Staying Informed Without Losing Your Soul

Information should be fuel, not a consuming fire.

Solace is found on the edges of new days, where birds sing the golden sun into place. Trees and hills cloister, and the green soothes the frayed edges of weariness and unknowing. In my backyard, the Yellow Bells have begun to bloom. Roses open and let go, floating petals to the ground, while tight buds wait their turn to be center stage. I've romanticized this place—made it a buffer, a space for daily healing against the harshness and fear stirred by the MAGA regime.

I don’t turn off the news entirely, but I do monitor when and how much I consume. Mornings are sacred. They belong to gratitude, to breath, to love seeking form. I light a candle and say grace, listen to the trees—majestic stillness, branches reaching to heaven in prayer, roots running deep beneath the surface, feeding and communing with one another in an ancient language of love known to the forest.

The trees teach community, like the community here on Substack—people reaching for one another with stories, poetry, and witnessing. We tell the truth about our fear, anger, and vulnerability. We navigate the divides of our time by writing through them. Like tree roots touching underground, we remember together how to nourish through cooperation and compassion.

For me, the day begins with tea in my favorite, now chipped cup, a quiet heart, and questions for the soul. How do you want to express yourself today? Then I give myself to the work: writing, reading, and reflection—the scaffolding of a writer’s life. The rest follows: dishes, the dog, the bed, errands…

Only later in the day do I turn on the news. I brace myself. So much of what I hear from the MAGA regime violates the basic human principles kindness, care, and beauty. Everything and anything can be used as a weapon. Cruelty, normalized. No wonder we live in a state of collective anxiety and low-level rage. But within that mess is the message of what I need to pay attention to. Trump got elected because some were just not paying attention.

I need/want to be aware of the happenings in these unprecedented historic times. When I start yelling at the screen, I know it’s time to turn it all off. Anger is human, and sometimes necessary. But rage? Rage is a fire that consumes. The better condition becomes: is there an action I can take? A call to make? A truth to speak? Art to create? Resistance is built on personal resilience.

My friend

Susan Wittig Albert

hosts a Substack book group called Guerrilla Readers. They read to understand how we got here, how history echoes in our present. They read to uncover action—personal and collective. I admire how she has shaped her reading and writing life into a meaningful response to these anxious times. She models how art and activism can be linked.

Dinner is its own sacred pause. My husband and I sit down across from each other, bless our food, and name what we’re grateful for. There is always enough. We speak of purpose, of finding meaning even now—especially now.

Later, we walk the dog. We wave to neighbors, some of whom voted for Trump. But here, there’s still a “got your back” ethic. If fire or flood came, the same people with big trucks and conservative signs would help all their neighbors, as would we. Crisis tends to strip away identity. What remains is decency. This gives me hope.

In the evening, we laugh. We watch a movie or comedians on Netflix. I want the last note of my day to be a little bit of laughter, not dread. I refuse to disappear beneath the weight of madness. This is what I aspire to: Respond by living big; by writing, reflecting, laughing, and walking in the woods. By appreciating what it is I wish to protect; by speaking up and speaking out in my day-to-day of life; by writing my truth. We are all the chroniclers of these times.

Tomorrow. Again. Begin in stillness. Begin in gratitude. Before anything else, write. Breathe. Listen. Then, and only then, take in the news, after I’ve lived most of the day. Ask what can be done and follow that lead.

One day there will be a widely scattered library among us, the living journals that captured these times. Political witness. Artistic response. Peaceful musing. Painful anger and shock. It will shape us, inform us, and help us to traverse the new world. And most of all, the library will hold the stories for those who have yet to be born – a story of what it’s like to fight for peace and a humanity that even under assault, was still capable of choosing compassion over cruelty.

Let’s name what we’re up against. Let’s call it what it is. And then let’s keep showing up for truth and sovereignty — show up with our pens, paintbrushes, keyboards, and our rooted hearts and voices.

Staying informed without losing your soul is an act of quiet rebellion. A way of saying: I see, I care, and I will not be consumed. I will find ways to answer the call to preserve and persevere with truth. Remember, information should be fuel, to think, and to do our part in preserving truth. It need not be the fire that consumes.

• What do you do each day to stay informed without losing your center?

• What rituals or spaces help you reconnect with what’s still good and sacred?

Dear and precious reader, please share your thoughts and feelings. Let’s have a conversation!