Visions of flourishing in an age of unraveling
Once again we’ve arrived at the end of a year marked by news of the destruction of war, the anxieties of a planetary emergency, uncertainty about the future of democracy, and the enormous power of new technologies like AI. All are reminders that, as Tomáš Halík has said, “human beings have acquired power of life and nature that they never had before, and as a result of that power, they confront the unprecedented threats of total destruction of themselves and their planet.”
Yet in my family, the year’s end and the beginning of the next are always shaped by an ancient story of a baby in a manger, a family united in the bonds of steadfast love despite their own anxieties and material struggles, a reminder of the possibility for a revolution of tenderness, goodness, and love.
I am delighted to share these reflections of my colleagues and Capita Board members as we come to the end of 2023. We invited their reflections on “flourishing in the age of unraveling.” You will see that the dream for a revolution of tenderness, goodness, and love is still alive for us. These pieces reflect on care, raising our children, our own childhoods, and more. As you reflect on the year now passing, we offer these meditations to inspire hope and aspiration to carry you into 2024.
Joe Waters, CEO and Co-Founder, Capita
The weavers of community
When we think of care, many of us think of one-on-one caregiving. But I’ve been struck, too, amidst everything this year, by those who care for groups, organizing and building community. The ones who support their communities to flourish.
Since arriving in my town in the north of England two years ago, I’ve admired the work of Gale, who outside of running a Chinese restaurant with her husband, coordinates a weekly community group for people new to the UK and curates a library of children’s books in dozens of languages in a cozy, colorful basement room. I’ve been inspired by the passion and thoughtfulness of the dozens of volunteers that Janett, Sophia, and Kellé have mobilized to tackle racism in our county, including support for young Black and brown people.
This organizing and building of community is everywhere. In the last month alone, I’ve chatted with:
Ruby in the Philippines, Dian in Indonesia, and Mahmuda in Bangladesh, who bring together residents of informal settlements at the local, national, and global scales to fight for land rights and better housing for their families and neighbors.
Ryan in Long Beach, California, who builds networks to connect the local “ seeders,” “feeders” and “eaters” to increase local households’ access to fresh food by drawing on the assets they already have locally.
A friend and former classmate, Kafia, who organizes regular Zoom “teach-in” sessions from her home in Atlanta for people who want to learn more about Palestine.
Maggie, a friend and former colleague, who’s built a thriving global community of “intrapreneurs,” people working to make positive change from within their organizations.
Sam, a dear friend in London, who started an English-language reading and conversation group for women new to the UK so that they’re better equipped to care for themselves and their families.
It’s work that requires persistence and sensitivity. It often involves administrative work and literal organizing. It benefits from a low ego, someone who’s happy to be behind the scenes. And it’s all being done either unpaid or while fighting for support and funding.
Maggie, of the intrapreneurs, noted how hard it can be to get funders to support what she refers to as “relational infrastructure”–as Sam Rye writes, the “web of human relationships and ways of being that enable us to work together, and make change possible.” The people she knows who’ve been able to get funding for community building have had to talk about scale, rather than relationships.
Earlier this year I researched funders winding down their programs and seeking ways to leave a lasting impact once their funding ends. It turns out that most of them are working to strengthen networks and relationships. If this work is so important to leaving a lasting impact and if we know that relationships are central to flourishing, why is that funding so hard to come by?
At a time when it can feel like the world is unraveling, the work of community builders reminds us that care extends beyond one-on-one interactions, as critically important as those are. Our collective well-being is deeply rooted in the strength of the connections amidst which we live our lives. And community builders work quietly, consistently, to weave threads between us to create a resilient fabric that supports young children, families, and us all.
