Hi Familia - Welcome to Vol. 6 of Move Fast, Think Slow. If you want to join other curious, smart readers of this newsletter you can do so here:
When I started Move Fast, Think Slow early last year I did so for a few reasons. One, to give myself an excuse to write more. Two, to cover cultural and business trends. And three to share out musings on mindful meditations and philosophy. At first, I tried to pack all of this into each dispatch. But then I realized I can actually just focus on one area or the other in a new dispatch. Not every newsletter has to cover both cultural trends and mindful meditations. So stay tuned for more posts that are a bit of a deeper dive on one or the other in the future. The plan is to mix it up a bit more in the coming year.
Speaking of which, the plans/goals for Move Fast, Think Slow in 2022 is to write more posts (I only did 5 in 2021 🤦 ). I’m also going to try to do a few interviews with folks I know who can provide interesting perspectives on business, culture, and philosophy. I think in some ways audio can cut through better than the written word on various topics.
In the meantime, the first dispatch of the year is focused on some end-of-2021 perspectives and honest thoughts on the marathon of the last two years.
Post Holiday Vibes
At the end of every year, the same thing happens - it’s that special moment in time when punching the 9-to-5 clock subsides. I get to be immersed in family and in my thoughts and reflections. And luckily, every year, I always land in a place of deep gratitude with health, a sense of security, and love all around. Yet, one thing life repeatedly teaches us is that it can all go away in an instant.
“You could leave life right now. Let that determine what you do and say and think.” - Marcus Aurilius
We don't know what will happen to us next. We're here one day and gone tomorrow. For many, that notion might seem bleak, but to me, that notion generates a lot of light. That light shines brightly on the here and now, and how I am holding all the magic I could ever ask for. This moment right here is the opportunity space. An opportunity to breathe in deeply, take stock of each and every blessing and appreciate the fruits of our labor. An opportunity to appreciate each other.
The other side of this time of reflection is that the end of 2021 wasn’t gracious or rosy. It brought with it a feeling of dread.
For me, whenever traumatic things happen or the road gets rocky I can weather the storm. Many of us are taught to stay strong. When trouble hits, hold on tight. And for me, in many ways, the rougher the waters get the more focused and stoic I can become. This is good while you’re in the moment, but it can get worse after the dust settles.
We’re living through endless sad stories, confusion, and exhaustion with COVID-19. And endless sad stories of intense cultural or ecological injustices, met by little to no leadership from the institutions that have sway over our culture and resources. It's as if humanity can't sort itself out fast enough. It feels like much of humanity is throwing up its arms in defeat, apathy, or emotional negativity.
Am I allowed to feel crummy even though I am so lucky? There is no right answer here. Only contemplation. These are just the moments that meet us and all we can do is our best to meet the moment. And if we can, meet it with grace.
Truth in poetry and the wisdom of Amanda Gorman
When I initially went to write this dispatch I was thinking of Ted Lasso, having caught up on the show over the break. But then, I stopped after I picked up Amanda Gorman’s Call Us What We Carry. You may remember her from the exquisitely strong and awesomely delivered The Hill We Climb at President Biden’s Inauguration a year ago.
Poets have magical abilities and Gorman’s are simply exceptional. Her poem Good Grief hit me hard while also relieving me. It was within these places where for a brief moment, I didn’t feel so alone in processing the dread of this moment.
Good Grief
The origin of the word trauma
Is not just “wound” but “piercing” or “turning,”
As blades do when finding home.
Greif commands its own grammar,
Structured by intimacy & imagination.
We often say:
We are beside ourselves with grief.
We can’t even imagine.
This means anguish can call us to envision
More than what we believed was carriable
Or even survivable.
This is to say, there does exist
A good grief.
The hurt is how we know
We are alive & awake;
It clears us for all the exquisite,
Excruciating enormities to come.
We are priced by the turning
Forward.
All that is grave need
Not be a burden, an anguish.
Call it, instead, an anchor,
Grief grounding us in its sea.
Despair exits us the same way it enters-
Turning through the mouth.
Even now conviction works
Strange magic on our tounges.
We are built up again
By what we
Build/find/see/say/remember/know.
What we carry means we survive,
It is what survives us.
Where once we were alone,
Now we are beside ourselves.
Where once we were barbed & brutal as blades,
Now we can only imagine.
- Amanda Gorman
Now. We can only imagine. Amen Ms. Gorman. Do yourself a favor and get a copy of Call Us What We Carry. Here’s hoping you and yours are able to imagine wonderful things this coming year, with courage, hope, and heart.