Being near water is one of my favorite things, be it a creek or a river or lake, or, less frequently, the ocean. I’m partial to waterways in the Appalachian mountains, I’ll take a mountain stream over the sea most days. 

Getting into the water during the warm months is a serious priority for me (my sweetie Jason might say it’s more of an obsession). I LOVE TO SWIM.

As much as I can each summer I visit rivers and lakes where I blissfully swim and paddle around on a SUP or canoe. Lakes around here (which are all artificially created) are a guilty pleasure, as I do believe rivers are meant to run free. Still, lake swimming can be divine. Or even a little pond – just get me underwater.

At some point every autumn I inevitably sigh to Jason, “I just didn’t swim enough this summer!” I’d regret not seizing more of the fleeting hot sunny days. 

Last year I was reeling from the loss of my parents, who both died in December 2023. Our beloved dog Maxwell had died a few months before. Then my dear friend Odell died. It was a time of intense grieving. 

Of course I took my grief to the water.  

2024 was the summer I finally swam enough. Almost every week I was in water at least once, visiting favorite rivers with regularity. We went to the beach in South Carolina, hiked to swimming holes, and camped by lakes. We took a road trip up north which included rivers and lakes and ponds as well as time in the ocean. In September we stayed in Lake Lure and had so much fun at our last swims of the year in the river by the Geneva Tiki Bar. 

Each time I submerged I offered prayers of gratitude for the love that is grief, the blessing that is water. 

At the end of September, on the heels of this sacred summer of swimming, Hurricane Helene came through and ravaged the waterways I worship. 

What devastation to witness. While the storm did not take the rivers and lakes the way it took the lives of too many trees, it dramatically altered them, and filled them with trash and turbidity. Many of the swimming holes I cherished are no longer in existence or are inaccessible, and we will be kept out of some of the lakes around here for awhile. Not to mention our compromised reservoir. 

I’m hurting over countless losses from the storm, and healthier waterways is one of them. One that presses heavily on my soul. 

Now my tears of grief are often an offering to them, water for water. The rivers were not meant to rage, capitalism-driven climate crisis and overdevelopment conspired to push them beyond their brinks. The storm was a disturbance that traumatized and changed us all. 

Change. Oh, inevitable change. A reminder to embrace the ephemeral. 

As a student of history who has also been living through the depressing changes caused by gentrification in Asheville, I often find myself focusing on a place I adore, knowing that one day it will be no more. I try to cherish each second there. 

Similarly, the deaths of close loved ones motivate me to tell those who are still on this plane how much I love them. 

The more I grieve, the more gratitude I feel. 

That doesn’t make the heartbreaks less real. 

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Dear friends, how are you handling all of the horror and heartbreaks of this moment? The threats coming from every direction? The inconceivable losses? The ache of helplessness? The daily dance with despair? 

It’s all too much, right? I honor your struggle, whatever it looks like. I am struggling along with you. 

Yet, despite or because of it all, I know that “hope is a discipline,” a concept I learned from Miriam Kaba. And so I practice. Sometimes (a lot of the time) practicing hope is quite difficult, as is strengthening any valuable skill. 

In the midst of so much pain, it’s hard to know how to even start moving towards hope. Thankfully, we have access to brilliant thinkers and teachers who orient us towards ancient futures rife with right relationships. I’ve linked to a few below. Drink in medicinal missives from wise ones, and seek out your own. 

When I feel hopeless, I also look to love, particularly love in action. Examples abound. They help me to handle the endless heartaches. So does the fact that, as Kaba reminds us, we cannot know what will happen next – it could be something good. 

Connecting with others for a greater goal can help soothe aching hearts. When I started this newsletter over a decade ago, one of my main intentions was to use it to share information about ways to engage in transformative community efforts. 

Over the years, my belief in the critical importance of localized networks of care has only grown stronger. For those of you who lived through the aftermath of the storm in Western North Carolina, I am sure you feel the same. 

Everything is always changing, all we have is each ephemeral moment to shape change towards the world we want (h/t Octavia Bulter, Parable of the Sower). Every day we have the chance to abundantly invest in a bioregional ecosystem of hopeful action.

“When you feel yourself becoming complacent of surrendering to hopelessness or apathy, remember that everything that exists today exists because someone(s) dreamt it and decided to put in the work to make it reality. We can create new ways of doing things, new ways of being, new worlds.” – Mia Mingus

Practicing hope

We are blessed to have hopeful people organizing for a better world right here in WNC. These are a few groups I’m working with this year, most I have shared about before, though they can never get enough shine. There are many others, of course. How wonderful.  

Tepeyac Mountain Sanctuary gives me hope by creating powerful healing spaces that center collective liberation and freedom. 

Swannanoa Communities Together gives me hope as neighbors organize to meet immediate needs and build back better. 

STM Multimedia gives me hope with Black media-making and “edutainment” that amplifies voices and increases opportunities. 

Asheville Creative Arts gives me hope by using children’s theater and a strong creative network to enhance local culture.

Colaborativa La Milpa gives me hope through generative grassroots collaborations for sharing resources and increasing impact.

Ecoforesters gives me hope that we can steward healthy forests, even after losing so much of the canopy in the hurricane. 

Compañeros Inmigrantes de Las Montañas en Acción (CIMA) gives me hope with rapid response organizing for community defense. 

The more-than-human world gives me hope for rejuvenation and resilience. 

As you hold the heartaches, may you also hold on to hope. 

Here’s to swimming or whatever soothes your soul.

Onward.

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“Your power is relative, but it is real. And if you do not learn to use it, it will be used against you, and me, and our children. Change did not begin with you, and it will not end with you, but what you do with your life is an absolutely vital piece of that chain.” – Audre Lorde

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Join me in basking in the brilliance of…

Miriam Kaba; adrienne maree brown and Autumn Brown, both individually and through their incredible podcast (one of my favorites), How to Survive the End of the World; Alexis Pauline Gumbs; Kelly Hayes, both her vital newsletter, Organizing My Thoughts, and the Movement Memos podcast; Margaret Killjoy; and on and on…

(These folks are on Bluesky. I joined them there.)

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Babe’s bday

This week is Jason Krekel‘s birthday! What a gift to the world he is. His love and support make everything I do possible. If you’re in Asheville, come celebrate his solar return at the Bam-A-Lam show this Wednesday Feb. 12 at 5 Walnut Wine Bar, 7:30 pm – 9:30 pm.

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