Finding hope for child flourishing in the midst of extreme circumstances
Last week, I read a statement by Adele Khodr, UNICEF Regional Director for Middle East and North Africa, on the crisis for children in the Gaza Strip. "The Gaza Strip is the most dangerous place in the world to be a child...." Two days later, a colleague shared with me an Instagram video that she believed told the story of the protective effects of early relational health or these people struggling to survive in the most dire of circumstances. The opening line of this moving narrative begins with: "You might think this is a story of loss, but the truth is the opposite and so much more beautiful than you can imagine.” The translated messages continued to convey strikingly hopeful statements:
"When our friends are lost, we take in their kids who were left behind as if they were our own; When babies names are lost because they have no surviving families, we give them our own; We cook for each other and share what we have even though it may be our last; We find ways to make each other laugh even in the unfathomable circumstances; And whatever we may lose in the end, we'll never lose our dignity.”
Clinical observers and humanitarian workers have long noted the profound effects on children from the separations and loss of family and caregiving in the midst of disasters, sectarian war and political conflicts.
Yet here, in the midst of chaos, is just one example where people strive to maintain and ensure their strong social and relational connections, intentional caregiving, and a core belief of hope for all their surviving children with the intentionality of laughter as simple positive experiences which are known to build early relational health. Close relationships with caregivers and effective parenting by caregivers typically top the list of key protective factors identified in studies of resilience as well as reviews and commentaries in the literature on resilience in children. And the larger sense of meaning, values, and community-wide dignity broadens the multisystem efforts for building resiliency.
Toxic stress, adverse childhood experiences, and traumatic experiences are the grave ravages of war, yet they can be mitigated by safety, positive experiences, and early relational health. And from these meaningful moments, hope springs eternal, even in the midst of extreme circumstances, from the relational connections, the social cohesion, deeply held spiritual values, and the power of human dignity.
Tamagotchi times
Right now, I am struggling with my three-year-old. He is behaving, well, like a three-year-old, but it’s tricky to keep telling myself that when I’m trying to walk daily and delicately on eggshells. There are moments where he makes me roar with laughter, but there are days where I just feel lost. Is there an answer? Am I doing the right thing? Will he be like this forever?
I was looking through a catalogue and, to my surprise, came across a Tamagotchi, the little Japanese handheld digital pet. I used to have one when I was young (actually…I think I “borrowed” my sister’s) and I loved it! All you had to do was keep it fed and nurtured and it would grow into a more or less autonomous adult and, in the end, be “happy.” According to Wikipedia, the latest version has “a Hunger meter, Happy meter and a Training meter to determine how healthy and well-behaved the pet is.” Do the wrong thing and oops, you’ve failed. It’s just a game, but somehow it feels like the epitome of how we can think of child-rearing today.
We know more than we’ve ever known about the early years of a child’s life–the science is amazing. But even with this vast arena of knowledge, I couldn’t help wondering if the new generation of Tamagotchi rearing somehow mirrors how we think about human flourishing: That we must and can optimize a child; that there is always an answer or a solution in the science or in the latest book, if we look hard enough. That we must jump in quickly and fix a perceived problem. If nothing seems to be working, then surely we as the caregivers have got it wrong.
For me, flourishing is where flexibility meets vulnerability. It’s about embracing imperfection and uncertainty, conflict and pain–and where that meets with hope, joy, beauty, and ultimately love. Adults wear so much armor and we spend our lives trying to pull it away in our desire and need to connect with others. Young children have no armor; they are vulnerable in the purest sense. Yet, with the best intentions in the world, are we teaching them that they must be built in the toughest of ways? That they need optimization? And ultimately, that if we try really hard, we can make life certain?
Our societies, particularly during our modern times here in the Global North, are built on the premise that we can perfect, buy, or advance so that we will reach that place where everything is alright. Yet, wherever we are in the world, we are all living on shifting tectonic plates, with constant change. There is much beyond our control; not everything can be fixed or perfected.
Facing and flowing with this change is one of the most critical dimensions that we need to build into how we support young children today, so they can flourish despite all the turbulence around them. It is no easy feat. As the philosopher Alain de Boton puts it, life is a desperate emergency for the most part. We all struggle with uncertainty–people big and small. There is no set formula or magic wand. But alongside showing our youngest the beauty of life and providing them with the loving, supportive care that they need, helping them to accept uncertainty is the essence of our journey today as our world continues to collide with a multitude of transformations.
