women holding things

hold on, dear friends. hold on.

Maira Kalman

Hi friends,

I know—I haven’t been writing this newsletter, which you may or may not have noticed. But perhaps you, too, have been unsure how to engage in the world in these extraordinary times. I’ve felt like a woman barely holding it all together in need of something to hold onto—it’s not that I’m not writing, but rather, everything I have written has been a jumble. Yet I also know I’m running out of time, and I do have something to say.

This past month, I’ve been overwhelmed, setting my overthinking mind into overdrive, catastrophizing everything, asking what’s the point of doing anything when the world is about to end.

I turn the news on, then off. I make rules about when I will allow myself to watch: no news before 9 am, no news after 9 pm. Still, it’s like a car crash on the side of the road—I want to avert my gaze yet find myself looking anyway. Maybe I should start watching soap operas again…

Meanwhile, I’ve ramped up my gummy bear consumption to new heights: from Share to Party size, and no, I don’t want to talk about it.

Thank goodness for Violet.

Every morning, our sweet girl awakes, clomping up the stairs, her steps like a drunken teenage girl trying to sneak past her parents. Poorly. Then she appears, pushing her cold, wet nose into my face with whimsical wide-eyed wonder, seeming to say, “Hey, what’s going on?” because for Violet, every day is a miracle, one she has never seen before.

I need to remember every day is a miracle, too.

In 2012, before the Presidential election, I had the opportunity to return to my beloved India, this time to learn alongside the leaders of several small grassroots organizations that provide services to women and children living in extreme poverty and create spaces prioritizing safety, education, and human rights. As we disembarked from the plane, the man beside me said, “Welcome to Delhi. Welcome to corruption.”

For the next ten days, I was exposed to a level of poverty I had never experienced before—I saw firsthand the systemic effect of what can happen when nearly one-third of a country’s children live in extreme poverty. I met and heard the stories of those rescued from brickyard labor camps and brothels. Domestic work and forced begging. But I also saw courage, and that small incremental changes are possible even in seemingly hopeless situations.

What I saw in the chaos and corruption of Delhi was a reminder of what the United States was not and the reassurance that no matter who won the 2012 election, we would ultimately be okay because of our country’s system of checks and balances between the three branches of government—I believed that the center would hold.

This time, I’m not so sure.

In my heart, I do believe Kamala will win the Presidential election, but based on past evidence, I doubt Trump will accept the results. So, I worry about the days after the election and the days after that; I worry about the wounds that may never heal.

I’m not pretending that either candidate is perfect. Of course, both have their weaknesses and blind spots. So, too, we all. But, when I consider the differences between the two and what each represents, I think of the eloquence of Terry Tempest Williams and how she writes:

Love is power. Power is not love. Both can be brutal. Both dance with control. Both can be intoxicating, leaving us out of control. But in the end it is love, not power, that endures and shows us the consequences of our choices.¹

For me, the choice is clear.

I can’t tell you who to vote for because that’s the gift of democracy: We are all allowed to cast a vote and have our voice counted, but I do know that fear has never been my friend, at least the unhealthy kind that makes me live in a state of panic and forget my best interests or the best interests of those around me.

In the words of Michelle Obama, “If we don’t get this election right, we as women will become collateral damage.² So are you prepared to tell them you supported this assault?” because women are already dying in post-Roe America, and your vote matters.

A week ago, I did the one thing I have the power to do—I put on my suffragette whites, went down to the Susan B. Anthony House, which is something we get to do in Rochester, yay, and voted.

Apparently, I was not the only one with the same idea because poll-takers told me that from the moment the doors opened until they closed, people had been standing in line to cast their vote, sometimes waiting up to two hours every day for the past nine days.

It is my honor and privilege to vote for Kamala Harris and Tim Walz because I want to live in a country that believes in the fundamental truth of democracy, however flawed. I want to support a candidate who will support the rights of women and the autonomy of my adult children. I want to be governed in a country where the choices of every single human being are not only respected but are held and embraced.

Tuesday is Election Day.

If you haven’t already voted, you still have time because your vote is sacred.

In troubled times, it’s been my practice to invite the words and wisdom of those who have come before me into my heart so we may coexist in contemplation. And so I share these lines in community, as solace from Maira Kalman’s Women Holding Things and in remembrance that even when it feels like we’re barely holding it all together, we can always choose to hold on and to hold one another in the power of love.

thanks for reading ~ xosew

Thanks for being here. I’m grateful for your readership. Before you go, would you click the ♥️ or share this post with a friend? You may also restack, leave a comment, or reply via email because it helps others find this newsletter. If you want to see a little more of my island time you can follow me on Instagram, too.

UPCOMING EVENTS AND WAYS TO WORK TOGETHER

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Set Your Intention: Turn the Page

Begin 2025 in a meaningful practice of restorative yoga, guided meditation, and reflective writing. Join Sarah at TRU YOGA in a time of reflection to close out one year and welcome all that is to come. Together, we will gather in community to discover and delight in setting heartfelt intentions from mat to page. This in-person workshop is limited to 20 participants. Journals will be provided.

January 5, 2025 3-5pm. $35. early bird pricing

watch for an online version of this offering, free with a paid subscription to this newsletter

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and… . .. . . …. .

SAVE THE DATE! NEXT YEARS RETREAT ON MONHEGAN WILL BE SEPTEMBER 17-21, 2025

Braiding Sweetgrass: Breathing Stories

for more info or to be put on the waitlist, reply to this email or send me a message:

1. Terry Tempest WIlliams, When Women Were Birds: Fifty-four Variations on Voice, Macmillan Publishers, 2012.

2.