"What can we do?"

a crowd-source of solidarity and hope

Over the past several months, I’ve sat around a bunch of different tables where the conversation always winds around to one burning question, “What can we do?”

There seems to be no end to the shock, the disorientation, the grief. So many of us feel helpless. We’re grasping for the hidden switch to turn on the lights; a lever to right-size our nation. Is there a needle big enough to stitch our broken relationships back together? We want a tool. A remedy. We want to believe there’s still a normal worth returning to.

Full disclosure: I don’t come with these kinds of answers. But a few weeks ago, sitting in a restaurant booth across from two of my favorite people, something important crystallized. “What can we do?” she asked, right after recounting a heart-warming story from the previous week in her elementary school classroom.

I pictured her with a crew of expectant eight year-olds and couldn’t think of anything more important than what she’s already doing. Nurturing. Educating. Caring. She’s a front-line worker for the ones who are already paying an unfair penalty in the sick game our government is playing. She spends her days seeding nuance, perspective, character, and hope.

At the risk of over-simplifying a time in history that is profoundly damaging, what I realized in that moment is that what many of us need to do is stay the course. (I know it doesn’t sound very revolutionary.)

A few weeks later, in a conversation with Ezra Klein, Ta-Nehisi Coates affirmed my hunch.

Klein: What does it mean to be in this political community together?

Coates: All I can go to is my role as a writer, and my role as a writer is to state things as clearly as I possibly can, to make them in such a way that they haunt, to state truths and to reinforce the animating notion of my politics - which is that all humanity is equal and is worthy of that.

Coates (later): I don’t have a great overarching theory for what everybody needs to do because I think we all have different positions. I know what my role is…I see myself as a writer. I see myself as a journalist. I see myself as someone for whom it’s very important to state the truth as plainly and to clarify things as best I can.

There is no checklist for these times. We move through this dizzying string of days trying to do, as Emily P. Freeman would say, the next right thing in love.

That is no small feat.

The question is, are we clear about our role? Coates was crystal clear. Klein wasn’t. He waffled and wavered, perhaps because it seemed, in the moment, too regular. But what if the thing we’re best at is the actual best thing we have to offer? What if we believed ordinary life was purposeful, even now?

Last Saturday, Cory and I rode with friends to a nearby city, where we joined hundreds of our local neighbors in the latest No Kings demonstration. Sources estimate anywhere from 5-7 million people turned out across the country. Notably, no major violence was reported. That didn’t stop Trump from posting an AI-generated video the next day of him dropping feces from an airplane onto demonstrators.

Every day, a new headline.

Every day, a new horror.

A new fear.

A new low.

But a friend casually told me about his recent meeting with a buddy on the other side of the aisle. Over coffee, from a place of mutual respect and care (this is non-negotiable) they listened.

On my worst days, I’m cynical about this. It feels too passive, too Pollyanna. But on my best, I remember the ways listening to different voices opened my heart, shifted my mind, and changed my life.

Leaning into his existing community is part of his role, and he does it beautifully.

Is “listening” enough? Of course not. That’s why we need everyone to do their part.

Yesterday, I served potato soup to my neighbors. This morning, I created a Reel contrasting the outrage over the (now defunct) Cracker Barrel logo with the outrage over a sitting President unilaterally destroying an entire wing of the White House. Tonight I will gather with like-minded friends to vent and to laugh. Tomorrow I will drive North with my husband to stare at trees and catch my breath. Sunday, I will pray with eighty men and women wearing ankle monitors.

I choose to believe all of it counts.

Rather than asking, bewildered, “What can we do?” maybe we can shift to, “What is my role?” The answer is not static. It will evolve according to the day, the circumstances, your resources and capacities.

We need poets and pastors, healthcare workers, librarians, mothers, and fathers. We need adult children willing to be the family outcast. (I’m sorry. Sending love.) We need the folks in Chicago, honking their horns and blowing whistles to warn their neighbors ICE has arrived. We need builders. And breakers. We need prophets and creators. We need people to make us laugh. We need bosses and activists. We need experts in every field, doing their work with wisdom and clarity.

Wherever you are, whatever you do, find your center. Find your role. Be a voice of reason and truth. I am confident that things are going to keep getting worse (sob,) especially for people whose lives are already difficult.

People are hungry. People are suffering. People are scared, with good reason.

We need each other - right now, and for whatever we’ll face next.

---

I would love to hear what you’re already doing in the comments! Let’s crowd-source some solidarity.

---

On that note!

Like Coates, part of my role as an author and writer is to speak the truth with as much clarity as I am able. I’m highly motivated by the fact that there are droves of people who are unaware of what’s happening in the world. I speak to that. I am equally motivated by the vast number of us who are feeling overwhelmed and isolated in this horrifying reality.

If that last group describes you, I’m launching Counterweights Weekly in November! It will be a short, simple, weekly email where I share my heaviest political weight along with one of my counterweights. No frills and totally free. It’s not on Substack, but rather an old fashioned email, where you are invited to simply open, read, and settle into a weekly rhythm of solidarity (and maybe even some hope.) Is that you?

Until next time, may you find a moment to enjoy the stained-glass trees, because no one can take that from us. May you weep if you need to. May you dance if you need to. May you pray in the way that feels right and detect God’s presence in an unexpected moment. May you eat something delicious (like this soup or this dessert - both on my agenda.) May you slink around your quiet home, restoring your endurance, and remembering you’re already a revolutionary.

xo

pre-order your copy here!