notes on radical living

(this is not 2016)

hi friends,

It’s been a year since Donald Trump assumed the office of the Presidency, a year in which we’ve experienced the collapse of the democratic system of government in real time. To list all that has fallen (or fallen apart) sickens me. I didn’t think it was possible for the month of January to be worse than the entirety of 2025. And yet, here we are. My sweetheart walks through the kitchen, muttering under his breath the title of Rick Wilson’s 2018 book. “Everything Trump touches dies.”

Until recently, my naivete kept me believing that this (fill-in-the-blank) would surely be the moment the United States Congress would actually do something. And then the moment passes; another new monstrosity seeks our attention. Distraction, distraction, distraction. Everything but the Epstein Files. The world seemingly goes on.

In the two weeks since the killing of Renée Good, for whatever reason, I have not been able to move on. Is it because she was a mother and a writer, two signifiers with which I, too, self-identify? All I know is that her final words, in tandem with Jonathan Ross’s, the reverberation in tone between her kindness and his coarseness, emphasize the divide and all that is wrong at this moment in America, and I cannot get the exchange out of my mind.

In seeking ways to make sense of the non-sensical, I, like others, have been leaning into poetry—the poems I write as well as the words of others. Last week, in my writing circle, we read Renée Nicole Good’s prize-winning poem, On Learning to Dissect Fetal Pigs. Then, inspired by a prompt from Gayle Brandeis, we wrote erasure poems under the influence of Good herself. Our intention was one of honor in defiance of erasure—to create tiny ripples from her own words, allowing them to continue to dance.

Later, I received a text from a student:

i gave a copy of Renée’s poem to my neighbor yesterday, and Kat put one on the free shelf at our therapy place!

our neighbor Chris absolutely loved it, asked to keep it, and was delighted that her keeping it was the intention ♥️

When you don’t live on the frontline, sometimes small acts of kindness are the most meaningful, the most radical way to remain engaged.

I’ve been thinking a lot about the current trend on social media of romanticizing 2016. Maybe for millennials, 2016 harkens back moments of sweet nostalgia, but for this Gen Xer, it was most likely the hardest year of my adult life—a time from which I have very few photos at all. Ten years ago, everything I had trusted to last forever fell apart, and I was a complete disaster. In 2016, my twenty-two-year marriage was careening towards its inevitable end, and even though it was the right decision for both my ex-husband and me, it didn’t make what came next any easier, because I had to relearn how to do everything on my own.

Ten years ago, I had to navigate my way through personal darkness—a messy process marked by many missteps along the way. I had to take a hard look at myself and my past transgressions; to understand my part in shaping the life I had grown accustomed to living, for better or for worse; to become clearer about when to be generous and when to stand firm; to make amends; to embrace the person I had always been, who had somehow gotten lost along the way.

No one asks for darkness, but if we can receive it as a gift, if we can trust that there will be another side, we become open to revelation, perhaps, even the possibility of transformation.

I want to believe that’s what’s happening in this current moment of political darkness. Somehow, as a country, we’ve gotten lost along the way, which doesn’t mean I can profess the way forward; I couldn’t do it then either, but I trust that there will be.

In spite of all we’re facing as a nation, as a planet, I’d still rather be the person I am writing this newsletter today rather than who I was in 2016, and if there is the smallest morsel of grace in knowing that, I’ll take it.

I’m leaving you with some wisdom from Tilda Swinton—it’s become the soundtrack to which I begin my morning meditation. Then, I let the darkness speak.

Stay safe out there, and as always, thanks for reading!

xosew

india is calling … . ..

Yoga in the Temples of South India
with Vishali Varga, Vanessa Airey & Sarah Webb

June 25 – July 8th, 2026

Join me for this incredible opportunity to deeply immerse ourselves in the five elements and in the study of yatra, the yogic practice of pilgrimage to the most sacred spaces in India and within ourselves.

and every week… . ..

gathering (in grace) notes • writing circle

Every Monday from 7:30 to 8:30 a.m. ET, start your week in creativity and community. Whether you already have a project whispering to you or are simply seeking a little inspiration, let’s write together!

We begin by greeting one another in the sleepy moments of the morning, then sit for a moment in silence before we write. Not sure where to start? Don’t worry ~ I always offer a poem and a prompt (or two) as a portal into possibility and discovery.

This is a free offering for all; however, if you find you are attending regularly and wish to make a donation in support, you can always buy me a book. Register once, and the link is yours forever ✍🏻

lingering line… . ..

only in the darkness can you see the stars

MLK