Figuring Out Right Now

& Gail Muller on digging deeper

Hi friend,

Over the last week, I’ve had more than a few moments of feeling overwhelmed, depleted, and defeated—thanks to chemo, norovirus, a bladder infection, and all three of my dogs getting sick. More than once, I went to bed thinking, “How am I possibly going to face tomorrow? How am I going to get through?”

A great source of comfort has been my dad, who last week made his bimonthly pilgrimage to accompany me to chemo. He’s a very in-the-moment kind of guy, which lends an ease to everything. Like on Sunday night, I felt a familiar pain in my abdomen, and my dad and I were considering whether I needed to go to urgent care. In the past, such trips have ended up in multi-day (even multi-week) hospitalizations, where I get dosed with IV antibiotics and powerful pain meds. I decided I wasn’t up for that. Instead, I told my dad I was just going to go to bed. His response was quick and matter-of-fact: “I’ll come tuck you in.”

I was a little confused—I’m an adult, after all, and I don’t think of myself as needing a tuck-in. But my dad proceeded to lead me to my room, where he pulled the blankets up snugly around me, turned off the lights, and bade me goodnight. It was so sweet and exactly what I needed.

The next day, the pain was persisting, and I resigned myself to the fact that I needed to go in. So we loaded up in the car and drove to the hospital, where we settled into some chairs in the waiting room. I felt so tired and down, and I just wanted to check out. So I said, “Dad, I’m sorry, but I don’t feel like talking. Can I just be antisocial and put in my earbuds?”

He again responded with such tender acceptance, saying, “That’s exactly what you should do.” So I put in my earbuds while we waited and watched something mindless on my phone, and I was able to gather myself and to summon a little energy to face whatever came next (which thankfully was a script for antibiotics, not a hospital stay).

I realize these are small moments—seemingly insignificant in the grander scheme. But to me, they mattered, for a few reasons. First, I was able to identify what I needed. Second, someone else affirmed and supported that need. The third reason these moments mattered—and maybe the most important reason—is that I was reminded that I don’t need to have tomorrow figured out. I only need to figure out right now.

By nature, I’m a planner and a fixer. I like to take action, to make lists and cross things off, to feel like I’m getting closer to some goal, some clarity, some sense of resolution. When that’s possible, it’s great. When it’s not, I find myself at a total loss.

The idea that I only have to figure out right now is such an antidote to that kind of thinking—and it was exactly what I needed to get through this week. Like when I had a Zoom call for work, and I felt so bad that I wasn’t sure how I would endure it, I thought, “What would make this manageable?” And it turned out the answer was to build a fire, light a candle, and cover the couch with blankets and pillows, setting up a cozy workstation for myself there. Another day it was staying in bed all day long—and giving myself grace, not judging myself for it. Another it was finding that right balance between caring for my body’s needs and muscling through enough to do the things I needed to do—and getting them done (one being a redesign of my website, with the help of the incomparable Gala, another being the announcement of a special workshop to celebrate The Book of Alchemy, with the help of Carmen and Holly). These little moments gave me a charge that carried me through to the next moment, the next hour, the next day—and on through the week.

We have entered the holiday season—a time of year that’s charged with all kinds of energies, from celebratory to chaotic to somber. And just yesterday was the winter solstice; where I live, the sun set before five. If you’re anything like me, you may be feeling a little low on these long dark days. I hope that you’re seeking out a little light in the darkness, be it a single flickering candle, a big pot of soup, or some words of wisdom to help you through. Maybe you’ll find it in today’s essay and prompt—called “Dig a Little,” by the adventurer and author Gail Muller. It’s excerpted from her book Do Hope: Why You Should Never Give Up, where she shares her story of survival and her belief that hope is not a platitude, but a catalyst toward better days.

Sending love,

Suleika

Some items of note—

• Earlier this week I shared some exciting news—that I’ll be hosting a very special virtual workshop to celebrate the publication of my new book, The Book of Alchemy! The workshop will take place the day before publication—on April 21, 2025, at 7pm ET. To reserve a spot, all you need to do is pre-order a copy of The Book of Alchemy, then register at the link below.

