Why I Use the Word "Sovereignty" A Lot Less These Days

Have you ever considered how a knot can be both a terrible tangle of string or an intricately crafted design, like in those ancient Celtic manuscripts?

Right now, I have knots on my mind but, once upon a time, like three years ago, every story I told was woven around big idea: Sovereignty.

Sovereignty is a gloriously complicated word (as all the best words are, like love, freedom, mystic, petrichor, onomatopoeia).  As I understand the way sovereignty works in my own life, it's about personal agency, the quest for self-knowledge, and the commitment to greater wisdom. In my lived understanding, it is about channeling that power to help others find their sovereignty so the collective can become more equitable, healthy, and evolved.

When we all have access to our own sovereignty, then we can pool our strength. And when that happens, we just might have a chance of cleaning up our act and cleaning up our earth.

Of course, sovereignty has its other aspects. It's a word that describes the borders of nation states. And, it is a word that can be applied to how you wish to control the borders of your own body. Reproductive rights are a matter of deeply important body sovereignty.

When you reflect on a phrase like “body sovereignty,” it makes sense that folks who question the validity and the necessity of the Covid vaccine call on "sovereignty" as one of their reasons for resisting the shot. (Of course, sovereignty tends to get lost in the midst of all the conspiracy theories, and that is a separate yet inextricably related issue best left to other writers to explore on another day.) 

It’s important to note that by "it makes sense" I am saying that I understand that certain people who are attracted to the concept of "self-governing" choose to call their anti-vaccination position a "sovereign" stance. What doesn't make sense to me is how folks would willfully risk place even more strain on a healthcare system that is at its breaking point and further jeopardizes populations that truly can’t be vaccinated. 

That said, I'm not seeking a conversation about vaccines right now. (Really, please don't email me about what you think of the politics, science, or spirituality of the shots. That's not why I am telling you this story.)

Instead, I am writing about vaccinations and the discourse around them because I've been quietly pulling back from "sovereignty" for a while, and it felt important to tell you why.

As creatives, we fall in love with a new idea and describe its development in detail. It's all too rare that we describe why we're taking stock, pulling back, and allowing the past season's words to serve as compost for the new ideas to come.

We'll leave this part of the conversation here: back when I wrote The Sovereignty Knot, I advocated sovereignty in service to the collective because, then as now, there's no wisdom in imagining every decision you make is yours alone.

These Days, It's All About the Knot

My book, The Sovereignty Knot: A Woman’s Way to Freedom, Power, Love, and Magic, came out in February 2020, just as this novel coronavirus was starting to make headlines. Never could I have expected our world to be tied in such unspeakable knots and to see sovereignty come up so often in conversation. 

In light of all the individual and collective struggle of the last two years, the knot seems even more compelling–and full of creative potential–than my original concept of sovereignty.

The knot allows for the reality of the tangle and the beauty and strength of deliberate design. It lets us be who we are. The knot also allows us to do better, weave our words and actions more intentionally, and recover from past mistakes. 

The knot is about commitment and the ties that bind. The knot is about community and the support that comes with sharing ideas, asking hard questions, and living in the uncertainty together.

In Light of All This, I Am Committing to the Knot Throughout 2022

Here are three ways to join me as we spiral through the knots and work out the tangles as we go:

The Open Writers’ Knot is the first free community writing practice of the year. It's coming up next Wednesday, January 19 at noon ET.

When we write together, and form a community even for an hour, we strengthen the creative container and all gain the courage to confront the knots of narrative and ideas that may confound us when we write alone. This event is for writers and non-writers, leaders and dreamers, seekers and wisdom keepers who are ready to meet themselves on the page

As I hope you’ve heard by now, the KnotWork Podcast debuts on 2.2.22.

The new show is devoted to untangling our myths and reweaving our stories. Each episode features a story from mythology or folklore and a deep dive discussion into why that old tale still matters to us today. Please follow the show on Instagram and Facebook, and plan to subscribe to the show in a few weeks!

• Finally, the Sovereign Writers' Knot, my online community, will form again in early March for another 13-week journey.
  
  If you’re seeking a supportive community and a creative incubator to conceive or continue your writing project, this could be the ideal group for you.

The Winter Solstice, the Cailleach, and the Struggle With the Light

This is a damn strange time to make plans for renewal.

Today there is scarcely 

a dwelling-place I could recognize; 

what was in flood 

is all ebbing.

- The Lament of the Old Woman of Beare

‘Tis the season to read ninth century Gaelic poems.

Oh, wait, is that just me?

Well, I always told my mother I would never be popular because I could never be like the other girls.

That’s what I said thirty years ago as a middle schooler with (undiagnosed) depression. Now, I’m the mother of a middle schooler, and we’re wiser about what depression is and we’re watching for its signs in ourselves and in loved ones as 2021 fades into 2022.

