A Kind of Bulwark
The best advice I can give is to move toward joy. That you can set down the things that make your heart ache. That sometimes you have to trust yourself, radically, no matter what anyone else says. That hopelessness and despair are always liars. That they try to twist the narrative to bend toward their pleasure, not yours.
Sometimes, you owe yourself kindness. Sometimes, being kind to others is a radical act. Because we are often hurting without saying it aloud. And meanness and sanctimony solve exactly nothing. You can throw gasoline on a fire, if you wish. But who burns then? If you’re too close, you burn too.
Lately, the things that have lit up my heart are things I do not question. Things that do not make me question. Given my nature, that is both surprising and a blessing. When the everything is a lot, it’s important to seize joy. To extend your heart. To make art. To sit outside in a rainstorm or listen to the patter of it on the roof—which is to say, appreciate the little things and small moments.
Ordinary, easy gestures are a kind of bulwark against the hard moments. The tricky bits. The things that make us suck in a sharp breath. You don’t have to stop an entire tide to make a difference. You don’t have to swallow the whole ocean. You don’t need to burn yourself in effigy. You are not here to fix everything or feed your bones to the dark. You are not here to swallow swords or pull them out of stones.
Instead, offer what grace you can. Offer what kindness you can muster—be it a gentle word or a ready shoulder. Being here for each other when things are hard is the whole point. It does not have to be a loud show. Some of the most powerful gestures are soft and quiet. There are times where quiet is a boon. Where it is a shield, a thatch of peace. A way we mend, however slowly, what needs mending.
It is a powerful thing to walk toward joy. To offer each other love and care. It makes more a difference than we often know.