Prompt 311. Sunshine, Love, Salvation

& a prompt for warding off despair

Some bonus: sunsets

Hi friend,

I’m composing this missive on Friday afternoon. I have to leave for chemo in an hour, and a couple of thoughts are on loop in my mind: I don’t want to go, I don’t want to go, I don’t want to go and I don’t want to do this, I don’t want to do this, I don’t want to do this. I never look forward to chemo, but it’s been harder than usual as of late. Last week, I drove an hour to the hospital, only to be told my blood counts were too low, which added frustration and worry to an already unpleasant situation. On Monday, I made that same trek, and it happened again: My labs were better, but I still wasn’t cleared, so I had to turn around and go home.

Tuesday and Wednesday things went smoothly—as smoothly as chemo can go. Then on Thursday, my dad drove me to the hospital for my appointment, only to have the woman at the desk look at me quizzically and say, “You’re not in the system. You must have canceled today.” I told her I hadn’t, and she insisted that I must have. I was feeling seasick and already exhausted from the hour-long drive there, and I felt my frustration mushrooming into fury. I wanted to burst into tears. But I took a deep breath, and I thought about the fact that the woman behind the desk wasn’t responsible for the mix-up, and that she was just catching up, the same way I was just catching up. Instead of ranting, I simply said, “I have to do chemo today. It’s not an option not to. What can I do?”

“You have two minutes until your doctor’s office closes,” she said. “Call and see if you can get the order re-sent.” Suddenly we were working together. I got through to my medical team, who put the order in again. And though I had to wait to see if they could fit me in, and wait even longer for a chemo suite to be available, it worked out.

Anyone who lives with chronic illness has had the experience of things going awry in small ways like this, and in big ones too, and how absolutely defeating it can be when one thing after another goes wrong, when it’s crappy plot twist on top of crappy plot twist, and how often you wish with everything in you that the circumstances were different—better.

But the lesson I have to learn again and again is that it’s pointless to fight against my circumstances. To wish my reality were different and to be consumed by frustration—that’s not a good use of my energy. I have to accept my reality and focus on what’s in my control, like regulating my nervous system so my frustration doesn’t come out sideways, like doing what I can to get a good night’s sleep so I can wake up feeling rested, feeling better, ready to take on whatever the day brings.

The morning after the election, my friend Jonny sent me a poem called “Yes” by William Stafford. It goes:

It could happen any time, tornado, 
earthquake, Armageddon. It could happen. 
Or sunshine, love, salvation.

It could, you know. That’s why we wake 
and look out—no guarantees 
in this life.

But some bonuses, like morning, 
like right now, like noon, 
like evening.

Such bonuses are what keep me going when “it” happens—when the ceiling caves in, when I feel the impulse to succumb to fear and rage and even despair. Driving back from chemo last night, hours later than expected, beyond exhausted, I looked up and thought, “Oh, that crescent moon.” I thought of my dogs waiting at home, and their warm fur, and the way our lab River greets our neighbor each morning. I felt nourished by these bonuses—by these small joys. I felt a little surge of energy, just enough to keep going.

Some bonus: a greeting from River

In the spirit of grounding ourselves in the day’s bonuses, I’ll turn to today’s essay and prompt—one I first shared just over four years ago, at the height of the pandemic, amid great fear and uncertainty. It’s called “Garlic for the Energy Vampires.” May it help you ground and nourish yourself. May it provide a reprieve from whatever tempts you to despair—be it something particular to you, like illness or some other loss, or something more collective, like the outcome of the election and our fraught and fractured political system. May it give you the energy to keep going, to advocate for yourself and those you love, to do the good work, to continue the fight.

Sending love,

Suleika

An Item of Note—

• Mark your calendar! We’ve scheduled our next meeting of the Hatch, our virtual creative hour for paid subscribers, for Sunday, November 17 from 1-2 pm ET. Carmen Radley will be hosting this week, sharing a poem and a spiritual practice to awaken compassion. I hope you can join us!

Edvard Munch, Two Women on the Shore (1898)

Prompt 311. Garlic for the Energy Vampires by Suleika Jaouad

In the middle of writing Between Two Kingdoms, I got to spend three months as a writer in residence at Jack Kerouac’s bungalow in Orlando. Florida being Florida, it was swampy and hot, and the house was all 50s decor, haphazardly furnished with Jack’s things—like the armchair in the office where, as rumor goes, he sat and drank himself to death. 

Soon after I arrived, I learned I was to have frequent visitors. Kerouac pilgrims showed up at all hours to pay homage and peer into the windows. One day I took Oscar out for a walk, and I came back to find a man sitting in my living room. I was terrified—I thought he was going to murder me. But he simply asked, “What time does the museum tour start?”

At residencies, there’s often a self-imposed pressure to be hyperproductive, despite such external distractions, despite any demons you’re wrangling on the page. You expect to be more prolific than you’ve ever been before. That was me: I was certain I would finish the first draft of my book—but I found myself despairing that I’d make any progress at all. I would wake up and pretend I hadn’t and try to go back to sleep. I would work hard for a few days and then lose momentum. I wrote forty pages and had to toss them. I reached a point each afternoon that wasn’t normal sluggishness. I was depleted, drained, or as Jon says, done.

Once you’ve hit that place, it’s difficult to pull yourself out—not only to do the things that make you feel better, but also to think of what might help. So one day I sat down and made a list:

Energy Multipliers
3 pp of journaling
A long walk with Oscar
Reveling in the gorgeousness of the ocean
A very long, very hot bath
Call Lizzie / Lily / Melissa / Mom
Turn off phone & read read read
Red wine and The Alexandria Quartet
Rearrange furniture
Make bucatini all’Amatriciana
Frank Conroy’s prologue to Stop-Time
Make a care package for a beloved
Clean sheets
TAKE A NAP

I kept the list tacked above my desk. Anytime I felt low down, I’d scan my finger along the options and choose one. 

Your prompt for the week:

What multiplies your energy? Write these in list form and tack them to the wall above your desk.

Bonus Prompt:

Reflect on the throughline between the things on your list. What is it they do for you? What qualities do they share?

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.

For more paid subscriber benefits, see—

• Love in a Time of Cancer (Part 2), an installment of Dear Susu where my beloved mom Anne Francey helps me respond to a mother who, in the face of her child’s life-threatening illness, asks, “How do we keep going?”

• Letters from Love, a video replay of my workshop with the brilliant Elizabeth Gilbert, where she shared the transformative spiritual practice she’s used for twenty-five years to combat self-criticism and to access an ocean of unconditional love

• On Universal Love, a recap of the Hatch where we read a poem about unruined hearts and walking each other home and loving people even if we don’t know them

Our Isolation Journal No. 1—

If you’re looking for a fresh start for fall, treat yourself to our custom journal! It has all of our favorite features: the perfect size to tote around wherever you go, ink-bleed proof paper, and numbered pages for easy indexing—and for extra inspiration, we printed our Isolation Journals manifesto on the flyleaf. Get yours by clicking below!