i went down to the river and got a bunch of rocks together. They were all remarkable in small ways, and i found myself contemplating the children’s book Sylvester and the Magic Pebble.

An adolescent donkey is wandering his local meadow when he finds a remarkable little rock. He, Sylvester, holds this rock and thinks some thoughts. He realizes that the pebble he holds will make his wishes come true! Then suddenly, right in the act of considering his new future, Sylvester is interrupted by the appearance of a lion. This poor ass spots the predator, panics, and immediately wishes he were a rock. Then he spends like a year as a Sylvester-sized rock before the thrilling conclusion (i’m not gonna spoil it, it’s sweet).

Was the moral of the story not to panic, even if one sees a lion in a meadow? Maybe not to plan too much, or rely on magic? Perhaps we were to learn that blessings are capricious, at best. Who knows what children’s authors, the best ones, are ever really planning. (You might also reference: The Night Kitchen, The Napping House, or anything featuring Frog and Toad.) Maybe William Steig just thought it was a cute predicament for a donkey boy.

Here’s the thing though: there is, in fact, a lion in our meadow. And i’m out here organizing pretty pebbles.

Because the lion has been there all along. It is hungry and i have hidden away. It preys and i grieve. It takes up space and i have made myself smaller. It growls, and i scream. i strategize its demise, but it is so very big. The lion has been there all along. And i’ve finally learned: to be out here organizing pretty pebbles.

Because the rocks have also been here all along. They weather rain and snow and rivers and valleys. They clunk against each other and tumble down mountains. They don’t need anything from the lion, or me. The earth, in all her glory and graciousness, has been here all along. She invites us all to revel in our own individual insignificance. (This is my favorite thing to do lately.)

Only recently have i learned to live with the lion without panicking. The earth, more than anything else, has helped me with this adjustment. i now know some true things: life is fragile but certain, grief is the constant partner of joy, and fear is inevitable, but vulnerable to love.

i also learned that i don’t want to be the donkey.

And honestly, i don’t want to let anyone i care about (that’s you!) be an ass, either. Please, for the love of everything that matters in this world, give up doom-scrolling, put on your mask, and go outside to make sure you and your neighbors all get along. Plan your next revolutionary act. Send love (in any form!) to someone far away. Dance! Hug everyone you are allowed to hug. Ask people if they need anything, and give what you can. Enjoy whatever it is you have right now instead of worrying yourself into a hard pebble of a person. For the love of all those who love you, please reach out if you need to.

i reached out desperately this spring. Thankfully, crucially, lots of loved ones reached back. i survived because of this, but none of them have been physically with me. The earth has been here though, teaching me her dirty lessons on sowing, growth, death, reaping. Cyclical lessons, over which i’ve no control. Rain can come for days, sometimes frozen, but maybe i can sunbathe in November. Perhaps i will be met with generosity among strangers; they might become loved ones, or not. Lots of days i feed and hang out with birds. Some days i grieve deaths. Many days i’ve helped to harvest. One of my favorite new pastimes is cooking things i picked with my own hands, and sharing the meal. i also fucking love eating the food right off its plant, or right out the dirt. Today though, i simply went to a river and got a bunch of remarkable stones together.

The thing about hoping that things will be different because you checked the internet today is a lot like the thing where i tried to arrange my pretty pebbles in a way so that none of them shadowed the next. How silly! The sun moves, will always move, and so will the shadows. The relief you seek is a moving target, no matter what form you want it to take. There is a moment, as i arrange my rocks, when none are outshining another. It is a fleeting, besparkled moment, and if i want to keep it i too must keep moving, adjusting, compromising, trying. i probably still won’t really get to keep it.

There has been plenty said and written about how the outcome of this farce we embarrassingly call democracy ought not have any effect on how we behave as neighbors and revolutionaries. i would like to add that we might take this moment to accept the most palpable truth of this year: one can rage and love, grieve and dance, laugh and cry, be disappointed and hopeful… all at the same time. We used to think of these feelings as mutually exclusive. Turns out laughter and tears are both well within reach at all times.

i’ve also learned that everything i seek is a moving target. i can adjust to follow it, or i can simply watch as nature takes its course. Nothing is static, nothing is permanent, everything goes the way it’s supposed to. Nothing goes the way i want it to, unless what i want is for it to be itself. You can’t know the earth and miss this truth. It just is. And i wanna let it, for the most part, be that.

If anybody needs me, i’ll be out here crying and laughing. i can tell you how remarkable you are, if you need to hear it, exactly as you are. Because you are trying and growing, you are perfect. The moon sees you and loves you no less for your worry. The wind will come to dry your tears. Leaves, then snowflakes will fall, inviting you to dance. And the sun will always rise, whether or not you can see it, to bring you a new day, another opportunity. The earth is here for you, has been all along. i cannot stress enough that you need not force anything, nor compromise yourself. Consider simply that we must live with the lion nearby, strategizing certainly, but enjoying the meadow no less.