creativity

In winter, nature shows us how to endure difficult times

Photo by Greg Johnson on Unsplash

Last week, it snowed in New Orleans, Pensacola, and Houston. In New York City, where I live, we had windchills in the single digits. Late one evening, I was hustling home from the subway, bundled from head to toe. My mind swirled with the news from this week; I was struggling to figure out how to make a difference. How might I flood my corner of the world with love and light? How might I take care of living beings who need my help?

I turned onto my block. The street lamps made the snow on my beautiful London Plane trees glow. They’re original to the neighborhood – over 100 years old and 100 feet tall. I stopped and looked up at them, even though the cold stung my face. I smiled, admiring their beauty and strength. They’ve lived through so much change and continued to flourish.  What could I learn from them, and nature as a whole, that would help me survive and thrive in the harsh conditions we’re facing?

How animals winter
Nature bears winter’s difficulties through many adaptations. Some animals conserve energy by entering a deep sleep that lowers their metabolic rate and body temperature. Some grow thicker fur to insulate themselves. Others bulk up, eating their fill when food is plentiful in the fall and storing fat that will sustain them during the meager winter months. And others migrate – seeking out better conditions elsewhere until they can return home.  

How plants winter
Plants, including my London Plane trees, have a powerful set of winter adaptations. Some trees grow thicker bark, just as animals grow thicker fur, to insulate themselves. Many plants and trees have seeds adorned with a scaly shell on the outside and soft hairs on the inside that act like a down coat, protecting the seed to survive the cold so they can root and bloom when spring arrives, and conditions improve. Like some animals, plants can also go into a deep sleep, shedding their leaves and sending their sugars into their roots for storage. They focus on developing those root systems below ground, where it’s warm and safe. This work on their roots, nourished by the sugars, allows them to regenerate their leaves each spring.   

What nature teaches us about wintering
While some of us might like to hibernate or migrate until our difficulties pass, that isn’t feasible for most of us. Let’s look deeper at the adaptations of animals and plants during the winter and ask, “How does nature endure difficult times?” These are the underlying design principles that we could adapt from nature’s wintering and adopt in our own lives:

Conserve and bolster energy
When times are difficult and resources are scarce, rest and recharge. Like some of our animal kin, that might mean sleep though most of us don’t have the luxury of a hibernation season. Instead, we may find rest by reading a book, creating art, writing, listening or playing music, or any other hobby, pastime, or passion project. It could be volunteering, cooking and baking, seeing friends, learning something new, playing a sport and exercising. Whatever allows you to release stress, relax, and reenergize fits the bill.  

Create some distance
Though we can’t always migrate and move away from the difficulty, we can find ways to temporarily escape and take a break from our troubles. Again, this could be through our hobbies. It could be a vacation or staycation. It could be self-care and time alone, or time with others who make us happy. Even a good meal, yoga class, movie, or a few moments of meditation can give us some distance. Microjoys – small moments of joy that we seek out and create every day – can be tremendous asset when daily life is challenging. Microjoys got me through cancer and other traumatic events in life. Joy is an act of love and resistance.

Protect and defend
Just as animals grow thicker fur and trees thicker bark, we also go through chapters in life when we need to insulate ourselves. There are many methods to do this – trimming our expenses, increasing our savings, and taking on some contract work can insulate us economically; exercising, eating healthfully, getting therapy or counseling, and making sure we’re up-to-date on all of our medical appointments helps us take care of our physical and mental health; being in community with people helps us feel less alone and better supported as we reciprocate and provide support for others.  

Equip our young people and those who are vulnerable
Similar to the way a plant gives seeds a scaly coat and downy insulation to protect the seeds until spring, our young people and those who are vulnerable need protection and safety. In communities, organizations, and schools, we can collectively provide these safe spaces for those who need shelter from the storm and set them on a path for a better future.

