Nothing Matters, and Everything Matters
The other day, I received a letter in the mail from my friend Lizzie.
Her letters travel from Canada to California and land on my desk like a gift. They are long, handwritten, free-flowing notes. And they are extraordinary. I always pause before opening them, because Lizzie’s letters always feel like a present to me.
In her notes, Lizzie always brings me up to date on her life and her dreams. Lizzie has big dreams, and I have no doubt that she will accomplish them.
Lizzie is almost 25 years younger than I am, and when she mentioned that in her latest letter, I could hardly believe it. And yet when we’re together, I never feel our age gap. In fact, I’ve come to realize that many friends I assume are my age are actually decades younger. Friendship, it turns out, is not confined by numbers.
I share this with you in case one of your New Year’s resolutions was to widen your circle. Sometimes the most meaningful relationships are the ones you didn’t see coming.
Besides Lizzie’s age, what really stayed with me was the last line of her note. She wrote: “Maria, remember: nothing matters, and everything matters.”
I looked down at those words and thought, well, that says it all. Because in these noisy times, it’s hard to know what truly matters, isn’t it?
This week, I found myself searching for updates on Nancy Guthrie. Then I followed the stories of triumph and heartbreak coming out of the Winter Olympics in Italy. Then there was that devastating story about the avalanche in Lake Tahoe: nine people found dead, including six moms who were close friends and experienced backcountry skiers.
Then I awoke on Thursday to the stunning news that Prince Andrew had been arrested after weeks of revelations about his relationship and dealings with Jeffrey Epstein. Yet another powerful figure facing consequences as part of the ongoing reckoning tied to this case. My oh my.
And then came the passing of actor Eric Dane. Eric bravely shared his ALS diagnosis with the world over this past year. He advocated for increased research and showed up in every way he could to focus our attention on this devastating neurological disease. My team at The Open Field was honored when Eric chose our imprint to publish his memoir. He told me he wanted to write his book to share his story with the world. He also wrote it so that his family had something to be proud of. Eric and I were scheduled to have lunch two weeks ago, but he wasn’t feeling well that morning, so we rescheduled for next week. His passing is another powerful reminder that today is all any of us have. Next week isn’t guaranteed.
As Lizzie said in her letter, nothing matters, and yet everything matters.
We spend so much of our time trying to optimize and accomplish and squeeze in all our to-dos. It’s far too easy to get lost in the hustle and bustle, only to look back and ask, where did the time go? That’s why I’m glad we have Sahil Bloom writing here for us this week. He urges us to slow down, reconsider our need for efficiency, and ask ourselves what we’re losing or missing out on in return.
By the end of the week, I decided to heed Sahil’s advice and take some time to slow down. I decided to quiet my mind, turn my attention away from the stories of the week, and focus my attention instead on Lent. This week marked the beginning of those forty days, which matter a lot to me.
Lent is an invitation to turn inward. It’s a chance to simplify things and to fast from something that has a quiet hold on you. It’s also an opportunity to create space for reflection. For prayer. For clarity. If I’m being honest, though, it’s also an invitation to examine myself. How do I speak about those in the headlines? How do I treat people I disagree with? Do I secretly delight in someone’s downfall? Do I rush to judgment? Do I participate in the very noise I say exhausts me?
Lent asks harder questions of me than what dessert I should give up. It asks me: Where has my heart hardened? Where am I withholding compassion? Where am I contributing to division rather than healing? This year, the physical things I’m giving up in my life are cookies and crackers. That may sound trite, but they are my daily go-to. My little comfort. My unconscious habit. My daughter Katherine is joining me in that endeavor. Meanwhile, one of my sons is giving up social media, and the other is giving up chewing tobacco. None of these sacrifices will make headlines. But they do matter. Because Lent isn’t about deprivation. It’s about attention. It’s about noticing what quietly masters you. It’s about reclaiming your focus in a world that insists everything is urgent and everything is equal.
The words in Lizzie’s letter keep echoing in my mind: Nothing matters. And yet everything matters.
The avalanche matters. The Olympics matter. Abuse of power matters. Human suffering matters. Accountability matters. Truth matters. Compassion matters. But so does your inner life. So does how you pray and how you pause. So does how you respond to someone you disagree with, how you treat those you call your enemies, and how you speak about people when they are not in the room.
These forty days are a reminder that while everything clamors for our attention, we still get to decide what takes hold of us. We cannot fix every story. We cannot carry every outrage. We cannot absorb every headline. But we can choose who we are becoming in the midst of it all.
Regardless of whether you observe Lent, and regardless of whether you are Catholic, Jewish, Protestant, Muslim, Hindu, Buddhist, spiritual-but-not-sure-what-that-means, or simply someone trying to be a decent human being in complicated times… perhaps you, too, could take forty days to recenter yourself. Forty days to reflect on what truly matters to you. Forty days to fast from something that dulls you. Forty days to replenish your mind. To soften your heart. To steady your spirit.
Perhaps this is your invitation not to turn away from the world, but to turn inward long enough to remember who you are within it.
So give yourself forty days and forty nights. Give yourself space to be transformed. Space to transcend this current climate of noise and reaction. Space to return to that which truly matters. Space to examine your own heart before you judge another’s. Space to loosen what has quietly mastered you. Space to replenish your mind. To steady your spirit. To soften your edges. Space to remember that you are more than the headlines you consume. More than the outrage you scroll past. More than the fear that flickers across your screen.
May these days ground you. May they clarify things for you. May they strengthen what is generous in you and quiet what is reactive. May they remind you that you still get to choose what shapes you. Nothing matters. But everything matters.
So may you choose where you focus your attention wisely. May you choose with intention. May you choose with love. And may what you choose shape you into the kind of human being these times are calling for.
Remember, we are only here for a minute. It’s up to us how to make all those minutes matter.
Prayer of the Week
Dear God,
In a world where everything begs for our attention, help us quiet our hearts and choose what truly matters most.
Amen.
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