Now, I won’t lie to you. Holding on right now is hard. It’s tempting to check out, to throw your hands up and surrender to cynicism. To believe that nothing matters. That it’s all going to burn anyway. But that story—the one that says there’s no point trying? That’s not your story. That’s despair’s script. And
we’ve got better lines to write.
I’ve been thinking a lot about a sentiment from Matt Haig’s The Midnight Library - What feels like forever now will pass.
That sentence? It’s been carrying me lately. I repeat it like a mantra. Because when you’re in the middle of the storm, it’s hard to remember what sunlight feels like. But the weather
constantly changes. Always.
Disorder is not a destination. It’s a transition.
But transitions aren’t passive. You don’t get through them by hiding under the covers. You move through them by showing up for yourself, your people, your art, your sanity, and your soul. You make small choices that keep you rooted. You return to whatever
reminds you that you’re still here. Breathing. Capable. Becoming.
What helps me isn’t always dramatic. Sometimes it’s stepping away from the algorithm and stepping into a park. A green space. A quiet space. A book. I call my ‘breddrin’ and talk about art, success, or some foolishness that makes us laugh. I cook. I journal. I sit with my characters and ask them, “How would you survive this world?”
And they tell me things I didn’t know I needed to hear.
Routines. Reflection. Connection.
Not for escape, but for grounding.
Because the more chaotic the world becomes, the more responsibility we have to hold steady. Not with fake positivity or toxic hustle, but with
honesty and presence. You don’t have to pretend you’re okay. But don’t let the chaos convince you that you never will be.
We’ve weathered storms before. Political, personal, planetary. We’ve rebuilt from ash. We’ve turned brokenness into beauty. You’ve done it. So have I. We will again.
This moment won’t last forever.
But what do you choose to believe and build right now? That might.
So hold on—not to false hope, but to your true self. To your breath. To the people who remind you who you are. To the tiny sparks of joy that still flicker in unexpected places.
We are
living through disorder. Yes.
But we are also living.
And that, right there, is something powerful.
Jah know!
Peace, love and power.
