So, this newsletter: it focuses on my writing—which is my hobby, passion, whatever you want to call it; what I spend my free time doing. But—and I know this may come as a shock—but I do have a day job, which is what I spend most of my time doing. Gasp. I know. Weird.
Many of you know (and some may not), that said job is in environmental policy. Because I’ve been receiving a lot of questions from friends and family about this over the past couple of weeks, I’d like to touch on it today, just briefly—though I should note, here, before continuing, that everything which follows represents only my personal views and opinions and does not in any way represent the official position of my employer.
Whew. Alright.
Environmental policy: not the happiest space to be working in right now. I could go into a lot of detail (and I did, in an earlier draft of this), but the fact of the matter is this: people working to mitigate and ameliorate pollution, climate change, and the myriad harms to human health and the environment which result from those issues are currently caught between two types of fear.
There’s a long-term, pervasive dread at what an increasingly chaotic climate will mean for our loved ones, our complex, fragile, globalized society, and the natural world of which we are a part, despite having worked so hard to insulate ourselves from it, control it, dominate it. The devastating storms and disruptions in weather patterns we’re experiencing already are only the tip of the iceberg (which has since melted).
At the same time there’s a near-term, panicky fear that, as a result of willful ignorance, apathy, and the systematic de-prioritization of environmental issues, we will miss our opportunity to do anything about that dread. There's been a lot of this one going around of late.
To be caught between these fears and still responsible for doing something about them is unenviable, I think. There are no easy solutions; there is no immediate way forward. I’ve had the same conversations over and over, recently—that “we just have to do the next right thing” and “focus on the parts of the problem that we can control”. Those truisms aren’t wrong, but they don't feel sufficient. Not really.
I don't mean to be all doom and gloom. There are many, many things we as individuals can do to make things a little better, a little brighter, and of course that's still worthwhile. What I'm struggling with here is the question of whether there's anything that can help to make lasting, meaningful change on a large scale, in the near-term.
I don’t know. I’m not sure. I’m often consumed, awash, adrift in those two fears, in that waiting, in the in-betweenness, and from that place it’s hard to see a way out. But there are people who have, and do, and I’m trying to listen to them, right now.
I’ve been reflecting a lot recently—a lot—on a speech Ursula K. Le Guin gave almost exactly a decade ago, to the day, where she spoke truth to power in a slightly different context, but in a way which feels just as (if not more) relevant now. There are a few lines, in particular, that I take solace in and motivation from:
“Hard times are coming, when we’ll be wanting the voices of writers who can see alternatives to how we live now, can see through our fear-stricken society and its obsessive technologies to other ways of being, and even imagine real grounds for hope. We’ll need writers who can remember freedom—poets, visionaries—realists of a larger reality….We live in capitalism, its power seems inescapable—but then, so did the divine right of kings. Any human power can be resisted and changed by human beings. Resistance and change often begin in art. Very often in our art, the art of words.”
To bring things back around, to connect my passion and my work, to maybe get at what I’d define as a vocation—this is what I aspire to do in my writing. When policy seems fruitless, politics fraught, action limited, I truly believe that one of the few things that can help cut through the knot, that can offer resistance, that can inspire change, is to actively imagine a different, better future—to imagine grounds for hope—and to freely share that with others. I believe storytelling is the oldest, best method we as humans have to do that.
That’s what I’m hoping to do, going forward. That’s what I want to put my energy toward. Not dreading a future that terrifies me, but imagining one—or many—which bring me and others hope.
📸 Story Updates
The TL;DR here is that Project Curses is still on ice while I work on other projects, though I’m hoping/just really want to get back to it in early December.
The slightly longer explanation is that I’m almost done working on those time sensitive projects, but one of the last pieces is finishing up a new short story. The story, which I’ve tentatively titled “Fine, thanks”, is drafted and, I think, in pretty decent shape. But I need it to be perfect.
So, with that in mind: if you (yes, you) have the interest and capacity, I’d love any and all feedback you may have on this new story. If you’d like to read it and provide some comments, please click the button below so that we can connect via email!
For new folks and friends of the newsletter who missed this month’s first edition—welcome to Coffee Chats 2.0! I want to give another huge shoutout to the brilliant Andi Dailey-Parada for the incredible artwork featured throughout the newsletter. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again—they’ve made this the best looking newsletter I’ve ever seen!
