On caring quietly (again), navigating dark times and how to imagine another world

“The world is burning, my dahlias are still beautiful.” - Elissa Altman

Photo by Caroline Gratrix

Hey friend,

Less than a month in and I’ve already missed a Conversation.

Life has been life-ing  – significant family birthdays and literary festival workshops, client conferences and a girls’ trip to Sardinia.

All amazing things I’ve been so grateful for. All things that have felt hard to hold onto against the darkness of the world right now.

On caring quietly

I spent last weekend in beautiful Cagliari with my girlfriends. On Saturday afternoon we headed to the pale gold sands of Poetta beach. It was packed with chic, tanned Sardinians living their best weekend lives – soaking up conversation and rest and late sunshine and those intergenerational friendships you see in Europe. Looking across the impossibly turquoise water, I was acutely aware of the human tragedy and suffering unfolding minute by minute on the other side of the Mediterranean.

That tug of how can this be ok? How can I be here sipping frozen daiquiris and laughing about brain freeze with my besties in a beach bar called Oasis when a few hundred miles away…

I grew up close to this conflict. It’s always felt familiar. The again-ness of it. Like so many,  I have friends affected deeply on both sides. I’m the daughter of a Cypriot refugee and empathise in my bones. And yet…

I’m scared to say the wrong thing. I’m scared to say nothing.

Also, I’m not convinced that what I say matters.

I’m aware that flooding my two teens with the resources to understand the conflict fully themselves doesn’t count as protest.

I’ve spoken to so many clients and friends and colleagues who feel the same way.
 

Navigating dark times

How do we navigate our creative work and build our businesses when the world is in so much pain?  When we’re wading through an information war and war energy and trauma fatigue?  One thing’s for sure. My gratitude practice has gone to s**t as I feel so guilty about every glass of water I have. Then I need to check and remind myself it’s not about me.

At the same time the Internet is rife with a war on itself, telling us all how to think/ feel/ be.

Early last spring I wrote about caring quietly. It was in the context of the Ukraine war (updated with a couple of links):

“It’s ok to care quietly. Donate money, share conversations, educate yourself  – without having to let a single person know.

Even as a marketer I believe there’s power in stepping back – especially in times like this.

Marketing needs to be consistent. That’s not the same as constant.

If you’re here for the long-haul, does it matter if you turn the dial down for a fortnight because it feels like the world’s on fire?  

We forget that marketing - and the visibility and presence it cultivates -  isn’t the end-game in itself.

Intentional marketing is about supporting your business goals. About building community, relationships and conversations that tie back to where you want to take your business.”

For me, this still holds.

Imagine another world

Yesterday, I came across these words from the poet ChenChen . Which made me want to add one more thing.

“it is not enough to say it is a broken world. to lament the fact. No, name who has broken it – who is, right now, breaking it. and imagine another world. sing of that. and fight for it”

Isn’t that our job as creatives and founders and marketers? To imagine another world?

Whatever that looks like for you. Your business. Your creative work. Your family. Your community.

Today I hope you sing of that.

Today I hope you fight for it.

Make the donation. Check in on your friend who’s feeling this war more than you. Then switch off your phone. Get off social media. Send the email. Reach out to the client. Write your newsletter. Develop the pitch document. Design the thing. Launch the event.

Build the world you imagined.

With love,

Antonia xo