Joy despite everything

Notes from the mailbox: Finding beauty in a burning world

“Life changes in the instant. The ordinary instant.” – Joan Didion, The Year Of Magical Thinking

“Life offers up these moments of joy despite everything.” – Sally Rooney, Normal People

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For your notes from the mailbox series! Could you write something for those of us who just feel hopeless about politics and the state of the world? ♥️

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I’m not going to write about how the world has turned on its axis, in the worst way, this week. I’m not going to quote politicians or point to the many reasons why this election result is absolutely terrifying – and not just for the American people. I’m not going to write a manifesto for hope, or a call to action. Because I think you’ve probably seen enough of that, elsewhere. In fact, I expect your feeds are flooded with anger. With sadness. With fear. With banned books and 4B movement explainers and women crying to the tune of ‘Labour’ by Paris Paloma. You make me do too much labour. With uplifting quotes from Michelle Obama and Greta Thunberg about turning anger into action. With warnings about the myriad of ways in which the patriarchy is regressing, right now. It’s terrifying; it’s unrelenting. And I will write on it – probably soon – but since Wednesday, my inbox has been filled with requests like this one. To write something comforting; something that doesn’t ignore the current state of the world, but encourages self-care. A reminder that even though things might feel very dark right now (and they do), there is still beauty in this world.

Because in order to fight this fight – and it’ll be a long one – we need to sustain ourselves. To eat, and to read, and to sleep. To attend the rallies and sign the petitions and write to our representatives. But also: to spread butter onto toast, dollops of jam, and eat it standing up in the kitchen. To go to sleep early. To read the kind of novels that sweep us into a different world; novels that remind us about the fight the others fought before us.

This is your comfort guide, for when you feel the need to escape the doom scroll. Think of it as the swirl of cinnamon on your coffee, or the melting butter on your toasted teacake. A moment of peace, to swallow down alongside your daily diet of the terrible news. Because I want to be very clear: this isn’t about switching off from it all. It’s not about turning a blind eye. And it’s not for everyone - it’s only for those who want a mode of escapism, right now (and have asked me for that). Of course, it’s not a solution to anything. But what it is is a recipe for self-compassion, in what feels like a hopeless time. It’s a prescription for being able to engage sustainably, over the next four weeks, and months, and years – complete with reading lists, playlists, podcasts, and your very own good news bulletin. I hope it brings you respite, and perhaps some peace.

How To Combat Overwhelm: An Itinerary (That You Won’t Find On Google)

There’s a recipe of things I do on days that feel particularly dark. Metaphorically, I mean, although often these days also correspond to actually dark days (because winter is hell, but I digress). It doesn’t always work, but it usually does. Sometimes it works because it reminds me that this world is bigger than me (always a good reminder); sometimes just because it distracts me from whatever it is that has me rotting in bed in the first place, head bent under some immovable shadow. It leaves me feeling lighter, brighter, more able to take on the world. It goes something like this:

• Home-made latte with cinnamon and two sugars (life’s short, add the sugar)

• Toast with butter and jam (yes, I’m obsessed with toast, don’t @ me)

• Back to bed to eat and sip and watch whatever TV show I’m currently obsessed with (I just finished Big Little Lies, but tbh I wouldn’t recommend it if you’re feeling fragile. Comfort show suggestions are listed below)

• Change my bedsheets. (I know, I know, but it’s worth it, I promise)

• Get dressed in the comfiest clothes I have (usually loungewear) and head outside. This bit’s important. But it’s also hard, so I do something to ease along the way: I call my sister, and if she’s not free my brother, and if he’s not free my friend, and I keep going down the list until someone is free (it doesn’t always go in this order: Fionn, if you’re reading, don’t get offended, I often call you first). If I’m not in the mood to talk to someone on the phone, I listen to one of my favourite, light-hearted podcasts – ones that chit chat about things but don’t make me think too hard (non-derogatory). My go-to is Giggly Squad. (If you know, you know. If you don’t – maybe it's time to find out).

• I try and walk for an hour, or an hour and a half. This is one podcast, or one phone conversation, or – if I’m having a really bad day, 9 plays of ‘All Too Well (Ten Minute Version).’

• On my way back, I buy myself a soya latte and a sweet treat. If I’m feeling really fragile, I also choose myself a gift, for £3 or less (supermarket flowers is never not a good idea).

• At home, I have an Everything Shower. I listen to the ‘yes, girl, your life is a movie’ playlist and light a candle and wash my hair. I smooth a hair mask through my ends. I shave my legs and sing really quite loudly. (That part’s important: you have to sing. It’s good for endorphins, or something).

• Afterwards, I slather myself in fruity moisturiser and change into my baggiest, comfiest clothes and let my wet hair create a damp stain on my sweatshirt. I then head to the sofa, with my book, and a blanket. (If I’m really lucky, my cat comes to join me, at this point. But I do have to be really lucky).

• For the next two hours, I try and dissolve into the pages. I leave my phone, often, in another room. This time is for peace, and comfort, and soft light.

• I usually make something incredibly low-key for dinner: pasta with cheese and olive oil, or sweet potato fries with chicken salad.

• A comfort day isn’t a comfort day without chocolate. Recently, I’ve taken to bringing a bowl of different-sized M&Ms with me to the sofa. (“An M&M lucky dip!” my friend texted me, excited, when I told her). (Oh, to be a woman in November 2024).

