My morning started in my least favorite way, which I’ve been doing recently: grabbing my phone and immediately getting back in bed (my phone is plugged in on the dresser across from my bed, like we’re supposed to do) and scrolling the vortex of the internet to keep me from the swirling to-do list and existential angst that has been chomping at my thoughts with a particular intensity lately. This morning I stopped in my tracks on an image that we’ve seen far too much in the last four months: a mother is bent over her son who was killed, wailing. She kisses his hands, his face, cradles him in the way you would cradle your heart outside your body. We don’t speak the same language and she is speaking the language that we all speak.
A few days ago, over 100 people were killed while chasing down flour. We shout out for mercy and politicians bury their heads. My friend writes me after I post about demanding a ceasefire and tells me that last week she had to file a police report because an intruder tried to break into her toddlers’ Hebrew school. I don’t know how to say that there is room to hope with our entire existence for all kinds of evil to end.
During Brooklyn’s gathering of Dinner With Strangers, I asked the group, “What is something you used to believe but don’t anymore?” and someone shared, “I used to believe that humans are mostly good - generally good - that at our core, there is goodness there. And now I don’t know if I don’t believe that anymore.” We all sighed. We all nodded. We scrunched our lips in the way one does when you don’t want to agree but don’t know how to not agree. I thought for a minute, and then said, “I have the ability to offer some optimism because of the unofficial statistical data I’m gathering with these dinners. May I offer some of that optimism in rebuttal?”
At the dinner table I am confronted with wild regularity the stories of people doing their best. I get to bear witness to people surviving things like hungry childhoods and angry fathers and parents who didn’t understand them and getting called faggot at school every day for four years and those people coming out on the other side with so much gentleness in their eyes it could make your knees turn to goo. On Wednesday, just this week, a woman told us about the day she left her husband, after he told her for the nine hundred millionth time that her work was meaningless and her business name was dumb. She made t-shirts and ball caps and tote bags that said STRONG in big swirly typeface that she chose with care and sold out of her merch in minutes.
I hear stories about the people who’ve made a difference in their lives: coaches who saw something special and were sure to call it out and social workers at middle schools who got them signed up for extracurriculars. I hear about older brothers who always made them feel included and uncles who were the only people to make sure that they said, “Just so you know, I will always love you, no matter what, exactly as you are,” when they came from a family that would not in fact love them no matter what, specifically if they chose to love the person they loved out loud.
I sit at the table with normal people who come from somewhere, maybe here, maybe an unthinkable childhood, maybe a lonely life or a self-proclaimed blessed life, who are doing the same thing as me: trying to listen, trying to make some meaning, trying to find a thread of beauty or hope in this dumpster fire, trying to see what is in their power to make a difference. We are looking for all of the ways we can do our part.
If I am to act like a scientist and gather all of this data, which, in soul language we might call proof, and put it on some sort of graph, I would see a line emerge in the shape of an arrow going forward towards the light.
I refuse to believe that we don’t care about each other. I have been a witness to too much care to be able to be convinced otherwise. We take care of the people in our immediate circle and also strangers, also neighbors, also people scattered across the world. We make grand gestures of care and also show care by listening to each other’s stories and holding out a napkin when eyes get misty and affirming when something resonates and asking how else we can show up for one another.
I refuse to believe that we aren’t collectively able to imagine, create, and demand a better world and a better way. We have been doing that since the beginning, since the day the word enough was invented. And we can claim enough is enough at any time. Like right now, even. I write it down so many times it doesn’t even look like a word anymore. Enough. Enough. Enough.
Upcoming Events
**Vancouver and Seattle’s Dinner With Strangers dates announced tomorrow! To be among the first to know, Join my Dinner With Strangers updates list!**
Dinner With Strangers x W Hotel Toronto
Wednesday, March 6th at 7pm-10pm
Join me for this very special edition of Dinner With Strangers, celebrating International Women’s Day at The W Hotel in Toronto. Our conversation will focus on individuality and breaking barriers. Register for dinner here!
What She Said Panel: How Our Stories Shape Our Work (sold out)
Friday, March 8th at 6:30pm
Creating space for meaningful conversation, join me and W Toronto for an incredible panel of female leaders sharing their unique perspectives on forging paths, breaking barriers, and vision for cultivating empowering environments.
Dinner With Strangers x Chef Jill Hillier
Thursday, March 14th at 6pm - 10
I’m teaming up with the incredible Chef Jill Hillier at Summerhill Event Boutique’s dreamy space. You’re going to want to enjoy this specially-curated menu. Yes, Chef! (This event is sold out)
Poetry Club
Monday, March 18th at 7pm - 8:30 EST
The internet’s sweetest gathering is happening on the 18th! **Note that this is a Monday, when Poetry Club is usually on a Tuesday.** Bring a poem you’ve written or a poem you love on the theme - rebirth. Paid Substack subscribers automatically receive the Zoom link 24 hrs before the event.
In Good Company - a drop-in writing workshop
Sunday, March 24th at 10am - 11:30 EST
Our next gathering of In Good Company (a monthly writing workshop for paid Substack subscribers) is going to be Sunday, March 24th! The theme will be rebirth.
No need to register - a Zoom link will be sent out to paid Substack subscribers 24 hrs before.
Hosting Intentional Dinners
Monday, March 25th at 7pm - 9 EST
Join me for a two-hour workshop exploring how to get more out of your dinner gathering. Whether you’re looking to bring more intentionality to dinners with your family and friends or start your own dinner series, this workshop is for you. We will cover inviting ways to center dinners around themes, meaningful conversation ideas, dinner preparation, menu ideas, along with setting the table and the mood! There will also be an opportunity for you to ask questions at the end.
If you’re not able to make it live, the workshop will be recorded and your ticket gives you access to view it at a later date. This workshop is free for Substack founding members, who automatically receive the Zoom link 24 hrs before the event. Otherwise, register here!
Beautiful, Jess. Thank you for this.
I believe it too. I love the description of the chart with the line like an arrow pointing towards the light!! 💗