With Independence Day around the corner while our freedom is constantly being challenged, the state of the world — and our role in it — is top of mind. Which is why we want to know what you’ve been doing to make an impact.
For the last seven years, I’ve been handing out handmade tokens—not for profit or praise, but as small, personal gestures of recognition to grocery workers, receptionists, TSA agents, housekeeping staff at hotels…anybody who’s an ordinary, albeit invisible, worker.
I watercolor, collage, layer mixed media on these little experimental canvases but the art doesn’t matter. It’s what I write on the back … starting with their name and then a few genuine words of appreciation, a line of honest, human empowerment.
When I look someone in the eye and ask their name, when I write a message just for them—I see the hesitation; we’ve been conditioned to expect the worst. But when I hand it to them, everything changes. They soften. Sometimes they cry. Most times we hug. Often, they tell me it’s the first time they’ve felt truly seen.
These tokens are not art objects; they’re vessels of presence.
What began as a solitary act has become a movement in kindness, in shared humanity, in seeing each other as more alike than different. Through my Ripple Practice™, I’m hoping to inspire more people around the world to use their creativity to reconnect rather than decorate.
In a world where freedom and connection feel fragile, this kind of slow, sincere recognition may be one of the most radical acts we can do.
Thank you, Karen. It's second nature at this point and it's truly been transformative (not in the icky marketing gimmicky kind of way but in a real, deep-rooted, human-connection way).
I recently became the volunteer Blog Editor and also started writing Blog Posts for the advocacy group Activate Maine. I hadn't until recently thought of my writing ability as a tool that could be repurposed for use in advocating for Democracy, but indeed it is a very useful tool. I am excited, empowered about this new role and the feeling now that I am now part of stemming the tide of fascism. It makes the encroaching tide of fascism feel less inevitable.
It's what I haven't been doing that's been on my mind, as evidenced by a recent dream that's the beginning of my next Substack post (which is about joy):
I dreamed I was walking to Guantanamo. From my home in California. I was with some random dream guy and Dr. Lydia Fonseca, a wonderful character from the TV show The Good Karma Hospital. Dr. Fonseca is tough but full of heart — and I’m sure she was in my dream because she’s not afraid to speak her mind and stand up to power.
Our goal in walking to Guantanamo was to advocate for the release of some group of people. Journalists, elected officials? I’m not sure. We got into GITMO without any problem, which made me wonder aloud at the facility’s lack of security. Then we had to take an elevator down 20 floors to reach the group we wanted to free. When we got there, Dr. Fonseca fearlessly approached some official, maybe a guard, to talk to him. The guy with us asked, “Should she be doing that?” “She’ll be fine,” I responded, “She’s an older white woman.”
I woke up before learning if we were successful in our mission, but the message of the dream was clear: I don’t feel like I’m doing enough about the current situation. I mean, the current extreme fuckery. I, too, am an older white woman, and I’m not speaking out enough.
I'm using my Substack platform, as small as it is, to help people pause before they react. Recalibrate this default mode of rage we all seem to be in (myself included).
In a recent newsletter edition I say this, "When strangers become neighbors, when we pause to learn their names, it becomes harder to cause harm."
Who 'uses' their "voice" (whatever that word means) to do anything more than write? The reader/audience, if they are with me, is surely gravy, but I'm not writing for anyone but me. Who would have the hubris to even think they were being read/seen or making a difference to anyone, let alone would care if they are?
The crowd (all 3500) is a happy, spirited, friendly group, greeting neighbors both known and unknown, smiling, and carrying amazing signs. I feel pride as I join the No King’s Day March, my first protest in 30 years.
My steps falter as I realize I’m walking beside a tall, slender man in khaki, his face weathered by years of living, his skinny, veined arms gripping a flagpole as a 6’x8’ US flag flaps in the day's breeze.
“Whoa, the flag here?”
With deep sadness, I realize that recently I have seen our flag as a symbol of divisive forces—forces I can’t fully understand, respect, or trust.
With a deep breath, I touch the man’s shoulder, “Thank you for carrying that flag today. It warms my heart to reclaim ALL the meaning, the memories, the sacrifices, the celebrations held under that flag.”
His eyes light up with a smile as he whispers, "This flag has been in my family for a century. I bring it out on special occasions. Today is extraordinary! Now's the time to take back our flag.”
Tears of joy, I look at the crowd and see many flags, each representing a proud reconnection!
As a student writer, personal narrative voice was a stumbling block for me. My writing was too literary for data classes, too poetic for journalism, too uncomfortably prose-y for poetry professors.
After graduation, I discovered less rigid publishing categories exist. Postmodern inquiry and auto-ethnography in academic research. Hybrid forms and current events poetry in creative journals. Newspapers run feature articles, not just inverted pyramids.
Then I became a magazine slush pile reader. Those difficult experiences of adjustment and failure provided unexpected advantages. Reporting taught me fact-checking. Poetry techniques were applicable to lyric essays. A flair for languages that languished in Anglophone settings was helpful with multicultural and bilingual manuscripts.
Arguments in favor of volunteering as a first reader are usually writer-focused. Yes, I’ve become aware of my own mistakes and cliches. I get a thrill elevating a talented, underrepresented newcomer – being the mirror that reflects their candle. It’s satisfying to support editors whose endless confidence in writers provides us with a platform.
But for a generalist like me, the biggest reward has been the opportunity to stretch my limits, to mobilize all the voices I’ve cultivated in one job.
We live in a world of fight or flight, I believe in rising from the ashes like that old bird,the Phoenix and continuing our destiny forward and onward to a destiny of greatness.
