This week I was invited to speak at the monthly meeting of a group of activists who I have accompanied in various ways throughout their organizing journey. They asked me to speak about a specific project, but they were also looking for something that they didn’t quite know how to articulate.

I asked them if they were looking for some advice about how to stay focused and flexible, grounded and connected through the waves of chaos and cruelty. The expressions of relief on most of their faces told me I was on the right track. So I decided to tell them some things they already knew – to remind them that we’ve been practicing for moments like this.

I said something like this:

Send one another poems and stories that inspire you. Remember to laugh. If the cruelty all around is absurd, unmask it. Laughing at the strongmen undermines the illusion of their power. This laughter isn’t the kind that multiplies cruelty. It is a way of refusing to concede our own humanity.

Whatever you do, stay connected to your heart. And keep offering that connection to one another. We have been practicing turning toward one another because we knew the time might come when it would be easier to turn on one another or to withdraw.

We all get stuck in feelings of overwhelm. Figure out how many minutes of that you will allow yourself, and then do something to get un-stuck. We know from experience that doing something that matters with kindred spirits is a good antidote for despair or overwhelm. It can be a small act of mutual aid. It can be a big organizing effort. It’s ok if you don’t have a grand plan yet as long as your actions matter to somebody (remember that YOU are somebody). Take actions that cast some kindness or justice or joy into the world. And do it in community.

I’m sure I said some other things, too, but that night was a reminder that sometimes we need a friend to remind us that we’re not alone, that we already have some skills that we need, and that we know how to get un-stuck.

Many of the communities where we spend our time have adopted the practice of sharing poetry in challenging times. A good poem carries a lot of meaning, and so it can offer many different people something they needed to hear. It’s a simple way to create a shared experience of care and re-connection. A dear friend sent me this poem in November (and I’ve been sharing it with others ever since).

Letter to a Bridge Made of Rope – a poem by Matthew Olzmann

To the shepherd herding his flock
through the gorge below, it must appear as if I walk
on the sky. I feel like that too: so little between me

and The Fall. But this is how faith works its craft.
One foot set in front of the other, while the wind
rattles the cage of the living, and the rocks down there

cheer every wobble; your threads keep
this braided business almost intact saying: don’t worry.
I’ve been here a long time. You’ll make it across.

Then in late January of 2025, an artist friend invited me over to try printmaking. The whole process was new to me, and I was inclined to feel nervous about doing any of the steps “right,” but the artist intervened with some real skill. She redirected me to think of something I’d like to try to make visible. I immediately thought of the poem and the bridge made of rope. With a lot of skillful guidance, I created the prints you see in the image below.

Image description: Sheets of paper attached to a string with clothespins hang to dry. They feature the image of a fraying rope on a sky blue background.

When survival feels as tenuous as walking in the sky, remember that there is probably someone nearby ready to travel a bit of the journey with you.

Keep finding ways to get un-stuck, and let’s keep showing up for one another.

P.S. If you enjoyed this post, I hope you’ll revisit this gem from the archives (a guest post penned by Dana Dwinell-Yardley): You Too, Have all the Tools You Need