Imagination for Good

Dear Friends,

I’ve been struggling with hopelessness - and I imagine I’m not alone. I can hardly conceive the reality of everything that’s going on in the United States right now (and globally), and all that has transpired during the last four years of our current U.S. presidency. I’m at a loss for words, for sense-making, and, most recently, hope. The future has felt increasingly bleak and I’ve felt overwhelmed by it all.

Thankfully, I have a few intimate friends that are safe to be completely myself with. I can be honest about my feelings of fear, despair, and hopelessness - and I can ask for help with shifting my perspective. I called one of those friends today and our conversation did much to help nudge me back on a healthy track. I decided to take to the keyboard to synthesize a few of the takeaways that I will be leaning into extra hard - and decided to share them here for anyone else who needs some community support as well.

In chapter 20 of Anne of Green Gables, Anne (who is well-known for her vibrant imagination) is going on about ghosts and ghouls to her conservative, religious caregiver, Marilla. Marilla replies thusly:

"Anne Shirley," interrupted Marilla firmly, "I never want to hear you talking in this fashion again. I've had my doubts about that imagination of yours right along, and if this is going to be the outcome of it, I won't countenance any such doings. You'll go right over to Barry's, and you'll go through that spruce grove, just for a lesson and a warning to you. And never let me hear a word out of your head about haunted woods again."

Anne might plead and cry as she liked--and did, for her terror was very real. Her imagination had run away with her and she held the spruce grove in mortal dread after nightfall. But Marilla was inexorable. She marched the shrinking ghostseer down to the spring and ordered her to proceed straightaway over the bridge and into the dusky retreats of wailing ladies and headless specters beyond.

"Oh, Marilla, how can you be so cruel?" sobbed Anne. "What would you feel like if a white thing did snatch me up and carry me off?"

"I'll risk it," said Marilla unfeelingly. "You know I always mean what I say. I'll cure you of imagining ghosts into places. March, now."

Anne marched. That is, she stumbled over the bridge and went shuddering up the horrible dim path beyond. Anne never forgot that walk. Bitterly did she repent the license she had given to her imagination. The goblins of her fancy lurked in every shadow about her, reaching out their cold, fleshless hands to grasp the terrified small girl who had called them into being.

The chapter is appropriately titled: A Good Imagination Gone Wrong - and it seems that’s exactly what has happened with mine.

My friend heard all of my fears - global, national, local, and personal - all of my doubts about the future and finding a way forward and she helped me see that my imagination was wielding me (instead of me wielding it). She likened it to riding a galloping horse: it’s very thrilling if you’ve got the reigns and are in control, but quite terrifying if you do not and you’re on the back of a runaway horse instead.

She reminded me that imagination is one of humanity’s superpowers - that nothing has ever been done, in the whole history of the world, without imagination. She encouraged me to put my imagination into hope for a better world. In moving into that space in my mind, I can envision a way forward. I take hold of the reigns and become re-empowered to effect change around me and become part of shaping the future.

My imagination is already constructing a story and although it’s been a hopeless one, the point is that I’m very practiced at doing imaginative work. She encouraged me to lean into that strength, flip the narrative, and then dwell there in the imagined future (where justice and peace prevail). She cautioned me against dwelling in the space of “how to get there.” To dwell in the ‘getting there’ space would contribute to ongoing exhaustion and burnout because it is a space of heavy emotional work. By dwelling in the hoped-for future space, I can gain fuel and emotional sustenance to power the work that must be done.

I’m not sure if I’m explaining it very well so that it can resonate with you, reader, as it did with me - so allow me to try this analogy. It’s the difference between where we build our homes and where we go to work. I can take up residence and be nurtured by a hopeful vision for the future. There are gardens there and nourishing sustenance, and places to rest and be restored. Each day I leave that home to go to work. The work is essential, necessary, valuable, stressful, challenging and, well, work. - but I don’t dwell there. If I did I wouldn’t be able to keep showing up day after day.

By encouraging me to take my imagination by the reigns and envision the world I hope to live in, my friend helped me step from powerless to superpowered.

Because I’ve felt overwhelmed (and therefore disempowered), I’ve not known where I fit in or what my unique role could be to help build a world of justice and peace. But each day I spend hours working to build my skills as an artist. The one thing I’ve found hope in is art. I don’t know yet how my art can make a difference, but I’ve been fueled by my faith that it will. I pay attention to others (artists, craftsmen, small-presses, comedians, vloggers) and watch how they take their skills and hobbies and transmute them into building blocks for justice and inclusivity. This is where I’ve found hope so far.

Now, I will put my imagination into hope for a better world. In doing so, I bet clarity will follow and I’ll get some ideas for how I can contribute towards building that future. Using my imagination for good is foundational work. By starting with this shifted mindset, the other pieces will follow and I will be able to approach my art practice from a place of curiosity about what’s possible instead of a place of desperation as I struggle to make sense of things and cope.

If you’ve been feeling hopeless or overwhelmed, I encourage you to check-in with yourself and see if you’ve lost the reigns of your imagination. Sometimes it can be hard to see that in ourselves - monitoring our own thoughts can be a challenge if we’re embedded in them. If that’s you, I hope you can find someone safe to talk to who can help you reign that runaway horse back in. But even more than that, I hope that you can imagine things that you can feel excited about. Excitement is an excellent fuel for hope.