On imagining new worlds

Our work in this moment is not to despair, but to imagine and to do

I am an eternal optimist, but I also see, and experience, how quickly and dangerously the landscape is changing for myself and my loved ones, as the ground beneath us and our ability to thrive (or exist) continues to shift.

This is intentional: As a historian, I knew this shock and awe campaign was coming. And while I feel things deeply, I also know I can’t stop there. I have a responsibility to the moment to do what I do best: Imagine something new, and take steps to create it.

There’s a thought exercise below that I’ve been using, that fellow creatives looking to shape the world can use and share too.

Creativity asks us to show up and do the work, however mundane, however small it seems

I thought of the dictate 'chop wood, carry water', which has been circulating in my social feeds in the last week or so as people in the US settle into (either more deeply or for the first time) a world where safety eludes us and where community care remains vital.
People in social posts use the term to refer to the book Chop Wood, Carry Water, but the concept itself far predates modern publishing and originates in Zen Buddhism. Essentially, it's the knowledge that seemingly mundane daily acts are the building blocks for whatever future direction we're hoping to go in. That we cannot forego the act of doing if we want to maintain or create something.

I can't write a book if I don't draft the pages that make it up. My community can't use its local free fridge if folks don't pay for the fridge's power supply, maintain and clean the fridge, and come by to fill it with food. It's easy to get swept up in the bigness of this moment and for those small, daily acts of self and community care to be lost or to feel meaningless.

But those small, daily acts both give us intentional directionality for the future, AND an opportunity to be seen at a time when being seen and sharing our thoughts feels frankly terrifying at times.

It's a moment that speaks to our instinct to make ourselves small: To hide, to try to render ourselves invisible and barricaded away and thus, ride out the storm.

Which is something that, as creatives, we can't do.

Creativity is community care

As a writer, I'm tasked with both describing the world I see in a way that somehow informs, enlightens, or entertains other people: But in that telling is also an act of imagining. All writing, from a peer-reviewed journal article to a piece of fan fiction, is an act of imagination.

Because none of it ends with where we are: It all asks "where do we go from here?" either directly or indirectly. A study suggests future directions for research that builds upon its findings. And by reading fiction, we imagine the characters and their world existing after we close the book: They do not simply disappear because we've stopped attending to them. They are in their own future too, even if it isn't documented, it can be imagined.

Our work is more important than ever: especially writers (and all creative minds) who are both expansive and imaginative when describing possible futures and rooted in research and critical thinking when describing the present world those futures might spring from.

And, also, especially writers who are bringing something about that moves the needle just a little bit towards that future they imagine. This doesn't mean we all need to sit down and write our magnum opus. We build the future with each thing we create, whether it's a blog post or a book.

Maybe as a recipe writer, you focus on recipes that bring you joy or use sustainable ingredients. Maybe as a reporter, you seek out stories of community organizations that are meeting a need that would otherwise go unmet.
Maybe as a researcher you continue to do work that helps us understand the world a bit better, and suggest what changes we could make to put that understanding to good use.
Or maybe as a fiction writer or a poet, you craft a new story entirely, helping readers look at their own story in a different way by seeing other possibilities.

There's a place for every creative to bring imagination and skills to the table, and it's now, right now in this very moment, that we really need to dig into the work. Because the work is what will serve as our map and guide for where we are and where we go next.

Here's a simple practice to define exactly how your creations will help to shape the world (and to help you actually do it):

In my writing, and my writing coaching right now, I'm asking myself two questions before I sit down to create something:

· What am I addressing from the present moment: What is something I see right now that want to understand, or want to change?

· What future am I imagining with this work? And how does this exact work help move me/us in that direction? (get specific here!)

AND (this part is important): With that second question, really focus on what you're moving towards, rather than away from.
Not "I'm scared of this and don't want it to happen" (though that's very real and needs to be acknowledged, just outside of this exercise) BUT "here is what I do want to see happen." In other words, if any future were possible, what future would you want to create?

Feel the excitement for the future you imagine in your bones. Think deeply and specifically about what that future looks and feels like. How you and your loved ones move through your days in that world.

Let yourself feel those hopeful, excited, anticipatory emotions as much as is possible, and try to return to those feelings as often as you can. Hope is a powerful catalyst for change, as is your imagination. And they're both things no one can ever take from you, no matter what happens.

Those feelings of hope and excitement and anticipation are also an antidote to despair: It’s not about dissociating and avoiding reality, it’s about survival, thriving, and being resourced enough to create something different and better.

There are, of course, other components to doing this work to make it sustainable: Finding and tending community, practicing radical joy and self-love, and striking a balance between challenging yourself to create outside your comfort zone while being honest with yourself about your limits so you don't burn out.

If there's some aspect of this work you want me to cover in future newsletters, please comment below!

The tl;dr? Creatives are leaders in this moment, and our work is in imagining and sharing, even when it feels scary, to the extent possible, while also continuing to care for ourselves and find and care for community. Having a vision, and taking daily steps towards it, makes us active participants in shaping the future.

If you want to see a different future, this is a call to step up and do what you can to create it.

Part of imagining the future for me is also engaging in a present where I slow down and appreciate. Here’s a little frog that came to visit the porch recently after a rain.