• Here in the last days of 2024, we’re making plans for our annual New Year’s Journaling Challenge, which we’ll be kicking off on January 1. The theme is a little different every year—from evergreen prompts to ground us, to using art as a tool to get through, to reading Rumi to help us accept the paradoxes in life. This year, for paid subscribers, we’re putting together a week-long series that meditates on the idea of magic. More on that soon!

• If you missed last week’s meeting of the Hatch, our creative hour for paid subscribers, we’ve posted a replay. In it,

  Holly Huitt
  shared some thoughts on channeling the muse, along with some readings and prompts were so rich and generative. Find the replay here!

Jan Ciągliński, Sahara (Desert after a Rain), 1909

Prompt 317. Dig a Little Deeper by Gail Muller

I was recently in the Sahara Desert, assisting on a charity trek. I had never hiked in such huge and arid terrain before and had many interesting conversations with the local guides as the days went on.

I was particularly interested in water, and the perceived lack of it. How could anyone ever survive out here, where there was nothing but stunning dunes and beautifully sculpted, rippling golden sand under the blistering sun? They told me that, should I pay closer attention and think logically, I would be able to source water.

“Look around,” one man said. “Can you see anything growing?”

I scanned the horizon across 360 degrees of hot, baked distance and began to take note of some trees, seeming to grow out of the side of a dune, with nothing e lse for acres around them. And some small shrubs growing in another tatty cluster in another area. These weren’t lush green oases with palms and pools next to them, they were dusty and brown, with darkened leaves that blended into the landscape.

“There!” I gestured over towards the trees. “Over there are some trees, but no water to drink.”

They laughed. “Of course, there is no water ready to drink. You must look a little harder, then do a little work. The water is there, it just isn’t obvious. You need to use the logic that the tree must find water, then so can you.” And then they proceeded to explain how I would, if stuck, need to dig deep holes around any vegetation then sit back and wait. If nothing happened, then dig deeper, down towards where the tree roots must stretch. Eventually, water will begin to seep into the bottom of the hole you have dug, and you can drink.

There is always something to quench your thirst for better days, even when the terrain of your life seems purely arid on the surface. You just have to use some tools, dig a little and be patient until you can see the energy, possibilities and potential seep in. Just because opportunity isn’t presented to you on a plate with a label and a bow, it doesn’t mean it’s not there. Sometimes the things you most wish and dream for are right in front of you, under your nose… you just hadn’t noticed.

Your prompt for the week:

Write about a time when someone gave you advice for difficult times. What did they say and how has it changed you?

If you’d like, you can post your response to today’s prompt in the comments section, in our Facebook group, or on Instagram by tagging @theisolationjournals. As a reminder, we love seeing your work inspired by the Isolation Journals, but to preserve this as a community space, we request no promotion of outside projects.

Today’s Contributor—

Gail Muller is an adventurer, author, speaker, and coach with a background in education. Told she’d need use of a wheelchair by the age of 40, she defied the odds and after considerable physical rehabilitation, set out to walk the Appalachian Trail, later writing a bestselling book, Unlost. Happily she has stayed well, exploring many long trails since and giving talks and workshops all over the world, sharing her belief that our broken bits are actually superpowers. Her latest book, Do Hope: Why you should never give up, is published by Do Books.

For more paid subscriber benefits, see—

• Love in a Time of Cancer (Part II), an installment of my advice column Dear Susu, where my mom helps me respond to a mother who, in the face of her child’s life-threatening illness, asks, “How do we keep going?”

• A Creative Heart-to-Heart, a raw, unfiltered conversation about life and the creative process with my brilliant husband, Jon Batiste, where we talked about joy as a practice and how we use art to marry our joys and sorrows

• Survival as a Creative Act, a video replay of my Studio Visit from my painting residency, where I took questions from the community and gave a behind-the-scenes glimpse of my studio

Some gift ideas for the holidays—

• If you’re looking for a gift for a loved one this holiday season, consider our limited edition custom journal! It’s the perfect size to tote around, has ink-bleed proof paper and numbered pages for easy indexing. We even printed our Isolation Journals manifesto on the flyleaf. Get yours today!

• Or give yourself or a loved one a future gift and pre-order The Book of Alchemy! In this book—which comes out on April 22, 2025—I share everything I’ve learned about how journaling can help us transform life’s interruptions and tap into that mystical trait that exists in every human: creativity.