1.Is this my garden?
It was the second year of the Trump presidency and my friend (a journalist) and I (an executive director) were emotionally exhausted. Her from a news cycle that had devolved into a bumper car ride through a hall of mirrors. Me from leading a diversion program during a time when the president himself had encouraged police brutality.
We hopped on a train from Grand Central Station to the nearby town of Beacon to try and restore ourselves. “Let’s get out of the city and see some nature”, we and hundreds of other New Yorkers seemed to have thought. When we did not immediately feel rejuvenated by the long view of the Hudson River we stood in a long line for coffee instead.
“I’ve been asking myself, what is my garden?” Karen said. “Voltaire wrote a novel about a man that traveled through the world full of high ideals. But in the end he was just devestated by it all. So he dedicated his life to growing his garden instead.”
“Shit.” I think I replied profoundly.
“We take on too much. We need to get serious about defining our garden.”
At the time, Karen and Voltaire's idea felt revelatory to me. I had come down with bell's palsy the year before. I knew what it felt like to be heartbroken by the world. Now when my mind panicked over yet another horror––instead of burning off the ends of my 7th cranial nerve––I asked myself:
Is this my garden?
Most of the time it was not. Creating a space where NYC kids got to be incredible (not criminals) was my garden.
Slowly, I learned to surrender the rest. I learned to trust all the other humans out there to tend to all the other gardens.
2.Geopolitical Self Care
Voltaire’s story Candide is a 250 year old treatise on what instagram now calls toxic positivity.
The chapters are short and the novel reads like a blasé—even funny—catalog of terrors. Yet, the main character Candide remains full of optimistic ideals. Despite all he faces, he insists that he lives in "the best of all possible worlds."
Or as we might meme today, “everything happens for a reason”.
As Voltaire piles horror upon horror—evictions, beatings, starvation, rape, war, cyclones, disease—the absurdity that all human suffering can be rationalized as part of some benevolent cosmic plan becomes insufferable. Eventually, even to Candide. (Which is when he begins to focus on tending to his own garden, as described in the section above.)
Granted, we will have times in our life when proclaiming “everything happens for a reason” genuinely serves us. Perhaps something is ending. We’ve gotten fired or we’re going through a break up. It’s powerful and affirming to assert that this painful ending is happening for the reason of making space for some untold future happiness.
But when somebody memes “good vibes only” consider the place of privilege (or Candide like delusion) they’re coming from.
Who does a culture of optimistic philosophy (or toxic positivity) ultimately serve? Could it be teflon for political responsibility? If the masses believe that we live in "the best of all possible worlds" can kings then indulge in their kingly whims despite the collective consequences? After all, weren’t they born kings by God’s hand? Everything is as it should be.
Susan David sums a lot of this up in one brief quote:
Toxic positivity is forced, false positivity. It may sound innocuous on the surface but when you share something difficult with someone and they insist that you turn it into a positive, what they are really saying is, 'My comfort is more important than your reality’.
While she speaks to our personal interactions, it’s easy to imagine what David says as applied to the political. A tweet from a king in Candide’s time could read:
Let me feast while you famine in PEACE! #goodvibesonly #bigly #cosmic #benevolence #godshandMF
In conclusion, choose your self care mantras wisely AND wokely.
And always (always!) feel your feelings.
3.Updates & Asks
Update: I recently ran a Restorative Workshop inspired by the story of Candide with the incredible people at Brooklyn Justice Initiatives.
We worked on carefully defining what we contribute—and what we don’t contribute—via our human-centered work. We made mini sculptures of our metaphorical gardens to remind us that what we tend to is enough. Even in the face of the gross inequities of Brooklyn.
(Believe it or not, most of what we explored in this workshop in relationship to Candide is not covered in this newsletter, so I might expand on it next time.)
Update: We had the happiest day of the year last week—the first unambiguously warm and sunny day after many cold and grey months. I came across this man quietly tailgating Spring with an ice coffee and a grin.
Ask: Spread the word—I am opening up three spaces for new clients in Q2. My ideal clients are doing human-centered work. That is, organizations that host advocates, educators, social workers, health workers, activists, etc.