This year, I am aware of a heaviness in the air that seems to mute the lights on the tree and makes my old favorite songs sound a little off-key. I’ve been trying to push it away and stay busy, to keep smiling and keep planning so that mom’s optimism can carry my spiritually eclectic family through our sacred cluster of holidays: the Winter Solstice, Christmas, the College Bowl games, the New Year, and the Feast of the Epiphany.

And, of course, as an entrepreneur who offers what has become an annual event to reflect on the passing year and envision the year to come, I really need to find the joy and possibility and turn on my megawatt grin in the midst of the “bleak midwinter.”

But really… do I? And honestly, can I?

Are We Ready for the Return of the Light? 

This December, the tears are closer to the surface than they have been in memory. (You may be feeling the same, even if the gratitude and the hope are right there at the surface, too.)

It’s the usual grief and longing that comes with the holiday memories. In our house, this is the first Christmas my husband and I will have with both of our moms gone.

And, of course, it’s the news of the new variant and how ill-equipped our nation and our global community are in the face of it. It’s the deepening divisions as public health becomes a matter of personal belief, rather than devotion to collective well-being. It’s the long weekend I spent in bed after my Covid booster, feverish and achy. It’s the call that family members were exposed and cannot be here on Christmas Eve.

And, it’s this time of year when we are all ready to celebrate the return of the light. 

The question is, are we just that jazzed up about the lengthening days or are we just yearning for relief from a darkness that has become too long, too dense, too real? 

To make our celebration of the returning light into something meaningful, we need to be willing to see the reality all around us. We need to acknowledge the darkness and reckon with the fact that none of this is just a story about the color of the sky. 

Because really, what’s the big deal about a few more minutes of daylight in an already well-lit room?

At the time of the Winter Solstice, we’re supposed to be feeling the hollowness, and even the sorrow and the uncertainty at this time of year. (And this is when we remember we live in a great big world, and our friends in the Southern Hemisphere are having a distinctly different and yet utterly related experience right now.)

Here, where nights are long and days are preoccupied with last minute work and preparations for holiday cheer, the difficult feelings are more accessible than ever. 

And yes, we need to give ourselves a chance to acknowledge and speak them aloud, even when we’re more afraid than ever before that the hollowness of sorrow and uncertainty will take over if we dare stop smiling.

A Different Way to Look at the Solstice In What’s Another Very Different Year

The business as usual, festivities as expected, planning as proscribed model just doesn’t seem to work any more.

This isn’t admitting defeat or refusing to try to put on a brave face. 

Taking a moment (or more) to pause and be with the reality of our current darkness feels utterly necessary right now. It’s the only way to be in integrity. It’s the only way to make way for magic and renewal in the new year.

Here, for those of us in the midst of the darkest point in the year, this is the time to sit with the weight of the shadows and in the presence of our fears.

For me, that looks like pouring an extra cup of tea and revisiting an ancient poem by an Irish woman from West Cork who went by the name of Digde. This is a time to listen to the sad song of a woman who declares, “I have had my day with kings, drinking mead and wine; now I drink whey-and-water among shriveled old hags.”

This is the voice of the Cailleach, the goddess of the Celtic world who danced through centuries of youth before she sat upon a great stone by the sea to contemplate the painful mysteries of aging. She’s worn out after having done all that work, shaping the mountains with stones from her apron, and playing Sovereignty Goddess and sacred consort to so many kings. Worn out, but still longing for those days when she sat in the center of the light.

This is a deeply human look at the Sacred Hag. She doesn’t always feel like an intimate friend, but at the Winter Solstice, she’s holding up a divine mirror and allowing us all to pause and be with our own laments and our longings. She holds space for us as we mourn what has ebbed away, even as she still holds space for the memories of the “flood” of energy and possibility that used to fill her life.

A creature who has seen so many seasons, the Cailleach reminds us that all of that light, energy, and possibility, of course, will fill our skies once again. And yet, also being the ultimate elder who is reaching the close of her long life, she also reminds us that even the greatest parties eventually end. 

This is a time of great contradiction, when light is so scarce here in the Northern Hemisphere but when holiday abundance (and excess) are even more obvious than the sun in the sky.

We Can Welcome the Light When We Also Make Space for the Lingering Darkness

The wise folk I’m talking to all tend to agree: it’s hard to trust someone who just wants to play the “good vibes only” game and ride their eggnog buzz right into the “best year ever” on January 1. 

There is unfathomable hope, light, and possibility in 2022, but the days are still short, the night is still long, and there’s a staggering amount of uncertainty wrapped in the years to come.

It’s in that spirit of hope for the light and awareness of the darkness that I offer my end-of-year online retreat, A Sovereign Way.

I couldn’t believe in any visioning for the future practice that wasn’t grounded in our both our power and our pain, and I don’t think you could either.

