Apocaloptimist?

Holding space for the world to come.

A cartoon

A thought

I got to spend a day at the beach this week — a treat for an inlander like me. The weather was perfect, clear, warm (actually a bit too warm for April). Sparkling light playing on the water.

But the trip was tinged with a heavy feeling — an ache, an anticipatory grief. The mourning of a loss that has not yet occurred but feels dangerously inevitable. This little stretch of beach is so extraordinary, I can’t and don’t want to imagine it any other way.

We find ourselves in shadow time. A space between worlds, the old normal just a memory and the new one not yet formed.

I cracked a little, simultaneously sad and mad.
Sad that this is where we’ve arrived.
Mad at our dithering and denial.
Pissed that collapse and climate awareness now seep into moments of awe and joy.

Can I be sure we’re doomed? Of course not. The future is emergent.

Call me an apocaloptimist — someone who fully acknowledges the seriousness of the potential for collapse, but still chooses to imagine something better. Not because I’m naive, but because I know that seeds can take root in the rubble.

When I feel a little cracked and despondent, drawing helps me make sense of things. Here, L’il Bean is tending the seeds of creativity and imagination.

Imagination is the first act of regeneration.
It’s what turns collapse into compost.

Curiosity invites us to ask:
What is working, even now?
What will we carry forward?
What will we transmute?

What will we create?

This drawing helped me remember — this grief is not the end.
It’s the opening.

Do you recognise this feeling? This fear of loss? Where does it show up for you?

Glimmers and sparks*

My glimmers for today are… in full disclosure, my mood is such that I struggled to put three things on my list today. So when you feel like that, know you are in good company, think really tiny and have faith it will pass.

• A quiet cup of tea with sunlight on my back.

• The soft patter of rain.

Some you may have missed during the week:

Rainbow Lorikeets cleaning up at a cafe table and decorating an Easter tree with eggs, my now mostly adult kids decorated when they were little.

Li’l bean is your reminder to pause and ask: What are your glimmers for today?

From your friend and your small, steadfast companion,

*Drawing Li’l Bean helped me navigate out of a period of depression in 2023. A good friend 13, 595km away, helped, too, through a ritual of swapping daily glimmers via text.

A glimmer is a tiny spark of hope, enthusiasm or joy that lifts your heart. By helping me find three glimmers each day, she gently helped me see the joy and beauty already around me.

I’d like to share this practice with you and invite you to reflect on your glimmers for the day when you read this. Think of Li’l Bean as a reminder to notice the glimmers and sparks in your life. We’d love it if you would like to share your glimmers in the comments or by hitting reply (if you don’t like sharing publicly).