhere if you open yourself up in new ways. Practice feeling them staying, even as they see you more fully. Practice letting people stay.
How do I keep going?
Remember it isn’t all yours to carry. It isn’t all yours to solve or fix or figure out. You play but a small, minor part in a grand web of others doing their small, minor parts to create the kind of world we deserve. Remember you don’t need to be a hero or a singular character for your part to matter. Remember your part doesn’t always need to be seen or known by all to count. Remember small is all.
How do I keep going?
Let spirit in. Stay open to the vulnerability of connecting to something beyond yourself, beyond what you can see. Let your ideas about what that means shift and change. Tend to your teenage atheist self as you do. Trust in what your soul is catching onto. Embrace the mystery and honor the tenderness of learning to trust it.
How do I keep going?
Ask yourself where you can lower the stakes. Where can pressure be removed? where can expectations be lessened? Where can judgments be quieted? Where can small steps count more? Where can you go a little easier on yourself, be a bit more flexible, take the edge off even a smidge? This is all a lot already; no need to make it moreso.
How do I keep going?
Let your widening heart be held. Let it be witnessed, felt, seen, massaged, loved, nourished, heard. Let your heart exist in the company of another. Let it peek out from the curtain it might feel comfortable hiding behind. Let it be known. Let the ache and hope your heart carries be met. Let the meeting of it move you.
How do I keep going?
Give a little more love to the parts of you who are still afraid to deeply love. Know there is nothing wrong with those parts of you. Know those parts have been working so hard to protect you and they deserve reverence, too. And, as they receive reverence, they might also find more openings to practice loving more deeply.
How do I keep going?
Let there not be words yet when there aren’t words yet.
How do I keep going?
One breath, then another, then another.
How do I keep going?
Ask the question; stay open to the answer.
Thank you, as always, for being here.
△ An upcoming memoir I eagerly preordered
△ Seeing in the dark amid catastrophe
△ Forever grateful for the wisdom of Francis Weller
△ “I’m not in a place in my life where I can be shamed into questioning my own heart and intentions.” (a note: whether or not anyone completely agrees with their positionality, I give a deep bow to all who are seeking to move through this moment with compassion, integrity, and heart — who are committed to the difficult work of not othering anyone — who are asking questions and remaining curious — who are staying open to connection even amid difference — who are being courageous enough to share what’s on their heart in a political climate that doesn’t always make it feel welcoming to do so. It has helped me do the same in my own ways.)
△ From Ego to Eco-identity — a tender listen on last night's walk
△ Coast Miwok land, forever nurturing
With care,
Lisa
This whole article felt like a hug. In reading it, I found myself crying tears that had been needing to find their way out for a while, and these words came them permission to do so. Thank you.
THIS: “Stop trying to keep it all together. You are not glue, or stone. You do not need to remain solid at all times.” 🪨