Make progress where it’s possible to build a better future
Plants send sugars to their roots because the roots are protected underground from the harsh reality of winter. Below ground, they cultivate strength and resilience to utilize when the light and warmth of spring finds them. What can we learn now that can help us in the future? What parts of our inner lives can we work on now when exterior circumstances make outward progress difficult? How can we make ourselves better so we can do better in the days ahead?

Everyone faces challenges – seasons of scarcity and seasons of plenty. Many times, these are driven by external circumstances beyond our control. Nature offers us a blueprint to help us adapt in times of difficulty and prosper in times of abundance. We would do well to follow nature’s lead.   

creativity

How nature rebuilds after a fire

Photo by Caleb Cook on Unsplash

In 2009, my New York City apartment building caught fire. I lost nearly everything I owned, and I almost got trapped in the building. I’ve written a lot about that incident, the terrifying PTSD that followed, and the therapist and friends who helped lead me out of the darkness I’d shoved down my entire life up to that point so I could fully step into the light for the first time. (You can read some of those pieces here and here.)

Watching the coverage of the LA fires and doing whatever I can to help people there wasn’t triggering for me. However, it did leave me with a profound sadness because I know first-hand how painful it is to lose everything and then face the difficulty of rebuilding my life and my mental health. It’s a long and winding road. Fire physically, chemically, and irreversibly alters everything it touches, us included.

When I’m sad, confused, or lost, I often turn to nature. As a biomimicry scientist, it’s become a habit for me to ask, “What would nature do?” Nature has faced fire for hundreds of megaannums; the first evidence of it appears in the fossil record about 420 million years ago, with charcoaled plant remains. (By comparison, the mass extinction of dinosaurs happened about 66 million years ago.) When destroyed by fire, how does nature rebuild? Time, variety, and assistance.

Rebuilding requires time
The dramatic before and after photos of a fire may lead us to believe that the rebuilding begins as soon as the fire is snuffed out. However, without plants to anchor the soil, storms that follow wildfires can cause even more damage through massive flooding and erosion. The post-fire damage can continue for years.

After my fire, my PTSD caused years of difficulty, long after I had a new home and had replaced my belongings. This was also true when I finished active cancer treatment many years later. The effects of life-altering events cannot be immediately known. Healing isn’t linear and it often takes longer than we’d like. The impacts unfold at a pace that we don’t control. Give yourself the space and grace to take it all in, process it, and move forward on whatever timeline you need.

Rebuilding requires variety
After a fire, nature re-establishes itself by re-anchoring the soil. Native plants that have that ability are the first to take root. That includes hardy varieties of grasses, trees, and shrubs that can survive through harsh conditions. Their ability to stabilize the landscape paves the way for an even greater variety of plants to return with time.

When we’re rebuilding, we can feel overwhelmed. We want everything to immediately go back to the way it was, and the fact that we know it can’t be that way can leave us feeling paralyzed. Focusing on one step at a time and prioritizing immediate steps that make other steps possible, can help.

When I moved into my new apartment after my fire, I had 2 plastic CVS bags of belongings and an air mattress I borrowed from a friend. The emptiness of that space gave me so much anxiety. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and asked myself, “What do I need right now?” I needed a toothbrush, a towel, and some soap. So, I went and got those three small things. That was the groundwork I needed on that first day, in that first moment. The rest could wait.

Rebuilding requires assistance
While these native plants begin to grow, invasive species will often try to muscle their way into the space. Rewilders and forestry experts will often give nature a hand by removing invasive species, allowing native plants the time, space, and resources they need to grow and develop.

My PTSD was an invasive species. Anxiety, nightmares, and suicidal thoughts tried to set up shop in my mind and body. Sometimes they succeeded. One time I woke up sitting on the sidewalk crying. I had no idea how I got there, nor how long I’d been there. My PTSD was causing me to have blackouts.

I was afraid to be home, and I was afraid to not be home. Every siren was cause for internal alarm, and New York City has a lot of sirens.

