Connection Is the Antidote

Whew, it’s hot outside. And it’s hot inside too. In fact, everywhere you look these days, people seem hot and bothered.

The president gets hot and bothered whenever the press tries to do its job. Americans and people around the globe are hot and bothered by one destabilizing world event after another. And how about that primary election in New York City? Not to mention the sweltering weather that millions in the northeast and other parts of the U.S. have been dealing with.

Let’s face it: just about everyone is hot and bothered these days by something. Many of us are worked up about the general state of things and all the uncertainty that lies ahead. I feel it. I sense it. And in a way, I get it.

So this week I set an intention to try not to be one of those people feeling so hot and bothered. I reminded myself to be grateful—really, really grateful, I told myself, “Maria, you are alive. You can breathe. You can walk, talk, and think. Your children and grandkids are healthy. Go slow and live in the moment. Keep your eye on your blessings. You know how to stand in the unknown. You’ve done it before.”

Hot and bothered is not my jam these days. After all, once you get to be my age, you’ve been dealt many unknowns and surprises and learned that life goes on. Hopefully, you’ve developed self-care practices to ground you, a faith to uplift you, a family to support you, and friends to hold you. Hopefully, by living through life’s many uncertainties, you’ve gained perspective, strength, and stability.

That, my friends, is what I believe this moment calls for: An unwavering ability to stand in your strength amidst the unknown.

Look, no matter what the world throws our way, we all need practices and rituals that sustain us—both individually and collectively. We need to find ways to come together. We need to be wise enough to step into the arena in a calm, centered way. We need to be able to care for ourselves and others. The more emotionally regulated we are as individuals, the better our entire collective self will be.

In the early morning hours each day, I take a moment to do gratitude journaling. Doing this every day grounds me. It helps me tune into my heart. I can hear it beat—one, two, one, two. It allows me a moment to pause and hear the sounds of the birds calling out to one another. What they’re talking about, I have no idea—probably a little of this and that. I close my eyes and think, talking about a little of this or that would be a nice break from all the serious conversations that consume us these days, right? I smile when I think about that possibility.

On Monday, I felt compelled to seek out images of Mother Nature. I looked at beautiful gardens and at Sunday dinner tables that showed families gathered around beautiful food, while laughing, hugging, and enjoying one another’s company (much like mine was on Sunday). In all those images, I saw signs of peace, joy, and family. No one in these scenes was screaming or arguing. No one was refusing to come to the table because someone else was there. These images gave me hope.

When I think about gathering at my table, I think about how I always begin with grace. I thank those who cooked my food, those who gathered my food, and those who planted the gardens and farms to produce it. I also think about the word “family.” What does it mean? Who are the guardians of its divinity?

Family is a huge grounding force for me. When I think about my family, I think about your family and our larger American family too. I think about families torn apart by politics, war, or division. What will it take to get us together at one table, I wonder? What will it take for those who feel misunderstood, angry, or scared, to pull up a chair and listen to one another? What will it take for those at the table to seek reconciliation and chart a new way forward? Now that’s some food for thought.

My Sunday dinner table is my happy place. All are welcome, and thank God, many join me. I often have Sunday dinner on Tuesdays or Wednesdays or Thursdays, depending on who’s available. In fact, I have Sunday dinners anytime I can gather family and friends together. It’s a ritual not just for me, but for others as well. My table is usually raucous and fun. It’s always interesting, and it’s always filled with people of all ages. I like that because I learn and hear what’s going on in different circles beyond my own. I’m always pulling up a chair for someone I didn’t expect, but am thrilled to see. I hope to always be pulling up chairs for new guests. Yes, I do.

This past Tuesday, I boarded a plane for New York City and as I did, I took the image of my Sunday table in my heart. I take it everywhere I go. This week I took it with me to my work at NBC. I felt grateful that I was invited to join my friend Jenna at her table as we co-hosted her show Jenna and Friends. She invited me to pull up a chair and work by her side this week, and together we laughed and listened to interesting voices and perspectives.

I also enjoyed sharing my reporting on the Today Show as well. I know I’m blessed to be able to do that. One story I reported this week was on the role of plant medicine in combatting postpartum depression and anxiety. So many young mothers suffer in isolation. They feel shame. They feel alone. I feel blessed that through my work, I can report on stories that help others. My work continues to be an outlet for my mind, my energy, and my desire to inform and inspire others. My journalism grounds me in the here and now. It also grounds me in the truth and helps me discern fact from fiction. I feel blessed that my love for journalism hasn’t changed, despite the fact that the business has dramatically changed. I believe in the importance of journalism to keep us informed and grounded in the truth. I do. The landscape may be different, but a good story can still move hearts and minds. A good publication grounded in meaning, purpose, and hope—like this one—is more critical now than ever. As Angie Drobnic Holan, director of the International Fact-Checking Network at Poynter, said this week: “the truth will set us free.” It’s worth fighting for.

