Beautifully said, Breanne. Two weeks ago my husband was one of the thousands of federal workers "laid off" from a non-expendable job. We're in the Appalachian mountains, nestled into a small western NC town, in the center of the destruction from hurricane Helene. William worked for the highway division of Eastern Federal Lands and because he was a long-term traveling worker our housing was provided by his employer ... who (without warning) was no longer responsible for us so we had two weeks to pack our house into boxes, let our kids tell their friends goodbye and make a plan ... oh, and an invoice to reimburse the federal government over 5k in living expenses, due immediately. This job opportunity had felt like a long awaited answered prayer ... to say that our grief was palpable is an understatement. I'm not sure I was angry at God so much as exhausted from the hardships He seems to think we can endure, time after time. We've seen some redemption ... there have been good job offers and former supervisors working tirelessly on his behalf. We've been covered in prayer and surrounded by community support in ways that would require a coffee date to sift through but my point is this ... grief and gratitude can coexist and often do ... I feel like that truth has been the unofficial subtitle of much of my life ... grief and gratitude can coexist, and often do.
I'm so so sorry, Raquel. My heart broke when I read your comment. The callous way a lot of people are talking about federal workers losing their jobs is enraging to me. You have every right to feel exhausted. Yes, grief and gratitude can exist at the same time. And I wish you didn't have to navigate them both right now.
"Making things beautiful while you’re angry and sad doesn’t mean the things that make you angry and sad aren’t valid, it just means they don’t get to have all of you." Love this so much. Also, currently trying to decide where I could hang a chalkboard in my own home.
I definitely hear this and I appreciate this take. My man is one of the hundreds of thousands being affected by the Federal Government Workers culling. And our house is an overpriced rental in a pretty shady neighborhood. The neighbor to the left is dealing drugs out of an eyesore of an RV. We're pretty sure that the neighbor to the right is some sort of escort. I get annoyed about having to live here but I remember that just about 7 months ago we were living in an office in the rough part of town with transients living in our bushes, wondering where we'd be after the dust from the business bankruptcy claimed all that we had managed to scrape together. Now we stand to lose this, too.
I just edited quite a bit of unproductive rage out of this comment, but you're right: things aren't going well in this country. But as Dostoyevsky says, "Beauty will save the world." It's the only antidote I've found to the deep and festering wound of bitterness I find myself succumbing to. I've stopped listening to the news, social media and honestly most of my friends who are caught in the tribal vacuum of ideologue worship and begun to listen to soundtracks, birdsong and that indomitable voice inside me that refuses to give up. I read poetry and drink in the sunsets that unfold across the front mountain range, rising above this squalid and declining neighborhood and reminding me that these beautiful things have existed before all of this was and in the midst of all of this chaos, they still stand.
I'm starting to believe that a lot of this suffering is pushing us towards something greater and more beautiful if we're willing to look beyond the mire and the din. Beauty, gratitude and compassion must rise above outrage and hopelessness. Your pink walls are a step toward that.
I relate to all this so deeply. I was going to write about it here in the comments, but it was turning into an essay like yours. I also create beauty even in spaces that don't feel aesthetically or emotionally beautiful. It's the thing to do if you actually want to live and not waste away. Thank you for sharing this story.
Yes, especially now. I love reading your posts because they feel so authentic. Also, this line was perfection: "Pink like my tulips that will soon bloom in defiance of winter." <3
Yeah that is a great shade of pink. Reminds me of Emma that you just had me watch
I love the pink. I love it.
I needed to read this today. Very beautifully written, Breanne.
So beautiful, Breanne. Thank you ❤️
Beautifully said, Breanne. Two weeks ago my husband was one of the thousands of federal workers "laid off" from a non-expendable job. We're in the Appalachian mountains, nestled into a small western NC town, in the center of the destruction from hurricane Helene. William worked for the highway division of Eastern Federal Lands and because he was a long-term traveling worker our housing was provided by his employer ... who (without warning) was no longer responsible for us so we had two weeks to pack our house into boxes, let our kids tell their friends goodbye and make a plan ... oh, and an invoice to reimburse the federal government over 5k in living expenses, due immediately. This job opportunity had felt like a long awaited answered prayer ... to say that our grief was palpable is an understatement. I'm not sure I was angry at God so much as exhausted from the hardships He seems to think we can endure, time after time. We've seen some redemption ... there have been good job offers and former supervisors working tirelessly on his behalf. We've been covered in prayer and surrounded by community support in ways that would require a coffee date to sift through but my point is this ... grief and gratitude can coexist and often do ... I feel like that truth has been the unofficial subtitle of much of my life ... grief and gratitude can coexist, and often do.
I'm so so sorry, Raquel. My heart broke when I read your comment. The callous way a lot of people are talking about federal workers losing their jobs is enraging to me. You have every right to feel exhausted. Yes, grief and gratitude can exist at the same time. And I wish you didn't have to navigate them both right now.
"Making things beautiful while you’re angry and sad doesn’t mean the things that make you angry and sad aren’t valid, it just means they don’t get to have all of you." Love this so much. Also, currently trying to decide where I could hang a chalkboard in my own home.
I definitely hear this and I appreciate this take. My man is one of the hundreds of thousands being affected by the Federal Government Workers culling. And our house is an overpriced rental in a pretty shady neighborhood. The neighbor to the left is dealing drugs out of an eyesore of an RV. We're pretty sure that the neighbor to the right is some sort of escort. I get annoyed about having to live here but I remember that just about 7 months ago we were living in an office in the rough part of town with transients living in our bushes, wondering where we'd be after the dust from the business bankruptcy claimed all that we had managed to scrape together. Now we stand to lose this, too.
I just edited quite a bit of unproductive rage out of this comment, but you're right: things aren't going well in this country. But as Dostoyevsky says, "Beauty will save the world." It's the only antidote I've found to the deep and festering wound of bitterness I find myself succumbing to. I've stopped listening to the news, social media and honestly most of my friends who are caught in the tribal vacuum of ideologue worship and begun to listen to soundtracks, birdsong and that indomitable voice inside me that refuses to give up. I read poetry and drink in the sunsets that unfold across the front mountain range, rising above this squalid and declining neighborhood and reminding me that these beautiful things have existed before all of this was and in the midst of all of this chaos, they still stand.
I'm starting to believe that a lot of this suffering is pushing us towards something greater and more beautiful if we're willing to look beyond the mire and the din. Beauty, gratitude and compassion must rise above outrage and hopelessness. Your pink walls are a step toward that.
I relate to all this so deeply. I was going to write about it here in the comments, but it was turning into an essay like yours. I also create beauty even in spaces that don't feel aesthetically or emotionally beautiful. It's the thing to do if you actually want to live and not waste away. Thank you for sharing this story.
Yes, especially now. I love reading your posts because they feel so authentic. Also, this line was perfection: "Pink like my tulips that will soon bloom in defiance of winter." <3
I love this so much 💕 been debating a “frivolous” purchase of a new rug for our own very old, falling apart home that we didn’t plan to still be in.
I really love that pink. It's perfect.
Very powerful.