Friends and my therapist offered to help, and though I tried to brush them off, some were persistent. They were my rewilders. They showed up against my objections and began to help me pull the weeds of PTSD from my mind and body. It wasn’t a pleasant experience for any of us, but it was necessary. Without them, I wouldn’t be here. The PTSD would have taken over, preventing my recovery.

When you go through something traumatic, ask for and accept help. When you see someone going through trauma, don’t wait to be asked to help. Show up and lend a hand. None of us get through recovery alone.

Encouragement for Angelenos
Los Angeles, we’re with you. You’re not alone in any of this. This whole nation cares what happens to you, and we’ll continue to care and help you get back on your feet. The ground is already being seeded with love, donations, and generosity. The road to recovery will be long and difficult, and we’ll be there to build it with you. Nature has given us the blueprint.

creativity

Imposter syndrome is the tool of the patriarchy

Created by Christa Avampato with Canva Pro

A friend asked me to edit a book chapter they wrote about the intersection of their personal and career paths. As I read through their beautiful story, I was surprised at how much my friend discounted their own experience, questioning whether they were good enough or had a right to do the wonderful work they do.

This friend is one of the most talented, intelligent, kind, compassionate, hardworking, generous people I know. I’ve learned so much from them over the many years we’ve known each other and it hurt my heart to see how much they questioned themselves. Being modest, recognizing and acknowledging those who’ve helped them along the way, and feeling fortunate are all wonderful virtues that my friend has in abundance. However, there’s a line between those virtues and the massive self-doubt that often holds people back from pursuing their dreams.

“Imposter syndrome” is a term I hear all the time, and I want to be very clear about something: Imposter syndrome is the tool of the patriarchy. (And by patriarchy, I mean anyone who attempts to puff themselves up by pushing down other people.) It’s projected onto people as a form of control. If you question your own abilities, it’s much easier for someone who only cares about their own well-being to zip by you. I want you to take the term “imposter syndrome” out of your vocabulary and out of your mind. I don’t want you to spend one more second of your life giving yourself that condition. Don’t take that on. It’s not yours to carry. 

You are capable, creative, and curious. What you don’t know, you can learn. What you learn, you can apply. The world has so many challenges right now. To get through and make this world better for all beings, we’re all going to have to be at our best, contributing what we have to the collective. And we all have something valuable to offer. 

Don’t discount yourself, and don’t allow anyone to discount you or your experience. Keep rising, and as you rise, extend your hand to lift others. We’re all in this together.

creativity

In 2025, I’m rebuilding

Photo by Mike Erskine on Unsplash

Each year I choose a word to live by. In 2024, my word was vulnerability. In 2025, my word is rebuild. To rebuild and do work with our whole heart is to be utterly vulnerable. The two go hand-in-hand. Our greatest work begins once we’re able to be completely vulnerable, giving voice to our deepest dreams knowing we may never reach them and trying anyway because it’s what we’re called to do.

I’ve been thinking about the Mary Oliver quote, “Listen, are you breathing a little and calling it a life?” Sometimes, I’ve done exactly that because I didn’t feel ready, or I was missing something I thought I needed to move forward. I have notebooks full of ideas and dreams that I want to get to “someday”. I’ve decided that someday is today, and this year I’m going to be open to all those words I’ve written for years taking shape. I don’t need more time, money, experience, or training. I need to give my dreams everything I’ve already got. Some will work out and some won’t, and that’s okay. I’ll be a better person for giving those dreams a fighting chance to become real.

2024 often felt like a dark season for me. Maybe it was for you, too. I tried to climb out of it and into the light until I was exhausted. So, I sat in the dark. It wasn’t comfortable but it was necessary. The darkness always has something to teach us, and this is what it taught me: we can only find our way out of the darkness and into the light if we journey together.

My 2025 will primarily be about building community, seeking out advice, trying something, iterating, and trying again, supporting others, and lifting them up as I rise. I’m most interested in being the most generous person in the room, the best listener, and the most collaborative partner. Our world needs so much love, kindness, and healing, and we have to be there for each other, especially when the going gets tough.

