Hope Abounds

I was so looking forward to being home this week. I’ve been out on the road for the last month, and I’m heading out again next week—this time to Dallas.

But both my actual home and my “home within” felt upside down this week. One of those is easier to explain.

I’m moving back into my home—or at least trying to—after living in a rental for the past year.

But it’s the “home within” that felt the most disrupted. And there were no moving vans to blame it on! So I found myself asking: What’s going on with me? Why can’t I sleep? Why aren’t any of my usual tools working?

Was it the TV show my daughter and I have been watching, The Pitt, which follows a single 15-hour shift in an ER? I’d recommend it, but it’s intense. ER doctors, nurses, paramedics, ambulance drivers… what they go through, what they deal with. There aren’t enough thank-yous to adequately honor them. Truly.

But after some reflection, I realized: it wasn’t the show bothering me. It wasn’t the move or even my travels. My book tour has been incredibly inspiring and full of connection. (P.S. I had a beautiful conversation at Godmother’s Bookstore in Summerland, CA, last night with my friend Oprah. We spoke about my book, our friendship, and life and love. The conversation was awesome, and we will post it soon.)

So what was bothering me? Ah-ha, I thought: it’s got to be the first 100 days of this administration! Everywhere I looked this week, there were headlines dissecting President Trump’s first 100 days. That’s got to be it, I thought. But the more I sat with it, the more I knew: it wasn’t just that. I’ve been intentional about curating my news and my social feeds of late to filter out voices that lean into hysteria and stories that do the same. So it had to be something else. Or something more.

And then it hit me. What I haven’t curated are my text messages.

That’s what’s got me tossing and turning all night. That’s what has got me spinning. Texts feel personal. They’re closer to home than social media or email, and they come from people you know intimately—people with access to your heart and mind. And this week, those messages hit hard.

On one day, a girlfriend reached out to tell me she was really struggling. She lost both her home and her business in the LA fires, and the future terrifies her now. My heart broke and I listened to her, knowing that the cleanup is slow and the future is indeed unknown. I wondered, what’s something that would help the thousands like her?

Then an early morning text, the kind you wake up to: Did you know they’re gutting the Peace Corps, your father’s brainchild? You better do something about it immediately!

The next day: Did you know this administration is going to decimate Head Start—the program your father started that helps millions of families? Please do something. You’ve got to make a call.

Next day: You’ve got to jump in and save the Women’s Health Initiative. Didn’t you read that this administration—and someone you know well—is trying to cut it? This will be devastating for women’s health. This will set us back in a myriad of ways. (This, I’m happy to say, didn’t happen.)

The next day: You know, don’t you, that this administration has gutted USAID—a program that was started by your uncle and that helps distribute lifesaving medicine to children and families that will die without it? It’s work that your brother Bobby and Bono have fought so hard for. Oh, and they are also cutting thousands of jobs from Save the Children, where your other brother works. People are losing their jobs and families are losing lifelines.

The next day: Have you seen the proposed cuts for Alzheimer’s research? And what about Medicaid? Medicaid covers a huge amount of costs for people with intellectual disabilities. Aren’t both of your other brothers working in this area through Special Olympics and Best Buddies? Isn’t this what you care about too?

And—oh—I’m sure you are aware that they fired the head of the Eunice Kennedy Shriver Child Development Institute at the NIH? This institute covers not only children’s issues but maternal health and all the funding for it, which is already a disaster in this country!! Make a call. Speak out. OMG!

What’s going to happen to women? What’s going to happen to the families that have a child with intellectual disabilities? What’s going to happen to Alzheimer’s research? What’s going to happen to women’s health research? What’s going to happen to all the families and children that depend on USAID and are now going to die?

Not to mention the tariffs. The tariffs are killing small businesses, which are the backbone of the economy. Don’t you know someone who can help?

And while you’re at it, do something about the cleanup—or lack thereof—of the toxic debris from the Palisades and Altadena fires. The streets of L.A. are clogged for hours without end with construction trucks carrying toxic debris, sitting next to parents trying to take their kids to school. This is unacceptable. You used to be First Lady of California. Do something.

Welcome to my inbox of the last 100 days! And I’m sure mine is similar to every elected official’s inbox, as well as every community activist and advocate’s inbox, and maybe yours as well.

Now I don’t share this to complain. I share it to connect, because I suspect your personal text chains also feel overwhelming. I share this because you may also be struggling to make sense of this moment. Perhaps you are also trying to find your hope and figure out what all this means and how to navigate it with grace, hope, and discernment.

Yes, I think that’s what’s been keeping me up at night. That, and the new research that says young people are more unhappy than ever before! Yikes.

I gotta say, it’s all got me wondering: What is the right response at a time like this? What’s the right action to take in a moment like this? What are those of us who are interested in everything I mentioned above supposed to do? What’s too little? What’s too much? What are the right words, or right ways, to advocate at this present moment?

It’s been a long time since I’ve felt like this. In fact, it’s really hard to articulate what this actually feels like. The other morning, I looked down at my coffee cup. It said: Be still and know. And so, in the dark of morning, I tried that on.

I tried to be still and listen for guidance, but all I heard was the wind whistle through the trees. I heard the floorboards creaking and cracking. I heard the dog’s collar jingle-jangle. Over and over I repeated: Be still, and you will know. Be quiet, Maria, I said to myself. Rise above all the noise—the noise in the room, the noise in your head, the noise in your text chain. Understand that people need to vent and share. Understand that they are rightfully concerned. You don’t have to respond or react to all of it. Be still. Wait for the answer.

