Rain Perry

From Hopelessness to Hope

It's so easy right now to feel hopeless. The shape of the potential destruction -- of government agencies, of norms, of communities -- being planned by the new administration is becoming clearer, like a hurricane as it gets closer to land.

I can feel myself protecting myself. I'm careful how I consume news -- watching it on TV is too much. I don't have it in me to react to each outrageous nomination, each foreshadowing of the chaos to come. I'm uninterested in debates about whose fault this all is. I find I have no appetite for nihilism or blame. I've seen posts like "here is a list of every bad thing that's going to happen next." What could I possibly gain by reading that except paralyzing fear?

I need hope. And I'm sure I'm not alone in thinking that to get through whatever is facing us, I'll need a regular infusion of it. Not false optimism, not a distraction, but practical hope.

I keep coming back to that famous quote by Congressman John Lewis.

I always loved it, but until these past few weeks I never really understand it. To be optimistic in the face of despair is a radical assignment, from a man who saw the worst of America -- got his head cracked open on the Edmund Pettus Bridge, spoke at the March on Washington when there was no certainty the Voting Rights Act would ever pass -- and went on to live a life full of purpose and joy. He danced, he crowd-surfed (7:30 mark), and he worked tirelessly for justice, gaining the nickname "the Conscience of the Congress."

So how to get hold of a little of whatever John Lewis had?

I made big pronouncements after the election that I wasn't going to let the re-elected former president get into my head. And I have succeeded in avoided listening to his voice. But I won't deny that I've succumbed to doomscrolling these past few weeks, and there have been times when dread has consumed me.

I've also stumbled on some deeply inspiring, heartening lectures, essays, and posts like this amazing conversation between Margaret Atwood and Rebecca Solnit about George Orwell, this stunning essay by Joan Westenberg about rebel optimism, this sobering but practical guide to weathering the coming economic storm, and this excellent to-do list for staying grounded and effective as the would-be autocrat takes office. And I'm starting to see that like physical fitness, like artistic technique, like cognitive focus, hope and joy and the fortitude for good trouble can likely be developed and strengthened with practice, which will not only comfort but also inoculate against the very real forces of destruction and fear.

During the election season, I was sending out a newsletter called "Strategy and Hope." I wrapped it up a couple weeks ago in a post called "Now What?" with ideas for protecting ourselves and our communities in the immediate future (which I hope you'll check out). Since then, I've been trying to figure out what I can contribute to my own well-being, and maybe others' as well, going forward. Then the other day I received a lovely out-of-left-field push to come up with something (which I'll tell you about, below), so I did.

So here's what I've got.

A Habit of Hope

There are many great ideas floating around for ways to cultivate optimism and joy, and a many potential avenues for activism. Where to start? How to be effective? I find two slogans are super helpful.

The old standby "think globally, act locally" is a great way to fight the feeling of overwhelm. I can't stop the new administration from attempting nationwide mass deportations. I can donate to Cause and MICOP in my own community. I can contact my local Congressmember Julia Brownley to express my concern for the well-being of neighbors without documentation, and for potential damage to our local economy, which depends on agriculture and hospitality. I can learn about potential civic action on this issue. Etc.

And the other famous slogan that helps me right now is "be the change you wish to see in the world." This is a hard one. It's a whole lot easier to tell other people what they oughta do. But if I want calm, I have to be calm. If I want justice, I have to be just. If I want optimism and hope in the world, I have to cultivate those traits in myself.

So how in the world am I supposed to do that? I'm going to need support. For me, accountability and encouragement are essential in getting me to do anything I've committed myself to. And I've got some pretty good skills in those departments.

If you would like to embrace optimism and hope, and you think you also need support, I'd love for you to join me as I try something out:

1. A simple daily planner to track the work of hope, optimism and good trouble
2. A brief weekly newsletter with a dose of inspiration and place for accountability
3. A weekly zoom for community and more accountability
4. An occasional in-person gathering

Planner:

Community, creativity, activism -- here's a link to a quick post I just made of a planner to track those things. (I'm commissioning a much prettier version by a talented designer, which I'll make available as soon as it's done.