2024 taught me that progress isn’t permanent. It needs protection. 2025 will test our resolve, values, and strength. We’ll be called to have courage in the face of intense adversity. What’s on the line is bigger than any of us can face alone; we have to face it together. In 2025, you’ll find me rebuilding bridges and longer tables, publishing writing that ignites curiosity, wonder, and a sense of belonging, and creating spaces, products, and experiences that provide safety, comfort, and care for all beings. I hope you’ll join me for this adventure because I’d love to share it with you.

creativity

In 2024, I set out to be vulnerable

Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash

Each year, I choose a word to live by. In 2024, my word was vulnerability. I admire vulnerable people and wanted to get better at it.

I knew Phineas, my soul dog, was nearing the end of his life. He was struggling physically and mentally. On January 28th, I helped him cross the rainbow bridge. It leveled me. I had a hard time recovering. The grief is so deep because the love is so great. I asked for and receive so much support during this time. I’ll never stop missing Phin; I’m just learning how to better carry the grief. In 2024, I supported more animal charities and had my first foster dog success story to honor his memory. 

My second Emerson Page novel was released in May 2024, and I’d decided to do my first-ever book launch party. That was scary! I had visions of being in a room alone and no one showing up. I’m grateful to every one of you who showed up and packed the event. It was even more special than I ever dared to hope for.

My dissertation for my Master’s in Sustainability Leadership at University of Cambridge was due on July 29th. I’d set myself an enormous task by choosing a topic I didn’t know anything about. I had no idea where or how I would get the data, and I’d never written a full piece of academic writing by myself. I wrote about how storytelling can be used by climate entrepreneurs to connect to family offices and enlist them as partners and investors. Even my advisor was unsure how I could get it done since I had no previous connection to family offices. 

I could’ve chosen an easier, safer, and more comfortable topic. I chose to do work that needed to be done to protect nature. I gave it everything I had, conducted 50 interviews, and built a new practical storytelling model for climate entrepreneurs to pitch themselves to family offices. I’m grateful to everyone who participated and supported me. This dissertation is a beginning, not an ending, and I’m excited to see where it will go in 2025.

After my dissertation, I dedicated myself to the presidential election, canvassing, and taking on social media, voter registration, phone banking, and text banking responsibilities. I’m continuing to learn to use policy to fight for the causes that matter to me.

I wanted to get better at having honest conversations and leave nothing unsaid. This was uncomfortable and difficult for me because I was taught early on to be a grin-and-bear-it kind of person. I’ve gotten very good at balancing radical candor and radical kindness.

I worked hard to prioritize joy, peace, and happier-ness. I spent more time in nature and looked after my health. I challenged myself to learn Italian and improve my Spanish. I spent a lot of time on my friendships and building community – the greatest gift.

2024 held some stumbles, mistakes, and disappointments. I kept showing up and leaned in to curiosity and wonder. I feel stronger and braver, physically and mentally, ready to put it all to good use in 2025.

creativity

Static electricity is nature’s gift that feeds us

Photo by Christoph on Unsplash

Static electricity may not top your list of things you’re grateful for this holiday season. It’s definitely on the nice list because the food we eat and enjoy wouldn’t be possible without it. Here’s a wonder of nature that changed how I see food.

Simply put: Plants grounded in soil have a negative charge. Bees have a positive charge. When a bee lands on a flower, the pollen jumps onto the bee due to the attraction of the opposite charges. (This is the same electricity transfer that happens when we walk across a carpet and then touch something that gives us a little shock.) When the bee flies away with the pollen, the flower now has a neutral charge. When a second bee arrives, that bee skips the neutrally charged flower knowing all the pollen has been taken by the first bee. This means the second bee doesn’t waste their time, energy, and resources on that flower, and moves on. Over time, that flower will build up a positive charge and pollen again. Once that happens, another bee will again be attracted to the flower and the cycle repeats. This is how plants are pollinated and serve as the base of our food system.