• I go to bed early. Around 8pm. My hair is fresh and my body smells sweet and the bedsheets are crisp like empty pages. And this is where I find real, deep contentment: in the soft, hollow hour before sleep, nestled between stories and unconsciousness, the idea of tomorrow hovering like a promise.

Things To Look Forward To (That You Also Won’t Find On Google)

• The first time you see the Christmas Lights lit up this year

• The fact that – at some point in the future – Taylor Swift will release new music

• And Sally Rooney will write a new book

• And Beyoncé will perform live again

• Maybe at the Grammys, which will probably prompt a spiel of internet jokes and also one of those incredible moments where someone (probably Selena Gomez) says something that lip-readers dissect on TikTok and you get obsessed with for approximately ten minutes

• The next time you finish a really good book (there’s no feeling like it)

• The feeling of touching down for the first day of a holiday

• Crunching on Lays crisps after spending all day lounging on the sand, sunburn creeping across your shoulders, all salt-sun happy

• The next time you give someone you love a gift you’ve thought a lot about

• Ordering your third drink at the bar and suddenly not caring at all that you’re supposed to get up early tomorrow morning and also that you’re trying to save money. (This is your time to be alive, goddamnit)

• Opening a package you’ve waited ages for

• Meeting someone who makes you feel seen

• Noticing as that person slowly morphs from acquaintance into friend  

• Hot minced pies with clotted cream

Shows That Feel Like a Hug (Best Accompanied By Sea Salt Chocolate And A WhatsApp Commentary From Your Friend Who Is Also Watching It)

• Gilmore Girls

• Gossip Girl

• Friends

• Grace and Frankie

• Frasier

• Derry Girls

• Great British Baking Show

• Downtown Abbey

• This Is Us (be warned: this one should be called This Is Emotional)

• Miranda

• Ted Lasso

• Anything narrated by David Attenborough

Books That Feel Like a Sigh (Best Accompanied By A Blanket And A Cat But If You Don’t Have A Cat, Well, I’m Not Sure What To Say… Maybe You Should Get One)

• Everything I Know About Love by Dolly Alderton

• The Comfort Book by Matt Haig

• Conversations On Love by

  Natasha Lunn

• Romantic Comedy by Curtis Sittenfeld

• Lessons in Chemistry by Bonnie Garmus

• To Kill A Mockingbird by Harper Lee

• The Female Persuasion by Meg Wolitzer

A Good News Bulletin (Because Good Things Are Still Happening In This World, I Promise)

• After the success of the Timothée Chalamet lookalike contest in New York, Dublin hosted a Paul Mescal lookalike contest (in which Jack Wall O’Reilly won, bless his heart) – and there’s due to be a Harry Styles one in London (might Harry make an appearance, do we think?)

• In some good election news, there will be two Black women in the Senate – Democrats Lisa Blunt Rochester and Angela Alsobrooks

• A man called Tim Bushe – who lives in Islington –  is going around turning his neighbours’ hedges into art. His wife came up with the idea, many years ago, and Tim continues the work “in her legacy” after she died of breast cancer. With each commission, he raises money for charities. (I’m obsessed with this man, and this project, tbh).

• A black-footed ferret – which had been cloned to add diversity – just gave birth to two new kits, thereby helping to save their species. (Try and look at this photo and not cry – I dare you).

• EU emissions recorded a sharp decline this year – which is apparently due to a decline in coal use and the increase in renewable energy !! (there’s still a long way to go, but hey, I promised good news).

A Closing Argument (Some Final Things To Remember)

I came across a viral photo on TikTok, the other day, that showed a screenshot from someone’s Dad about the outcome of the election. It said this:

I know we are all in shock over what happened last night but I want you to know this isn’t the first time your Mom and I have been through this. We had Nixon, Vietnam, watergate, civil rights, war protests and Reagan. Trump will do nothing for those that voted for him. If they learn or not is another story but he will be gone. It’s important to keep the faith and work to resist his worst instincts. He is not the first to believe he could be an autocrat. They don’t last.

And I know I said I wouldn’t quote speeches. But what Kamala said in her closing argument is still with me, echoing in the back of my mind as I write this piece.

You have the capacity to do extraordinary good in the world. And so to everyone who is watching, do not despair. This is not a time to throw up our hands. This is a time to roll up our sleeves. This is a time to organise, to mobilise, and to stay engaged for the sake of freedom and justice and the future that we all know we can build together.

You do have the capacity to do extraordinary good, in the world. We must not despair, and you are not alone.

It is from a place of immense privilege that enables me to write this piece – and for us to live the kind of lives we do. To drive to work and make banana breads on Sundays and have opinions about the Grammy nominations and think about Christmas presents in quiet, soft morning light. To write birthday cards to close friends and scroll past inspirational quotes on Instagram and think about whether to invest in a Coach handbag or try and save for a house you don’t realistically think you’ll ever be able to buy.

So: watch the comfort shows and read the comfort books and rest and sleep and eat white chocolate chip cookies under blankets and gather strength from the corners of your being because now is the time, too, to rise up. To shout, and scream, and donate, and sign petitions. And to say, as loudly as we possibly can: We will not stand for this.

Until next week,

Hannah x