Language is finite. Feelings are not.
More often than not, I find words fall short when describing emotions. What happens between love and hate? Empathy and indifference? Hope and disillusionment? Shock and comfort?
Feelings are wide and never-ending, and we are constantly taken to the boundaries of these emotions only to find there is new depth to them.
I grew up in a contrasting reality. A child of the eighties in Lima, Peru, I lived in a sheltered bubble during the country’s war on terrorism. At school, we had fire, earthquake, and bomb drills. They each had their own alarm.
It all seemed so normal: the power was temporarily out because some terrorist group had blown up a power line, but book reports on Harriet the Spy’s latest adventures were still due after a quiet classwork hour.
It all seemed so normal.
It was only as an adult that I realized that living in violence should never be a norm.
In today’s world, we are exposed to violence all the time. It used to be the trials and tribulations in our own part of the world that haunted us, but the digital age has made it possible to witness the pain of every corner of the world.
Who is “us” and who is “them”?
It’s hard to weigh our feelings in the face of conflict and pain. It’s even harder to know what will–or should–jolt us into action. And what is action, anyway? Sitting behind our phones, reposting and commenting? Marching the streets in solidarity?
Maybe.
But maybe it is enough to try to make sense of the chaos of our emotions instead of trying to put words to them as an act of solidarity. Maybe all we can do is face the generations of violence we’ve had to experience and be kind to ourselves and each other when we are paralyzed by fear, exhaustion, or ignorance. I have never advocated for turning a blind eye to any of the realities the world is experiencing. I’m an empath at the core–with all the good and bad that brings. But I believe there can be powerful action in choosing to be quiet, to listen, to learn, and to heal.
Each of our actions–quiet or loud, in our homes or out in the world–is an opportunity to heal and begin to break the cycle of violence. It is through these collective actions that we can contribute to a world where families and children can flourish–a world where children don’t think that bomb drill alarms are normal.
Shoes
When my son was born, I received little shoes to keep his feet warm and cozy,
Smiling at his tiny feet
and excited about all the places and moments they will witness in the future
Days blended into nights as I held him close to my chest to give him love and nurture,
to let him know he was safe and surrounded by warmth
and his shoes were placed with ours; we were a family.
I am reminded of that moment today when I stand on this public square that has over 4000 tiny shoes laid in a neat grid.
Shoes that someone's baby once wore,
someone’s son
someone's daughter,
someone’s grandchild
Someone’s young brother and sister
Shoes that were used for their first steps,
shoes that were used to climb furniture in the house,
shoes worn to school,
shoes dirtied while playing,
shoes worn to run into a parent's open arms to be held safely,
Shoes that were taken to different places
and shoes that witnessed different memories of joy...
These shoes have lost their tiny owners,
and their purpose to keep small feet safe and warm.
Shoes that lay here as a reminder
of all that was and could be,
but won't be
not anymore, in this age of unraveling.
I give myself permission to feel,
Permission to kneel,
to let the tears flow down my cheek
Permission to feel the guilt as I thank my blessings
to connect with the pain of the mother who placed these shoes
Permission to look down at my own shoes and my son’s
to ask him–where do we go from here?
My son is starting to talk,
What if I asked him where now?
What would he say?
Maybe he’ll say
Here and now, ma
Take this moment to feel
Feel the grief and the sorrow
Feel the joy and the hope
Feel the love you hold for me
For what if we let our feelings of love lead the way forward
For what if we transcend our egos and hunger for power
by feeling the love each mother feels for her child?
For what if we let our awe for life and joy guide us to build the future
For what if everyone could watch the miracle of giving birth,
Would we value life, love, and flourishing beyond anything else?
What if you help me build a world where my friends and I can flourish?
What if you placed me at the center, not just when you see these shoes
But with every step you take...
What if?