There will be some additional, minor tweaks to the format and content of the newsletter in the near future, but this is the last major update for a long while. Hope you enjoy!
📚 Reading
Demon Copperhead by Barbara Kingsolver // After reading Kingsolver’s memoir/non-fiction Animal, Vegetable, Miracle earlier this month, I bumped her most recent work of fiction to the top of my to-be-read pile after too long spent daunted by the page count and subject matter. Demon Copperhead, both on its own and as an homage to Dickens’ David Copperfield, is exquisite, and painful, with a voice that carries the story and which belongs up there with the great examples in American literature. It also celebrates and confronts the sense of place Kingsolver shares in her non-fiction, which I found immensely compelling. This is a heavy read, but well worth the effort. Thank you to Andi J. for the recommendation!
🎧 Listening
Seed of a Seed by Haley Heynderickx // I adore Heynderickx’s music, and have since first hearing the solo rendition of “The Bug Collector” that launched her career out of Portland and onto the national stage during NPR’s Tiny Desk contest back in 2017. Her music is folksy, melancholy, and comfortable, her lyrics lovely and expansive. She just came out with this new album, a sort of love letter to and conversation with nature and good people, which is brilliant. Sarah and I had the joy of watching her perform it at one of our favorite venues over the weekend; there were good, deep, honest feelings all around.
🍿 Watching
Nana Kwame Adjei-Brenyah at Arlington Public Library // Over the last year or so, after reading Chain Gang All-Stars and Friday Black, Adjei-Brenyah has cemented himself as one of my favorite authors—so when we found out he was coming to do a talk at our literal local library we got very excited. He was, unsurprisingly, a lovely, deep-thinking, enchanting human being, and his discussions around modern society, abolitionism, and the craft of writing were, frankly, inspiring. So much of what he said resonated with me and articulated long-held thoughts and feelings. And to make things even better, our library went above and beyond and recorded the whole talk, which you can watch for free! Libraries are the best!!
Shrinking // You may or may not have heard of Shrinking (Apple does such a weird job of promoting its shows), but gosh is it good—we’re really loving Season 2. Created by Bill Lawrence (Scrubs, Ted Lasso), Jason Segel, and Brett Goldstein (i.e., Roy Kent in Ted Lasso), it explores grief, loss, growth, and so much more, all through a darkly comedic, friendly lens that will be familiar to folks who watched Ted Lasso. I highly recommend checking it out!
In the frame: A recent weekend trip to Shenandoah National Park.
Note: Hey—fair warning that this Show & Tell comes in the form of a thought experiment, written by the esteemed storyteller George Saunders, which discusses political polarization and “the underlying disease”. I know most everyone is sick to death of political discourse right now, so feel free to skip this if you need a break. But, also, maybe try it. It prompts some questions that I think aren’t asked enough, or that are shut down when they do get asked. It’s worth having a think about. There are four additional thought experiments in the full article, which you should be able to access here for free (unless you've used up all of your free articles for the month!).
Thought Experiment No. 1
Imagine a baseball stadium. Fill it with twenty thousand Americans. Require Democrats to wear blue and Republicans red. At a podium at second base, have a person make a speech about, say, immigration.
Soon enough, fights break out.
Rewind.
Same twenty thousand people. Let them dress however they like. Instead of the speechmaking guy, put two baseball teams out there. Instantly, it’s a different energy. Among the fans for Team One will be both liberals and conservatives, suddenly united in common cause. Ditto Team Two. There will be disagreements, sure, but because we’ve been taught about acceptable baseball-game discourse, these will tend to be relatively good-natured.
Questions for Discussion:
Regarding the first example:
Who put out the order to wear red or blue?
Who dragged that podium out there?
Who selected the topic? And from what list?
Is it possible that “politics” has come to mean arguing percussively about a short list of pre-approved topics (immigration, abortion, cancel culture, etc.), these topics having been provided, somehow, by (let’s say) certain distant powers, who have also provided a rigid framework within which to discuss them, a framework designed not to solve anything but to insure perpetual disagreement, with agitation as the goal, agitation being, let’s face it, a big money-maker?
I hope this struck a chord, or was at least thought-provoking for you. Nothing else to add down here today—aside from a reminder that I’m sending you love, and that I’m always here when you need me.
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