Newsletter:

In my songwriting classes, we "copy the masters" -- i.e. we practice the techniques of the great songwriters who came before. In the same way, we can learn much about practical hope from people who have embodied it. Each week, I'll bring you an inspiring story of someone who has prevailed in an impossible situation.

Because we will likely need to help the people around us in unprecedented ways, there will also be an assignment to get very real about the activism we are each ready to embrace. You won't need to do this every week, but it's a great way to hold yourself accountable.

There will also be art and music, of course!

I'm going to publish this newsletter on Substack and cross-post on my own website. (I want to get the best of Substack - the community, the amplification - but I'm also aware that social media come and go).

If you'd like to receive the newsletter by email, you can click here to get it from me directly, or click here to sign up for the version on Substack. (They are the same.)

Zoom:

For nearly two years, I've been hosting a weekly zoom called Odious Task Tuesday where we support each other in getting our most reviled tasks done. It's been so great.

I'm certain that practical hope and optimism will benefit from community too. If you would enjoy a zoom "optimism and hope" check-in with supportive friends, join me on (most) Fridays from 8:00-9:00 am Pacific Time. There will be a signup in each newsletter.

Getting Together to Make Something That Wasn't There Before:

Creation is the opposite of destruction. So let's create simply for the act of creating something. I don't have dates or location yet, but I'll be organizing a semi-regular drop in event where folks can bring something creative to work on -- it would have to be portable, not loud, and not messy (like knitting or sketching or writing) -- and just hang out for an hour or two with other folks doing the same thing. No need to wait for me, though! Please consider getting together in person with friends for something similar!

All of this will all always be free. However, if you want to subscribe on Substack, I won't say no! I will donate half of any subscriptions to a mission-aligned cause, and report back in case you'd like to support them further.

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Now, the backstory:

After I sent my final "Strategy and Hope" email, I emotionally curled up into a bit of a ball. For someone as wordy as I am, it was unusual to find myself with nothing to say. For the past couple weeks I've pretty much just wanted to hug my dog.

Then the other day I woke to an email from Substack with the subject "A reader just pledged $80 to subscribe to Rain Perry." How lovely! But also: I don't have a Substack. I mean, I subscribe to a few folks there, but I've never published anything myself.

I opened the email to this cute little graphic:

Aw!

A little background: In my wayward youth, Rickie Lee Jones was a musical hero to me. Then, out of the blue, she moved to my town. This is before I was a mom, before I ever made a record. Through a friend of a friend, I found myself working for her: first, babysitting, and then some office-y stuff. I did my best to act normal around the person who had so touched my aching adolescent heart. Not sure if I succeeded, but she was always kind. Then she moved away and I lost touch. But of course I've followed her work since then, including her wonderful Substack filled with music, movies, politics, and life. A couple times lately, I've seen that she'd liked something I'd posted on Instagram. She remembers me! I was stoked.

So I messaged her back and told her how good it was to hear from her, and that I was honored she thought of me as an old friend, and I wondered if the subscription was maybe a mistake, and if so I'd be happy to refund her money. She responded: "i am a founding subscriber! when you do post, my five bucks will be happy!"

This fills my heart with joy. Thank you, Rickie! And thank you, weird universe, for this left-field prodding to come up with something. I now have a Substack with one paying subscriber: Rickie Lee Jones. So you can see that I had to figure it out.

So, Rickie Lee and all: subscription received in November 2024 equal $80. In the spirit of "think globally, act locally," I'm going to donate $40 of that to CAUSE (Central Coast Alliance United for a Sustainable Economy), "a base-building organization committed to social, economic, and environmental justice for working-class and immigrant communities in California’s Central Coast."

And thank you for reading this far and considering joining me in this particular method of completing the assignment given by John Lewis. Here's another video of him dancing.

xo Rain