Imagine if we could embrace that communication that occurs between bees and flowers. How much time, energy, and resources have we wasted in relationships, jobs, or environments that we knew weren’t right for us? Rather than embracing the wisdom of a bee, we work so hard to try to make it work and it falls apart. Many times, it’s no one’s fault. It just wasn’t a match. It’s better to just move on and find the places where we can experience equal and generous reciprocity — a place where we can offer our gifts and receive the gifts of others.

I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about this wonder of nature, envisioning how this principle could transform my life and our shared world. How might we align talents and gifts, matching needs and resources to create sustainable change? How might we build systems that appreciate, value, and utilize everyone’s contributions so that everyone has what they need? Answering these questions is the work that lies ahead for all of us, and nature is our wise and successful guide.

creativity

What to do when you don’t know what to do

“When you don’t know what to do, do what you know.” ~ Leta McCollough Seletzky

We’ve all had those moments when we just don’t know what to do. I felt that way on the morning of November 6th. Then I read the quote above on Leta McCollough Seletzky’s Threads feed, and it really struck me.

This is what I know how to do:

  • Be curious
  • Listen
  • Synthesize and weave together information
  • Tell stories
  • Nurture myself and others

It’s no wonder when the reality of the election results set it, these are the exact things I began to do. Now that we’re preparing for a future that’s so uncertain, consider what you know how to do, what you like to do, what you’re good at, and what motivates you to keep going. Do those things where you are with what you have right now.

There will be no shortage of those who need help and no shortage of the things they’ll need help doing. What you know how to do will be needed by someone somewhere. We’re all in this movement together. More tomorrow…

creativity

How the Rose of Jericho survives a drought

Do you know the story of the Rose of Jericho, also known as resurrection plant and flower of stone?

When subjected to drought, the plant curls inward into a tight ball. It can survive in this state for several years, losing 95% of its water. As it dries out, it produces a type of sugar to protect its cells from damage. It looks as if it’s dead, but it’s not. It’s just conserving its energy and waiting for more favorable conditions to arise.

If the drought goes on for an extended period of time, the plant may detach its roots and physically tumble to a new location. Once it comes in contact with even a small amount of water, the sugars and accumulated salts dissolve, it re-roots in its new location if it’s traveled, and the plant revives itself, carrying on with life as if nothing has happened.

What fascinates me most is that it produces that sugar to protect itself so it can flourish when the hard times pass. Also, it doesn’t force itself to stay put during difficulty. It takes action. It detaches its roots in search of nourishment and resources elsewhere.

As we look to the days ahead, what resources do you need to take care of yourself so you can flourish in the future? Can you make them? Can you get them from where you are? If not, where can you go to get what you need? These are crucial questions to ask now so we’re able to buffer ourselves during hard times and also be ready to revive ourselves during more favorable times. More tomorrow…

creativity

Taking the lighted path one step at a time

Photo by Johannes Plenio on Unsplash

I want to tell you a story about darkness and light. When I was diagnosed with cancer, and when almost died from cancer treatment (twice), it was often difficult to see beyond the darkness. I was standing in the crucible. At one point a lethal, unknown allergy to a chemo drug shattered my lungs and I was suffocating. We were deep in the pandemic in New York City before vaccines. The attending physician wanted to intubate me in the ICU, surrounded by COVID patients. At that time, being intubated was almost certainly a death sentence.

The ICU nurse insisted we try two more types of bedside respirators. “You have 10 minutes,” yelled the attending physician. “If her oxygen number doesn’t go up, I’m taking her to the ICU.” I had 10 minutes to save my life.

The nurse smiled at me. She tried the first machine. We waited. It didn’t work.

The nurse’s smile shrank. We tried the second machine. We waited. I looked at the ceiling. I called my ancestors. They were there. Not to intervene, only to catch me if it was my time to crossover. In that moment, all I wanted was my dog and the people I love. Love was all that mattered. Love was the secret to living, and it took possible death to teach me that.