When we gather together to imagine the year to come, we’ll begin by grounding into who we are now and who we have been throughout 2021 and through all the years before. We ask the sparks of “the world as it is” to light the new blaze of “the world as it could be.”

And we’re going to call on the Cailleach, the wise, ever-changing, earth-shaping Cailleach to be our guide.

Would you like to join us?

The half-day event is happening at noon ET on Wednesday, December 29. 

I Sent My Kids to School Today

I sent my kids to school today.

Because there was a terrorist threat on social media, what is (finally) unremarkable, sending the kids to school, became a conscious choice.

My twelve year-old, who isn’t on TikTok and didn’t know that every kid was “supposed” to be afraid to go to school, casually mentioned her fears about atomic war as the bus screeched over the hill at dawn.

She disappeared into the next stage of her heroine's journey before I had a chance to respond. She stepped into a day that, thanks to a terrorist with a smartphone, is not just another day.

My friend, a teacher, texted about how scared her colleagues were to go to work.

She’s at school now and half her class is out today. But that might just mean that there’s another virus going around. And because we live in the age of Corona, that is remarkable in an entirely new way.

My husband, an engineer, was nearly speechless with stress as he tried to recreate plans for machines when global supply shortages mean they can’t get most of the parts they need.

He’s working from home in our dining room and trying to track down simple bits of plastic and metal from China and across the planet, sweating and swearing as he’s constantly forced to redesign components and redesign his days based on an endless chain of uncertainties.

My seven-year old collected bits of quartz from the driveway on the way to her bus.

For once, my mystical, anxiety-prone child didn’t seem to have a care in the world.

And then, my dear ones launched into the day, I walked around the edges of our land where the half-green lawn meets the brambles and the brush, and I held them all in my heart and sent prayers to all the gods I can believe in to keep them safe and sane.

I return here, to the page, and write through all my optimism, all my fear, all my helplessness, and all my devotion to what is mine to do.

Much of my story has already been written. It is not the story of a scientist who takes on a virus that has paralyzed the globe, a political leader who takes on endemic violence that has terrorized our society, a teacher who takes on every social problem while they try to teach kids to read, nor an engineer who keeps building the stuff that builds our economy.

We are all living our own stories that may or not take us to any of these front lines.

I am a writer. I am a holder, a healer, a re-weaver of stories.

I am someone who writes for the scientists, the politicians, the teachers, the engineers, the children, and all the rest of us trying to do good and trying to get by.

I am trying to be brave enough to be an artist rather than a mere wordsmith. I am trying to live into the hardest questions about safety and fear, about sustainability and blind progress, about devotion and what transformation really means. Maybe today, I’ll succeed.

All of my most honest words are a prayer, knotted with worry and and woven with dreams.

The first layer of prayer, “may this just be another Friday.”

And deeper than that, “may we all have the courage to change everything about this violent, inequitable, too-hot-to-handle world.”

Ultimately, the prayer is that we can all live our own stories with bravery, with clarity, and with the support we need to get through, to grow, to thrive.

But first, the prayer that we will all get through this day.

Untethered and (Dis)Connected: How to Return to Your Creative Path On Your Own Time

That crunch.

You know it. I know it. Everyone who has owned a ridiculously fragile electronic device that goes everywhere and is relied upon to do almost everything knows it.

The crunch that you hear when the screen hits the floor.

On Labor Day Monday Monday, I felt that sinking dread when my Apple Watch slipped from my fingers and fell face down on the tile.

For over two years, that little piece of wildly powerful technology has been securely fastened to my body. It’s own tracking data will show you that I would wear it for well over 12 hours per day. And, if you don’t have access to the app, you can see it in the pale strip on my arm where the freckles have faded after years under cover.

Now it’s Thursday, and though I am fully clothed, I feel naked. 

I have no idea how many calories I have burned, whether I got a text in the three minutes since I picked up my phone, or what the temperature is outside. It will take me more than two taps to figure out exactly when my next menstrual cycle begins. If you call me and I don’t have my phone on me, I will not be able to answer you by talking to my wrist like Penny in Inspector Gadget.

I am realizing the depth of my addiction to that tiny glass square. Well, the glass was just the vehicle. My real addiction was to quantifying the success of each day based on my move goals and the illusion of constant connectivity.

At this point, I am not sure if I am uncomfortable because I feel so disconnected or if I’m uncomfortable because I have to reckon with being so addicted to machine that monitored my every move.

Either way, this is not how I planned to land post-Labor Day.

I am untethered. I am lost. I am free.

Of course, I am more than my history of shattered Apple products. It’s also the first week of school. And I am suddenly realizing that after eighteen months of certain uncertainty, the prospect of five days a week of school is immensely challenging.

This return to “normal” is what we’ve been yearning for. Why is this so hard?

