To read all of Janne’s offerings on Elephant, going way back: here.
The sky is not falling. The world is not ending.
There is a rewriting. A rewiring. A reprogramming of our earth and ourselves.
But—the sky is not falling.
Perhaps it is falling with wisdom—stay inside, read more books, rest, take naps, learn to be alone, learn the difference between aloneness and loneliness, sit naked by fireplaces, talk to loved ones for long lengths of time, be fired, have space, drink up that delicious space, sleep in without an alarm clock.
Drink coffee at 5 p.m. and stay up too late playing board games and card games you forgot adults played.
Take your dog on a two-hour walk, not one.
Distance from others to love them but come home to yourself.
What do you need?
Go get some water.
Peel an orange.
Stretch your body.
Have more sex.
Call your grandparents.
This whole life thing was never in our control.
Just like that—six days later the biggest curveball yet and we are walking around like little discombobulated shocked zombies—but we will see. We will understand.
We throw garbage on our earth, we throw our pollution so high into the sky the gods cough as their lungs are filled with the relentless smoke of a species that refuses to listen.
The dinosaurs sure as f*ck were more respectful than us—and they, too, went extinct.
We are being humbled.
We are being sent into the ground to find our roots.
I keep repeating, “This is happening for us, not to us. This is happening for us, not to us.”
Today, I buried my face and belly in the strength and width of an old pine tree.
“Take it,” I asked.
“Please take this energy and anxiety from me—I can’t hold it.”
And Zeus sat by my feet and when I felt empty of the chaos I looked up her neck to her branches above and felt the ground beneath my feet.
Whenever we lose the greatest love of our life, spirit is upstairs saying, “You thought he was good—but you had the iPhone 10 and just wait for the X!”
We are getting a reboot. A system update.
We are being challenged deeply in the ways we live and do.
Wash your hands, and then breathe, and remember that the world is always okay, even when it’s not.
Just as you are always okay, even when you have felt you were being abandoned by everything you’ve ever cared for.
It is never clear when we are in the fog.
The fog’s gift is that it is the fog.
You aren’t meant to see fog. Or understand it.
The blue sky is coming—in fact, in moments, it’s here.
Turn your TV off when you get overwhelmed.
Be informed but do it once or twice a day.
Share toilet paper and hug people with your eyes.
Remember that grace escaping us is a choice.
Be afraid—love the fear. This is real and we don’t know. The known was never meant to feel like your favourite sweat pants—until it later became known and you were friends with it.
Sex was awkward and sucked the first time and now, how great is it?
Can you be in the unknown and commit to just today.
What do you need today?
Go hydrate more.
Find that book you love.
Bury your face into your pet’s stomach—they feel this too and they are here for you.
Ask someone for help—people want to help.
Buy a homeless person some food or water—don’t forget to care for the people around you.
Try to walk slowly. In the grocery stores when people around you are in panic—move slowly. Don’t get frenzied in the frenzy of the frenzy.
Don’t touch that.
It doesn’t belong to you.
Don’t wear the weight of all of this.
We are all apart and returning and it’s a big death—collectively—and it’s going to be a birth.
Don’t think about tomorrow or live in yesterday, that’s where anxiety lives.
Today, just walk slowly and remember that the sky isn’t falling.
This is and has been and will always be happening for us—but we’re in the fog, so remember to breathe.