I’ve been feeling a little stuck since last I wrote. The moon has gone full and has come back to newness since then, and I’ve been lost in thought.
A few weeks ago, I planted some tomato seeds. I have a horrible history with plants, and don’t trust myself with them, but I thought I should give it a try. Growing vegetables for neighbors and friends may be something we need to rely on more and more as empire continues to fall. When I saw the first sprout of green pushing up from my little pot of soil, I celebrated a small victory. I imagined what it must be like to be a tomato seed, spreading out, getting comfortable, bursting from a seed shell, rhizomes spreading with roots, the space stretching and growing, filling the little pot with more matter. Chlorophyll, activated by sunshine, converting energy and carbon into something more than what once was.
My life is very full of seeds being planted and nourished. Some of them are being over-watered or under-watered. Some of them are drying up, some of them are drowning. Still, others seem to be thriving. This practice of quiet observation stands in stark contrast to the shock and horror we are forced to absorb on a daily basis now that our country is steadily falling deeper and deeper into fascism. I’ve been struggling to keep myself calm and balanced as our civic institutions are smashed to pieces.
The United States has never been a bastion of stewardship and good governance. The United States has never lived up to the democratic ideals it claims to hold sacred. From the moment this country was established, it grasped for power, and achieved it through exploitation. This country has maintained powerful command of global economies through the continued trafficking and enslavement of human beings and the genocide of Indigenous people. The hypocrisy of this country has laid the foundation for the catastrophe we are witnessing here in 2025.
Suffice it to say: I’ve been distracted.
When so many people are suffering in this country and beyond, in Ukraine, in Gaza, and more, this project to maintain focus on self-love seems indulgent, and thus, gets put on the back burner as the chaos plaguing the news gets worse and worse.
This is my “Practice Piece,” embroidered text and sashiko designs on found textiles.
And yet, the project persists in spite of it all. I have been seeing this little project of mine reflected back to me in the questions and insights that have come up in conversations with friends over the past few weeks. I find myself wondering aloud with them: what if we faced our fears and allowed ourselves to accept that something radically better is not only possible, but necessary and inevitable? What if we already know how to create this radically better future? What if we trust that the land remembers? What if we committed to actively loving ourselves so that we can love each other better, too?
A few years ago, as I was starting life anew in Los Angeles (and maybe in small ways before that), I decided that I had to learn to love myself better. I started by being consciously observant and actively kind to myself - and as a result, I’m fostering softness and care in my relationships. I’m starting to think that the small actions I take to Love the Person I Have Always Been could actually have an impact on the bigger world.
Here are three specific lessons I’ve been cultivating that have made my days on this earth so much more enjoyable, and maybe this can ripple (is rippling?) outward:
Name the Glimmers
Every time I see something, taste something, hear something, smell something, touch something, or sense something that made me feel, even just a little, shiny, glittery, lit up, excited, grateful, I write it down. This record-keeping has been a mindful, grounding practice because it requires spending time and paying attention to the macro and micro world. Without this practice, I would not have been able to feel the connection I do with my favorite neighborhood hummingbird. I would not be able to feel the deep love I still feel remembering my precious pup, Apple, the smell of her toes, her loving gaze. I would forget the special moments I spent at the Korean Spa, enjoying mul-naengmyeon with my favorite people. I never want to lose those memories.
More than being able to recognize joy, the practice has helped me create ways to experience them whenever I need them. For example: I love the smell of jasmine and the taste of jasmine tea, so I fill my home with candles, perfumes, teas, plants, essential oils, etc. etc. so that I can bring that smell, and all the memories it invokes, back to life.
Activating the list of my glimmers has become an act of resistance. Fascists want a compliant society, fearful and hopeless enough to accept violence without resistance. I will not give up my glimmers, I will not fall into hopelessness, I will fight against the horrors by turning up the volume on Pink Pony Club and dancing, dancing, dancing.
Trust my body
I had to get to know what an anxiety attack or a panic attack felt like, and call it what it was. I forced myself to stay in the discomfort, to get curious and investigate where and what I was feeling. The numbing tingles were in my shoulder and hands. My breath felt like I’d been punched in the belly. I would say to myself, “Yes, this feeling is real. The discomfort is real. I can see what caused it. What do I need to calm my nervous system?”
Coping with the discomfort of stress, anxiety and panic is one thing. Punishing myself for not listening to my gut instinct was another. There were so many times I could have avoided a stressful situation if I had just listened to my body. So many times where my gut instinct was correct, but I doubted myself. I believed I was overreacting.
So what if I was overreacting? I get to stand up for myself. I get to acknowledge my discomfort. I get to take care of my discomfort and learn where it came from. But I didn’t feel as though I deserved that level of care, so I would choose to go against my instincts because I thought I should, even though my body screamed at me to make another choice.
The lesson I learned is two-fold. 1) Get curious about the feelings that emerge and let that be the teacher. 2) The surprises will never cease, and they can be painful in this sensitive body. That’s when friends, food, comfort, music, pets, plants, chocolate, movies, and spa days can be a soothing balm when the hard lessons come on too fast and sharp.
Fascists will fill our senses with propaganda that tells us lies. We must remain vigilant against the propaganda. We must seek out trusted investigators, trusted journalists. If we trust what we’re seeing, if we trust what we’re feeling, if our bodies are telling us that what we are witnessing is a crime, is injustice, we must listen. We must not be bystanders to a genocide, we must trust our intuition when it tells us apartheid is wrong, what is happening to Palestinian civilians is wrong. The erasure of Indigenous people is wrong. We must trust our bodies with our actions, and take responsibility for the space our bodies take up in the world.