One, two. My heart beats. I’m in sync. The world may not be, but I remind myself that I am.

Do you have practices that help you feel grounded? Do you have rituals that enable you to get in sync with yourself? Where do you find your meaning, your hope, and your larger purpose? Do you have a Sunday dinner table? Do you have a community to talk to about this and that? What makes you laugh these days? What brings you hope?

Knowing your story and staying grounded in your own truth can help you navigate the unknown. So can breathing, dancing, laughing, and doing something tactile—like writing, drawing, puzzles, needlepointing, knitting, doodling, gardening (or maybe even writing poetry!). It all takes you out of your mind and into your heart.

One, two. One, two. This and that. You and me.

By week’s end, I was traveling to speak at my friend Hoda’s retreat for teachers. Her retreat was a thank-you of sorts, celebrating teachers for all that they do and all that they endure. Hoda asked me to come speak. She promised it would be a day filled with joy.

“Just come inspire,” she said. “We are going to bring the joy, the fun, and the inspiration. Just do you.”

What an invite. Bring some joy into the unknown. Bring some gratitude. Just do you. Maybe that’s the invitation we all need to get and give right now. Not “come over and we’ll avoid talking about anything important,” but “come over and we’ll remember why we matter to each other.” Come and bring you. Bring your humanity. Bring your Sunday dinner best.

Maybe the key is that we need to try and ask each other different questions. Instead of asking “What do you think about this policy?”, say instead, “What are you worried about for your kids?”. Instead of asking “How could you believe that?”, say, “Help me understand what you’re seeing that I’m not.” Instead of focusing on the political at this moment, let’s focus on the personal. After all, really good political leaders understand that all politics is personal. It’s how we talk about the personal that matters.

You see, the recipe for my table isn’t complicated, but it is intentional. For one, it involves good food, (because people let their guard down when they’re well-fed). It also involves gathering people of mixed ages, because teenagers keep adults honest, and older people provide perspective that only comes with time. We ask questions instead of making statements. We share stories instead of arguing. Oh, and there’s one unspoken rule: everyone’s humanity gets acknowledged before their politics.

I’ve learned that the magic isn’t in avoiding difficult conversations—it’s in having them differently. We can all do that. We can all change how we’ve been approaching one another. If we want a big table and want to pull up chairs for others, then we have to rethink how we are communicating.

Feeling hot and bothered isn’t going to bring us together. It’s just going to keep people out in the cold and in their corners. In this summer of discontent and heat, wouldn’t it be better if we decided to create a new storyline? One that starts with an open invitation to the table? One that says, “Please come over. Let’s sit down. Tell me how you are and I’ll tell you how I am. Let’s connect. Let’s talk. I’ve missed you.”

This, I believe, is how we rebuild the larger American family—one conversation at a time. Not by finding people who agree with us, but by finding people who are willing to see us as human beings. Not by winning arguments, but by winning back connection. The birds outside don’t seem to worry about who’s listening or whether their song will be well-received. They just sing. Maybe that’s what we need more of—the willingness to add our voice to the morning chorus, to trust that somewhere, someone is willing to listen and hear what we have to say.

My Sunday dinner table is a small thing in a big, complicated world. But it’s taught me that sometimes the most radical act is the simplest one: Pulling up another chair, asking someone to stay, and letting them know that we see them, that we are not scared of them, and that we love them for who they are. It’s about believing that we’re better together than apart.

So as we all face the unknown that lies ahead, perhaps one small thing we can do is keep the table set and find the courage to invite others to join us around it. Extend an open invitation to those you love and those you want to get to know. Because family—however we define it—is worth fighting for. And sometimes the best way to fight is to simply keep gathering, keep listening, and keep believing that a little of this and that (shared over a good meal, of course) might be enough to remind us what we mean to one other.

After all, fear usually lies underneath our feelings of “hot and bothered.” But connection is the antidote to that. So put your feet on the ground and rejoice with the birds in the sky.

Also in this week’s issue:

• A Guide to Living in the Unknown

• Feeling Overwhelmed? Science Says Rewatching Your Favorite Show Can Help Ground You

• How Psilocybin May Provide Relief for Postpartum Depression