Those who did it anyway & how we shape our reality
for times when we are told we cannot
Dear Readers, After hearing from a few of you that you are enjoying the posts and prompts but find yourself scrambling to keep up, I have decided to change the cadence of this blog to every two weeks. I am including audio or some other offering with each post, so the content will be more robust. I hope you are amiable to this update. Please email me or write in the comments if you have feedback or miss weekly posts. I am here for community and to offer whatever insights I have with you, but I am also interested in YOU and your perspectives. I’ll be jotting notes daily regardless, but the way I package things is for YOU. xo Jen
“We understand reality in terms of interaction … how we interact with one another.” —Carlo Rovelli
We are the sum of our relational exchanges.
Carlo Rovelli is a theoretical physicist who believes our human reality boils down to interactivity. We exist, Rovelli says, as the sum of our interactions. I love this idea and have thought about it often since I discovered him.
If we are the sum of our interactions, that is a call to interact mindfully, in writing and in person, understanding that everything we do to truly connect (rather than impress, posture, tick boxes, etc) is amplifying our personal and relational power.
How we initiate and react to those we love, those we admire as well as those who try to drag us down or dismiss us matters. To me, this idea is a call to get out there and initiate conversations and connections with those we are aligned with.
If we think about life like this, we are no longer worried about limiting our time with people who are toxic or better understand how to guard ourselves against absorbing that but, instead, holding fast to who we are no matter who crosses our path.
Tall call to action. And what does this have to do with writing? I’ll get there in a few paragraphs. First, I’ve been immersed in the 19th century these last two years, so let’s go back there.
Victoria Woodhull ran for the U.S. Presidency almost fifty years before women could legally vote. Some say she positioned herself to do so through manipulation; others say she did so through connections.
For the last two years, I’ve been better understanding the politics of the time (it’s helping me to answer quite a few Jeopardy questions, actually), and I’m realizing how similar the 1870s were to today.
Manipulative governments. The wealthiest and most powerful steering crime and keeping the masses in check by colluding with said corrupt government (or competing with it, in some cases).
Most humans were treated as means to ends, rather than citizens, or even people. The definition of “persons” who could vote at the time did not include women of any race or Native Americans.
Woodhull blamed the “despots” for most problems and called for people to have freedoms and be defined by their humanness. But she also lived at a time when she herself had few rights, and she scrambled to find ways to envision a better future.
How does one navigate such terrain?
Leveraging what resiliency research now proves a viable course of action, Woodhull sought to deepen relationships with anyone and everyone she looked up to intellectually. She sought out mentors and allies alike. Ultimately, these interactions led her to the stage—a place where she could share her views with others in her unique way.
Her story is complex, far more complex than only reaching out to those she admired, but for the purpose of this topic, let’s explore what it means to align yourself with those who share values or speak in different ways about things you believe in.
Woodhull educated herself by reaching out to the great thinkers of her time: Walt Whitman, Karl Marx, Mark Twain, Stephen Pearl Andrews (whose writings have been buried but is someone I’m currently fascinated by), and Harriet Beecher Stowe (who later became an adversary, but for more on that … RADICALS will be out late this year).
I share this to say that while this story is complex, Victoria Woodhull saw a network of minds that she wanted to exchange ideas and correspondence with in order to best understand how to do anything in the world.
Of course, back then, she had an advantage. Letters. Letters allowed people to take their time and personalize correspondence in a way that AI and fast publications are he antithesis to. She connected with great minds by capturing their attention across time and space. In letters, she offered her radical and impassioned ideas with intelligence and grace and care.
They were often received well, and this, perhaps, led her to tease out the impossible riddle of how to move forward and find doors most believed to be walls.
Prompt: Write a letter to someone you admire, reachable or not.
You can explain why you are fascinated with this person, admire this person’s ideas or bravery or creativity or mastery of language; but more than that, just write to them as a person. Human to human.
Write to them and recognize how each correspondence, mindful or no, is a deposit into your own, ever-changing reality.
A connectivity practice for those who dig it.
And here’s one for kids. Or humans like me, who have trouble settling in and like simple imagery.
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