Reject the should; tend to nature
I am adopting, more and more, the idea that there is no such thing as an awakened human self that emerges from animalistic natural tendencies. Humans were not meant to dominate the world as apex predator, manager, protector, policer, and so on and so forth. I’m trying to learn more and more about ecosocialism, and the thinkers who have given shape to this ideology. I learned recently that William Morris, the same artist that created the most beautiful wallpaper designs I’ve ever seen, was also a committed socialist, passionate about protecting natural resources from pollution and exploitation, critical of the dehumanizing effect of the Industrial Revolution on London’s poorest, and he was later classified as an ecosocialist or a forefather to modern environmentalism. An article I read summarized Morris’ dream of a socialist future as the elimination of the division between humanity and nature. I share this dream; this division was created to serve exploitive white supremacist patriarchal capitalism and would not otherwise exist if not for the demands of expanding empire and industry.
I have also learned that the most elegant and effective ways of tending to a flourishing society have come from communities closest to their natural world, who have been able to resist, to any degree, assimilation into imperial ideologies, and who draw upon wisdom that comes from nature itself to lead and govern. What was a newly formed idea for the Romantics of William Morris’ time was well-established and time-tested for Indigenous people around the world. The more we restore the sovereignty of Indigenous knowledge and Indigenous ways of knowing, the division between Indigenous and non-Indigenous spaces will perforate, and Indigenous leadership will pave the way for the radically better future that lies beyond the fall of capitalism.
My ongoing learning bolsters my belief that the “shoulds” that plague us don’t come from nature, and aren’t natural for our species, for our communities. The “shoulds” that plague us come from larger systems, intentionally crafted by powerful oligarchs who believe that wealth should only be preserved and increased for a certain class of people, and in order to maintain this status quo, the exploitation of the most vulnerable among us is requisite. Not only do they believe this, they consider this exploitation the ultimate moral good.
I reject the notion that anyone should accept a moral framework rooted in this ideology. When I pay close attention to my own instincts and the phenomenon of the natural and wild world where I live, my guiding lights become the hawks, the crows, the trees, the clouds, the river, the ocean, the fish, the sharks, the kelp, the limu, the sky, the rain, the wind. The “shoulds” that plague us don’t come from our capacity to love being alive, or careful observation of our communities, friends, family and world. My most hated “shoulds” come from entities that crave control and dominance, and manipulate our collective longing for acceptance to convince us that the only “right” way to love ourselves and each other is the way that controls resources, controls people, and generates wealth for the already wealthy.
I refuse to tend to another toxic “should.” I am learning how to tend to my plants, to myself, and the love I have for existing in this world, and in doing so I know I’m doing the right thing. I am a part of an ecosystem that gives to me and takes what I have to share. My world and I thrive together by giving to each other our time, attention, care, talent and creativity.
Doing the next hard thing
I believe that comfort is a right bestowed upon us because we exist, and that being a part of a community means strengthening our relationship to the comfort and care of ourselves and each other.
But.
Cultivating a life that I want to live, nourishing a world that I want to protect, means deprioritizing my ease or comfort (unfortunately). I don’t believe in abandoning ease. Rather, the most comfortable choice will not be my guiding light anymore, if it ever was, especially because comfort has been so dangerously commodified. We can purchase comfort easily without considering the harms done through the transaction. We avoid our responsibilities to each other when we prioritize comfort of ourselves or of others. We become people pleasers so that everyone can remain comfortable even while we destroy everything we have. We unknowingly fall into manipulation and codependence when we make every effort to be the person who makes others comfortable. We feel discomfort and we blame others for it, instead of naming the feelings that we alone are responsible for. We allow powerful decision-makers to exploit people and resources because it's far more comfortable to live and let live than to link arms with each other and to stand up for our ourselves.
Fire is healing when it’s in the hands of good stewards. It’s our responsibility to become good stewards so we can use our power responsibly.
This is hard work. And it’s worth it. Because I love you all so much.
What might this look like?
For me? It could look like the thrill of watching a seed sprouting in my little kitchen window garden, and investing my time and energy into learning how to help it flourish. It may look like heartache if the young little seedling dies. It may look like the persistence of planting more seeds and learning to become a better plant parent.
It could look like curiosity about the people in my world, whether they’re neighbors, relatives, favorite friends, or new matches on Hinge. It might look like reaching out to them for connection and sharing myself with them. It might look like a hard and fast boundary set painfully between us. It might look like a repair to a rift. It might look like eye contact and questions asked, and the confidence to invite them into a stronger connection or to wish them well on their journey.
It could look like stepping into my power. It could look like sharing leadership. It could look like expanding access to knowledge and resources. It could look like organizing a family dinner. It might look like opening my home to animals and friends in need. It might look like clear instructions. It might look like diving head-first into learning experiences and opportunities to grow. It might look like getting gently roasted by my friends.
In my grandest fantasy, this means disturbing the comfortable. It means making my artwork visible. It means broadcasting my art so widely that it will shame the comfortable wealthy into paying their taxes until it’s not so dangerous for the rest of us to exist. It means celebrating all of us who more than happily pay taxes that make our society better. It means celebrating our teachers, scientists, artists and healthcare workers, cementing their legacies for future generations to admire. And 100 years from now, archaeologists will look back on this time and see the artwork we have made and they will hopefully learn the lessons of history that we haven’t been able to.
In my grandest fantasy, this means doing whatever I can to mend the cracks in the sidewalks and holes in socks. It means making public transportation better, easier, sexier. It means blowing up empty office buildings and building affordable housing, community gardens, and shade trees in their place. It means preserving our stories.
As I think about the next Accountabilla Blog, I’ll be ruminating on an expansion or activation of some of these dreams. I’m planting the seeds of what will one day become an ancient redwood forest. The actions I take now will benefit children born seven generations into the future. The table I help build is one that I won’t need to be invited to sit at.
Wish me luck!