Love, too, is all around
and a collection of reminders
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A song I’m loving:
Hi, dear reader. There is so little and so much to say. For now, I want to share some reminders I’ve needed lately, some I’ve offered to others, some that may be for you during this swirly, heartbreaking, heart-opening time:
1 — Love, too, is all around us, everywhere. When I remember this, I start seeing it in the smallest and biggest of ways. I see it in the chalk art my spouse and child left on our driveway, in the crowded bird feeder hanging in the yard, in a poem, in righteous rage, in softness, in the breeze pouring through the door, in all the doors being built that might eventually lead to more love, more connection, more understanding, more peace. Love is all around. It is everywhere. It isn’t naive to see it, to let it change you, too.
2 — You can say anything and be critiqued. You can say nothing and be critiqued. You can choose to show up in any way and be criticized, judged, misunderstood, or maybe even seen clearly, others mirroring something beyond your own self-understanding. Are you good with your own heart? Can you stand by your soul’s expression? Do you have your own back? Do you trust your own message, your own integrity, what you know and don’t know, your fullest self? If so, withstanding what comes from staying true to your heart becomes easier and easier. Tolerating being misunderstood hurts less and less. And sharing from your big heart, the one you’ve grown to trust and listen to, becomes the only obvious choice.
3 — Nothing is all yours to do on your own. You can take the weight of the entire world off your shoulders; trying to carry it all isn’t the selfness gift you might think it is. You can turn toward your perhaps quiet yet needed gifts and share them with your family, your neighbors, in the work you do and the art you create and the compassion you practice. You can let your contributions be enough amidst the pressure for them to fix it all. You can
4 — It makes sense to be a home to contradictory & complex feelings, especially during times of chaos and unpredictability. It makes sense to feel one way one moment, and another way the next; it makes sense for your feelings to often seem in opposition to one another, like rivals in one body. We can be a vessel for all of it; you don’t need to fix the contradiction as much as you need to trust it’s there for a reason, hear what it has to tell you, and welcome it home.
5 — Maybe confusion is wisdom embodied; maybe confusion is a sign you aren’t clinging to rightness or premature knowing, but are willing to linger in not knowing a little longer than is comfortable. Let your confusion air out, expand, take the time it needs to form something else. Let your confusion signal your openness. Let your confusion guide you toward learning, toward slow digestion. Let your confusion be.
6 — Enjoy a freaking hot dog. Ride the janky dragon rollercoaster with your daughter at the hometown fair. Plant pansies in the new garden bed outside your bedroom window. Feel the sweetness of your old cat falling asleep in your nook. Delight in the delightful. Let all the delights bolster you as you look out at what unfolds beyond them.
7 — Stay devoted to compassion, even when it isn’t reciprocated. Stay devoted to compassion, even when it is misinterpreted. Stay devoted to compassion, even when it at times feels more like a performance than an embodied felt sense. Stay devoted to compassion, even when you will inevitably forget, only to remember you’re just human, just an animal with impulses and history and patterns and needs and longings like everyone else, just ever-practicing.
8 — You cannot change anyone but yourself. It is a gift to deeply trust this.
9 — You are ever-changing. Let what wants to shift shift. Let what wants to move move. Let what wants to rearrange rearrange. Let yourself be surprised by who you can become, beyond who you thought you were.
10 — There is softness to be found in the toughest of situations. Maybe it’s just in your breath, or the way you speak to yourself, or the outstretched hand you offer someone who needs it. Softness can be a guide amid what’s hard.
11 — When there is nothing to say, rest in listening.
12 — Don’t forget to listen to yourself, too; you are human here, too.
13 — When listening feels hard, when your claws are out and you’re ready to pounce instead of walk beside, ask yourself: what do I need to return to presence? What walls inside need softening? What am I protecting that actually needs loving? How might I let more love in here, in the place I want to enact hurt instead of understanding? See what shifts.
14 — What is one small, simple alteration that can be done in your day that might let more sweetness, more ease, more love, more beauty, more connection in? Is it a moment with your journal? Is it a quick walk instead of scrolling? Is it calling a friend instead of reading more news you are already caught up on? Is it prepping an herbal infusion the night before as an act of care for your future self? Can you let a small alteration be worth doing, even when it won’t change everything immediately? Can you gift yourself that kind of care?
15 — Notice where your attention is going. Your attention is your power. Your attention is your currency. Your attention is your energy. Your attention is your place of control, your place of choice, your place of returning to the here and now, your place of remembering what you need, your place of noticing, your place of savoring, your place of listening and offering, your place of presence. Your attention can be redirected in any moment, over and over. It is never too late to notice where your attention is going, to turn it in another direction if you need to.
Goodness, it’s a lot out there. Goodness, there’s a lot to take in, digest, in a world that doesn’t always give us the proper room or spaciousness to do so with care, with slowness, with gentleness. I hope you carve out small pockets of spaciousness amid it all. I hope you are held and witnessed in it all. I hope you stay rooted to your courage, to your own offerings of love woven together with those of others. I hope you release yourself from needing to figure it all out right now. I hope those tears asking to be released find themselves dancing down your face when they’re ready to. I hope you show your teeth the next time you smile., that it’s wide enough for that to happen. I hope you rest deeply, even if only momentarily. I hope you let the sun warm what still feels frozen inside. I hope you are tender with what hasn’t yet thawed. I hope some unexpected delight finds you. I hope you’re being gentle with yourself. I’m trying, too, alongside you from here.
Thank you, as always, for being here.
Ps. Sorry if you received this email twice; substack was down for a bit and got wonky!
△ “I cherish my humanity so I can easily cherish yours.” Every word
△ Co-Regulation — a new podcast from the brilliant Holly Whitaker
△ At least we are many: resisting the drums of war
△ How do we talk with our kids about the scary stuff in the world?
△ Range, continuing to be a salve in all the ways
△ Our vision, our dream, our possibility —
With care,
Lisa
Substack seems to have been down when this email got sent out -- so if it sent twice or you didn't get it in your inbox at all, my apologies! Swirly times all around, it seems...
Brilliant reminders, beautifully expressed! I needed to see this today and will re-read it in the future! Thank you, Lisa! 🌈💗🙏