Sure, there’s the chance that schools will close or either of the kids could be quarantined for weeks. There’s a chance that Covid could be more than a mere inconvenience as we see infections rise in children. It’s hard to get excited about the new routine when a stray cough could bring the whole fragile arrangement crashing down.

I am so dazed and unfocused. I can’t seem to shake the “I need more tea and then some chocolate and then some pretzels before I answer this next email” state of mind.

It’s more than vicarious first day of school jitters, though. 

Instead, I realize it’s immense pressure that comes with “Psst, Mom! It’s finally quiet. Go be outrageously successful and accomplish every single one of the professional and creative things right now so you don’t fail at post-pandemic reentry!”

Back in the old days (like over the weekend), my watch could help me track when anxiety would set my heart racing. I don’t need the heart rate monitor to tell you that there are too many stress hormones in my system right now. (Oh, hey, maybe I’m already learning to live without that device!)

There are too many stress hormones in our collective emotional system right now. While we have a lot to be stressed about, some of that pressure is self-imposed and truly is optional. Like the pressure everyone puts on themselves during new beginning moments, like the end of summer and the return to school.

So, if you’re a parent and are feeling the press of “I should get my business/creative practice/self care routine up to 117% because the kids are finally back where they belong,” I see you. I feel you.

Regardless of whether we have kids in school or are going to class ourselves, September is a chance for many of us to begin again. We can all use a little more self-compassion right now since it’s far from easy to get back into the post-Labor Day routine.

I’m holding hands with all of the writers, creatives, and entrepreneurs who are staring into the next season wondering how on earth you’re going to find the energy, focus, and confidence to get out there and make the next thing.

Here’s what we’ve learned (since March of 2020 and throughout our lifetime as sovereignty seekers, word witches, and all around weirdos):

• The old rules don’t apply any more.

• The old structures cannot support us.

• The old routine can’t be revived in the same old way.

If the timepiece that used to help us make sense of the world cracks, we need to find a new way to navigate our lives. 

In this early September moment if you can’t quite find your center, find your muse, or find your pen, remember this: your lack of inspiration, motivation, or imagination is not the problem.

What if it’s the relentless press to be productive and commodify every free moment that’s the problem? What if it’s the equation of busyness and self-worth? What if we must finally, once and for all, smash the foolish belief that everything is going to feel “normal” again just because we landed on a certain date or reached some artificial milestone?

What if you didn’t have to start today, but you trusted yourself and believed that in your own time, you’d settle into a new cycle of being, making, doing, and creating?

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When it is time to set off on your own creative path — as a writer, as an entrepreneur, as a seeker looking to understand your own story in a new way — I’d love to help.

The Sovereign Writers’ Knot, the new iteration of my online writing community, opens again on September 27.

The Story Illuminations Sessions are a great 1:1 option if you’re trying to figure out just where to start and need to heal some of the old wounds that hold you back from stepping forth on your creative path.

Something To Look Forward To

I’ve been quiet lately. Well, my mind hasn’t been quiet, but the words that have been swirling within were in the realm of the “not yet speech ripe.”⁣

(Isn't that a delectable phrase? I learned it from a client who is writing a memoir that blends his relationship with the earth, the realm of dreams, the quest for the divine, and the crazy beauty of the human condition. He received this phrase from his mentor Jeremy Taylor, a leading voice in Projective Dream Work.)
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There’s a good chance you know what I mean, right? It’s been almost impossible to find words to wrap around the enormity of our changing world. And yet, there’s an entire world of ideas to express and explore.⁣
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When everyone is occupied at home and I can give myself permission to step away from the screen with all its competing demands, I get in my car and I point it toward this ridge and I remember that the clouds are the same and the sun is the same and this blue is the same perfect blue of any bright May day.⁣
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That's when I remember: we do not love our earth any less for all that she never puts her beauty into words.⁣
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If your heart is full and your pen is still, remember to forgive yourself.

Trust that the urge will come soon and that you do have so very much to say. We’ll wait until you’re ready. We’ll hear you when it’s time to speak.⁣

Perhaps this writing prompt will help you find the words today...

Writing Prompt: Something To Look Forward To

We hear the word “uncertainty” everywhere right now. It’s attached to conversations of health and mortality. You can’t talk about the economy and livelihood without using the word several times.

It’s important to name something else that’s uncertain: how we’ll celebrate all the traditions and holidays that we “always” look forward to.

To move gracefully into this next season of “maybe we’ll see you,” you’re invited to hold all the conflicting feelings. The grief and the disappointment as well as the optimism, the flexibility, the creative energy required to find and make joy in a season that may not include gatherings and vacations.

How will you consciously create “things to look forward to” in the weeks and months to come?

I offered this writing prompt to the Sovereign Writers Circle last week. If you're seeking a wise, compassionate group of creatives and healers who can help you hold space for your own creative healing powers, please consider joining us. We welcome new members on June 1.