On Sunday, driving to pick up my brother from the train station for Thanksgiving, I was listening to a recent episode of This American Life.

The story was about a father who chose to self-deport at the start of his older daughter’s last year of high school.

Near the end, the younger daughter’s voice came on, soft and quivery, not as sure as she’d been earlier in the episode. She talked about how lonely she would be next year when her older sister goes to college. How she was scared of the coming quiet without her chatty, fun dad.

It hit me in right under my collarbones. (Mine go hot and tight when something lands real close.)

I turned into the station parking lot, thinking about the custard pie recipe I’m about to try and our delicious family gravy, while this girl was talking about absence and disruption. My family was gathering for the holiday, and this girl didn’t know when hers would get to gather again.

That moment, in its messy mix of privilege and guilt and gratitude, felt like a strangely on-point example of what so many of us are carrying these days.

I’m guessing you’re feeling your own version of it. Especially this week, if you’re in the USA.

How the world keeps asking you to hold ten contradictory emotions at once.

Feeling simultaneously fortunate and exhausted.

Caring deeply and feeling like you should be doing more, while also feeling one nudge away from collapse.

We’re living on a permanent tightrope, and even the smallest shift can wobble our balance.

In this deluge of political turbulence, climate anxiety, economic squeeze, and family holiday drama, even when your life looks “fine on paper,” your system is braced for the next hit. Your cup isn’t just full; it’s trembling at the rim.

The things I hear over and over from people, especially the ones in mid-career inflection points are:

• let me wait until things to settle down before I can feel joy again

• let me move somewhere else to get away from all of this chaos

• let me wait for someone else to give me permission to unclench my jaw/fists/shoulders

But that uncertainty isn’t going away. We’re on the tightrope. To mix metaphors, it’s the water we’re swimming in for the foreseeable future.

If we keep waiting for the world to calm down before we do, joy and sustainability drift even further out of reach.

You’re not a failure if you’re feeling brittle.
You’re a human in a moment that is asking more of you than you’re equipped to take.

If you’ve been feeling scattered, stretched, numb, or hopeless, I see you. Truly.

And if this week is—maybe literally—driving home the tensions and contradictions on your plate right now, you’re not alone. I’m in that same stew (stuffing?) of privilege, guilt, and helplessness right with you.

I’ve been thinking a lot about what it means to meet times like these with something more attainable than certainty. Something quieter, that lets you stay rooted without completely shutting down.

More soon.

There’s a new way of approaching all this that I’ve been building slowly, and I think it might help you.

In the meantime, find enjoyment where you can this week, and I’m grateful to you for reading this.

May we all be able to eat something tasty in good company soon,
Rachel