For the last seven years, I’ve been handing out handmade tokens—not for profit or praise, but as small, personal gestures of recognition to grocery workers, receptionists, TSA agents, housekeeping staff at hotels…anybody who’s an ordinary, albeit invisible, worker.
I watercolor, collage, layer mixed media on these little experimental canvases but the art doesn’t matter. It’s what I write on the back … starting with their name and then a few genuine words of appreciation, a line of honest, human empowerment.
When I look someone in the eye and ask their name, when I write a message just for them—I see the hesitation; we’ve been conditioned to expect the worst. But when I hand it to them, everything changes. They soften. Sometimes they cry. Most times we hug. Often, they tell me it’s the first time they’ve felt truly seen.
These tokens are not art objects; they’re vessels of presence.
What began as a solitary act has become a movement in kindness, in shared humanity, in seeing each other as more alike than different. Through my Ripple Practice™, I’m hoping to inspire more people around the world to use their creativity to reconnect rather than decorate.
In a world where freedom and connection feel fragile, this kind of slow, sincere recognition may be one of the most radical acts we can do.
I love this. Thanks for sharing it.
Thank you, Karen. It's second nature at this point and it's truly been transformative (not in the icky marketing gimmicky kind of way but in a real, deep-rooted, human-connection way).
I recently became the volunteer Blog Editor and also started writing Blog Posts for the advocacy group Activate Maine. I hadn't until recently thought of my writing ability as a tool that could be repurposed for use in advocating for Democracy, but indeed it is a very useful tool. I am excited, empowered about this new role and the feeling now that I am now part of stemming the tide of fascism. It makes the encroaching tide of fascism feel less inevitable.
It's what I haven't been doing that's been on my mind, as evidenced by a recent dream that's the beginning of my next Substack post (which is about joy):
I dreamed I was walking to Guantanamo. From my home in California. I was with some random dream guy and Dr. Lydia Fonseca, a wonderful character from the TV show The Good Karma Hospital. Dr. Fonseca is tough but full of heart — and I’m sure she was in my dream because she’s not afraid to speak her mind and stand up to power.
Our goal in walking to Guantanamo was to advocate for the release of some group of people. Journalists, elected officials? I’m not sure. We got into GITMO without any problem, which made me wonder aloud at the facility’s lack of security. Then we had to take an elevator down 20 floors to reach the group we wanted to free. When we got there, Dr. Fonseca fearlessly approached some official, maybe a guard, to talk to him. The guy with us asked, “Should she be doing that?” “She’ll be fine,” I responded, “She’s an older white woman.”
I woke up before learning if we were successful in our mission, but the message of the dream was clear: I don’t feel like I’m doing enough about the current situation. I mean, the current extreme fuckery. I, too, am an older white woman, and I’m not speaking out enough.
I'm using my Substack platform, as small as it is, to help people pause before they react. Recalibrate this default mode of rage we all seem to be in (myself included).
In a recent newsletter edition I say this, "When strangers become neighbors, when we pause to learn their names, it becomes harder to cause harm."
🌈 @helloheart.substack.com 🌈
Who 'uses' their "voice" (whatever that word means) to do anything more than write? The reader/audience, if they are with me, is surely gravy, but I'm not writing for anyone but me. Who would have the hubris to even think they were being read/seen or making a difference to anyone, let alone would care if they are?
The crowd (all 3500) is a happy, spirited, friendly group, greeting neighbors both known and unknown, smiling, and carrying amazing signs. I feel pride as I join the No King’s Day March, my first protest in 30 years.
My steps falter as I realize I’m walking beside a tall, slender man in khaki, his face weathered by years of living, his skinny, veined arms gripping a flagpole as a 6’x8’ US flag flaps in the day's breeze.
“Whoa, the flag here?”
With deep sadness, I realize that recently I have seen our flag as a symbol of divisive forces—forces I can’t fully understand, respect, or trust.
With a deep breath, I touch the man’s shoulder, “Thank you for carrying that flag today. It warms my heart to reclaim ALL the meaning, the memories, the sacrifices, the celebrations held under that flag.”
His eyes light up with a smile as he whispers, "This flag has been in my family for a century. I bring it out on special occasions. Today is extraordinary! Now's the time to take back our flag.”
Tears of joy, I look at the crowd and see many flags, each representing a proud reconnection!
As a student writer, personal narrative voice was a stumbling block for me. My writing was too literary for data classes, too poetic for journalism, too uncomfortably prose-y for poetry professors.
After graduation, I discovered less rigid publishing categories exist. Postmodern inquiry and auto-ethnography in academic research. Hybrid forms and current events poetry in creative journals. Newspapers run feature articles, not just inverted pyramids.
Then I became a magazine slush pile reader. Those difficult experiences of adjustment and failure provided unexpected advantages. Reporting taught me fact-checking. Poetry techniques were applicable to lyric essays. A flair for languages that languished in Anglophone settings was helpful with multicultural and bilingual manuscripts.
Arguments in favor of volunteering as a first reader are usually writer-focused. Yes, I’ve become aware of my own mistakes and cliches. I get a thrill elevating a talented, underrepresented newcomer – being the mirror that reflects their candle. It’s satisfying to support editors whose endless confidence in writers provides us with a platform.
But for a generalist like me, the biggest reward has been the opportunity to stretch my limits, to mobilize all the voices I’ve cultivated in one job.
Note -reposted under an alias, thanks Substack for excluding non-binary names (first name initials)
However I guess if M. Night Shyamalan can cope with that problem then I can.
We live in a world of fight or flight, I believe in rising from the ashes like that old bird,the Phoenix and continuing our destiny forward and onward to a destiny of greatness.