More than Stuff
When loss and grief forge meaning.
Pursuing a meaningful home life is living with the pain of impermanence and the great joy of having today.
I often cling to the belief that my circumstances remain constant. This belief is an illusion.
The devastating loss brought by the ongoing LA wildfires is change on an incomprehensible scale. I sit here typing from the soft light of my Saint Paul home, and still, the loss reverberates in my bones. Forced to face just how close to the edge we’re all living and how little control we have over most things, my body struggles to grasp. Overwhelmed is the only human word I can find to name it.
Each of us processes it uniquely, which deserves recognition. Some people, driven by sorrow, throw themselves into productive routines. Others find solace in open conversations or jumping into acts of service—a few retreat inward, sealing away their tumult behind walls of silence.
I regularly find myself paralyzed by grief collected in my body over the past decade. This is the norm, I suspect. The front seat we have through our phones to witness the horrors of war, genocide, and climate disasters—it sits on my chest and crawls into my throat without warning. Sensitivity is my gift and curse, inherited from a long line of empathic feelers.
There are two ways to stay sane: do not turn away from the pain and let it begin the cycle of healing.