But the truth is, it’s hard to do nothing when people are losing their jobs. It’s hard when programs are losing their funding and research and scientists are not only scared and confused, but risk losing their life’s work just like that.

Yes, it’s hard to do nothing when doing something seems like the right thing to do.

Do you know what to do at a time such as this? Maybe you are actually okay with many of these cuts and changes. Maybe, like some, you feel that these last 100 days have been invigorating. Maybe you feel like this is what’s needed, and that it will all work itself out. Maybe you are right. But maybe not. Sometimes holding space for people’s fears is the right thing to do. Sometimes waiting and seeing is the right thing to do. Sometimes it’s not.

Sometimes you find yourself picking up the phone and making a call about an issue that is near and dear to you. Sometimes writing a rageful letter and putting it in a drawer is what you need to do. Sometimes heading to Washington, D.C. to advocate is the right something. It’s a question all of us can be asking ourselves at this time.

By week’s end—thank God—I found myself back to my centered self. How? Well, first, let me tell you what I didn’t do. I didn’t delete my text chain. That would have caused its own host of issues. But I did say to one or two of the groups: Please, let’s not send early-morning or late-night inflammatory articles to one another. Let’s try to find articles that stress solutions. Let’s try to tone down our rhetoric and our emotions. Let’s keep in mind that texts aren’t the place to go off, to get into debates, or to even try to argue with one another. Maybe we could alternate one funny thing with one “did you hear?” thing.

Saying my peace helped, but what really helped me sleep again were the letters, notes, and books I found on my desk when I returned to my office.

Many people that I met on the road had sent me letters. And you know what else they sent me? Books they had written. That’s right. When I got into my office this week, there were books and letters from so many people that I met along the way. And they were inspiring. They were moving. Yes, more than a few were heartbreaking, but one after the other spoke to me. People wrote about the work that they’re doing, about their lives, and about how they’re rising above the noise. They wrote about how they navigated healing and found their way back home to themselves. They wrote about how moved they were by the book tour, by this publication, and by the voices of the newsmakers, the spiritual leaders, the advocates, and the artists and poets that are featured in this weekly space. Indeed this space is unique in the way it brings together thinkers and leaders from all areas of human endeavor. Thank God for that.

Letter after letter brought me joy. They brought me peace and a sense of meaning. Letter after letter reminded me that we’re going to be okay. Why? Because so many people are out there working, day in and day out, to make sure that their communities, their hospitals, their ERs, their schools, and their families will all be okay.

These letters reminded me of all the good people that exist in our world and that still love and believe in our country. Sure, they recognize that our country has issues, but they refuse to give up on it. They do their best to stay hopeful, and they continue to do the kind of work that I always love talking about—the work that is done on the frontlines of humanity. The work of the poets, doctors, nurses, therapists, teachers, counselors, mothers, fathers, aunts, uncles, grandmothers, and grandfathers.

So while the news media and others may be focused on someone else’s 100 days, and while programs continue to get threatened, pay attention to the lawyers who have stood up. The judges who have risked their lives. The advocates and activists who have fought back to save programs they believe in, to make sure that children don’t go hungry. Think about all the religious and spiritual leaders who continue to pastor no matter what…

I smile when I think about this. I say to myself: Yes, I know there are so many good people out there. I know that when I’m still, I can hear them. I can read their stories. They share them with me. They share their books, their poems, and the companies they started out of the rubble of their lives, like Jules. (I don’t know Jules, but she left me a note at an event I spoke at with clothes from the company she started when her long marriage started to fall apart. And guess what? The clothes are great!)

Look I’m not going to say all is well with the world. I know there is so much work to do. There’s work to be done to bridge divides and heal divides. But when I’m still, I know that the good is breaking through.

So if you’re feeling helpless or disillusioned this week, listen to Michigan’s Secretary of State Jocelyn Benson. She has a new book coming out this week that I’m publishing from The Open Field called The Purposeful Warrior. In this edition of The Sunday Paper, she tells us how we can all become purposeful warriors. If you are concerned about the toxins you read about—Dr. Aly Cohen has you covered. And it’s true: grief is everywhere, even in our bodies. Jayne Mattingly shows us how we can learn to coexist with it so it doesn’t take us down. And because it is important, we asked our friend Steven Petrow to share what has changed in the first 100 days of this presidency—not about the change in policies, but the change in people and how we treat each other. I hope you will read his reporting.

In addition to the stories featured here today, if you want to watch something inspiring this week, you can watch the Kennedy library give its Profile on Courage award to Mike Pence for his courage protecting our democracy tonight at 8:30pm ET.

So my friends, remember: hope abounds. Every day, people who read the same news and work the front lines decide to carry on. They keep doing what they can so as not to feel that they’re doing nothing.

It’s hard to believe it’s only been 100 days. And yet, it’s only been 100 days. Every day we are given a chance to rise above the noise and use our voices to lift others up. At a time like this, I think that’s actually the best thing that each and every one of us can do: Rise above the news. Rise above the text chains. Let’s get out of the middle of the family squabbles and remind ourselves of all that is working in this country. There is so much good, and that starts with you and me. All of us.

Yes, it’s chaotic out there. Yes, it’s confusing. But yes, there are systems in place. And yes, there is work to be done. There’s always, always something to be done.

In the meantime, be still. Listen and know. And if you don’t know—it’s okay to wait until you do.