I looked at the attending’s face. Her eyes grew wider. Her mouth fell open. I looked at the nurse; her smile had returned.

“Holy sh*t,” said the attending. 

My numbers were climbing. The attending left the room.

“I’ll be back to check on you throughout the night and we’ll be monitoring you from the desk just outside the door,” the nurse said as she placed the call button in my hand. “If you need anything, press this button.” 

I nodded. The nurse left the room. My ancestors smiled and walked back over a hill. 

“Not today, Death,” I thought. “Not today.”

When we’re deep in the darkness, we can only see our way forward if we raise our light and take one step at a time. Maybe that’s where you are right now. Things look dark. You can’t find a lamp. It turns out the light isn’t out there; it’s in you and the people around you. We are lights to each other. We can’t see the whole path, and that’s okay. Step by step, we’ll get there, together.

In the days ahead, I want you to hang on to that image of raising our light and being on the path together the way I hang on to what happened to me in 2020 in that hospital room when I was 10 minutes from death. Call your ancestors, friends, therapist, neighbors, religious leaders, and anyone in your community who is a light. We have a lot of challenges ahead to work on together and meeting them is going to take all of us being at our best. Take care of yourself now so we can take are of each other tomorrow. You got this, and I’ve got you. More tomorrow…

creativity

What I’ve learned in the 4 years since my bilateral mastectomy after breast cancer

Me today — 4 years post-surgery — outside of Perlmutter Cancer Center in New York City

Sunday marked 4 years since the bilateral mastectomy that removed cancer from my body and saved my life. I dropped off my absentee ballot for the election on October 26th, 2020 during early voting and in the depths of the pandemic before vaccines. The next day I went to NYU Langone Medical Center. The surgery was long and difficult. The recovery was painful. The many months of treatment and two additional surgeries, life-threatening setbacks, and healing were even worse. I didn’t know about any of that when I arrived at the hospital that day. All I knew then was I wanted to live, and I might not. My only goal was to wake up from that surgery and see the sunrise. And I did. Step 1, done.

After I woke up from anesthesia, I watched Harry Potter on my iPad, trying to invoke some kind of magic of my own. My angel nurse, Esther, ran all over the hospital to find me a sandwich since meal service had ended. To this day, that ordinary turkey sandwich was the best damn thing I’ve ever eaten. Then she showed me how to care for the 4 drains coming out of my body, a necessary evil after an extensive surgery.

When Dr. Schnabel, my surgeon, came to visit me, I thanked her for saving my life. Neither of us could see each other’s smiles because we were both double-masked. I remember her eyes looking deep into mine. “I’m just part of the team. Everyone in this hospital has one goal — to get you up and over the mountain. It won’t always feel like this. Someday you’re going to be very grateful you chose to take the hard road today.”

My friend, Marita, picked me up at the hospital and gave me the gentlest of hugs. I had a giant bag of meds. “How do you feel?” she asked me once I was settled into her car. I said, “I don’t know.”

Marita drove me home and handed me off to my sister, who dropped her whole life in Florida to take care of me (and my dog). My next goal was to be able to walk around my neighborhood by Halloween with my dog dressed as a pumpkin and my sister to see all the decorations and find some joy in my favorite season. Step 2, done.

My next goals — stay alive, restore my health, and thrive. Steps 3, 4, and 5, done, done, and a daily process.

I went for my annual check-up with my surgeon this morning. All clear! It happened to fall on the anniversary of that conversation we had about the choice to take the hard road. As I walked to the subway to head home in the sunshine, I thought about how right she was — she’s always right. I don’t feel the way I felt 4 years ago. Today, I’m hopeful and thankful for all of it, even cancer. We got up and over that mountain. There are so many people who made this trek possible. I was never alone in it. There were angels, guides, and teachers everywhere. There still are. The journey continues, and I’m very grateful for that.

Below: images from four years ago pre- and post-surgery.