Carry Your Torch

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I don't know about you, but lately it feels like there are about fifteen crises before breakfast.

Wars. Tariffs. Rising prices. Attacks on democratic institutions. ICE detention camps. Threats to civil rights. Corruption. Authoritarianism. Every day seems to bring another headline, another outrage, another thing demanding our attention.

It's exhausting.

And I think that's part of the problem. Exhausted people give up.

One of the things I've learned over the past few years is that overwhelm isn't just a feeling. When people are flooded with more information, more crises, and more outrage than they can possibly process, many of them simply shut down. Not because they don't care, but because they're human. You cannot care deeply about everything, all the time, at maximum intensity. No one can.

So what do we do?

We carry a torch.

Historian Heather Cox Richardson talks about finding your lane and carrying your torch. I love that image because it acknowledges something important: you do not have to do everything. You cannot do everything. But you can do something.

And action helps.

Action reminds us that we still have agency. Action reminds us that democracy isn't something we watch from the sidelines. It's something we participate in.

For me, that participation has to stay pretty simple. I run a yarn shop. I have kids. I have a husband, dogs, a house, and approximately eight million other responsibilities. I cannot spend every waking hour reading the news and fighting every battle. If I try, I'll burn out and become useless to everyone, including myself.

So I focus on a few things I can actually do.

I use the 5 Calls app to contact my representatives regularly. I usually call during off-hours so I can leave a voicemail. Sometimes I call both their Washington office and their local office so I can address different issues on the same day. At this point, I've made nearly 500 calls.

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Do I know whether every call changed someone's mind? No.

Do I know whether they listened? Also no.

But that's not really the point.

Their job is to hear from the people they represent—not just the people who agree with them, and not just the people from their political party. All of us. That's how representative government is supposed to work.

I also write postcards. (In fact, I keep some in the shop that you're welcome to pick up for free. Just please only take what you need—and please send them!) I attend rallies when I can. And I try to maintain a community that is welcoming, inclusive, and supportive.

Those are my torches.

Your torch might be different.

Maybe you volunteer. Maybe you donate. Maybe you help register voters. Maybe you show up at city council meetings. Maybe you support local journalism. Maybe you check in on neighbors who are scared. Maybe you simply refuse to stay silent when someone is being treated unfairly.

All of those things matter.

Hope Is a Decision

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Here's something else I've learned.

Take a break when you need one. We all need them.

But do not despair, and do not give up.

I understand the temptation. There are days when the news feels relentless. Days when it feels like the wheels have come off the bus and that bus is somehow still accelerating downhill.

But giving up guarantees nothing gets better.

Every day I wear a rainbow beaded bracelet that simply says HOPE.

I don't wear it because I think everything is fine.

I wear it because hope is not pretending everything is fine.

In fact, I don't think hope is a feeling at all.

Hope is resistance against the odds. Hope is action. Hope is the decision that the work still matters even when the outcome isn't guaranteed.

Hope is deciding to make the call, write the postcard, show up to the meeting, help the neighbor, or speak up one more time.

You Are Not Alone

A few months ago, after I wrote about Renee Goode's murder, someone reached out to me. She told me that she and her husband were frightened—not for themselves, but for their Hispanic neighbors. She said she didn't feel safe in our rural area anymore.

What stayed with me wasn't the fear.

It was the relief.

She was relieved to know there were other people nearby who cared. Relieved to know there was a yarn store with a community of makers who were willing to stand up for their neighbors. Relieved to know she wasn't alone.

That matters.

Our small actions matter more than we realize.

We don't need everyone carrying the same torch.

We need everyone carrying their torch.

What We're Really Defending

Because this country does not belong to one political party. It does not belong to billionaires. It does not belong to tech companies. It does not belong to the loudest voices or the most powerful people.

It belongs to all of us.

And the ideals worth defending have never been flags or fireworks.

They're equal rights. The rule of law. Free and fair elections. The belief that government answers to the people. The belief that our neighbors matter. The belief that everyone deserves dignity.

Those are values worth fighting for.

So find your lane.

Carry your torch.

And if all you can do today is make one phone call, write one postcard, attend one meeting, help one neighbor, or speak up one time, that's enough.

You're not alone.

And the fight isn't over.

Photo by Boston Public Library on Unsplash