We are living through challenging times. There is much at stake. Uncertainty reigns. It's difficult to find anything stable to grab hold of. Our moorings seem to be giving way. What we trusted and believed in are fraying at the seams. Many don't know where to turn or what to do. Confusion and overwhelm are rampant.

While I don't have the answers, I can offer a kind of balm. It may seem superficial or too little. It may seem unimportant in the face of the unraveling. But this balm is powerful. I know because I return to it again and again, and I experience its magic. And it's not just me; studies have repeatedly shown this balm's power.

This balm is available to everyone, despite your situation. It's always on hand. The problem is that we can easily miss it. Our brains don't naturally orient toward it. We must intentionally turn toward it, but the moment we do, the balm goes to work.

We may believe that we don't have time for it. It may feel unimportant in light of what's happening in our world, yet the balm is a gift from the world itself. A gift we often take for granted. A gift we often reject. We suffer as a result.

Beauty, Presence, and Awe: A Revolutionary Practice

What is this gift? Beauty, presence, and awe. A bundle of goodness offering healing properties that can transform your life. I mean it. Please don't brush this off. I understand it would be easy to do. It can feel so trite and even out of touch, but I promise you, it's not.

Studies show the power of this bundle of beauty, awe, and presence. Neuroscientists have discovered that when we experience beauty, it activates the same reward centers in our brain as love. Experiencing wonder has even been shown to reduce inflammation in our bodies, the very inflammation I wrote about in "When Everything Burns."

This is far more than just science; it’s about our survival.

Taking time to seek out beauty and awe can feel self-indulgent when the world is rocking beneath us. I understand, but I realize that noticing beauty and seeking out awe isn't frivolous; it's revolutionary. It's not a distraction from the work; it's part of the work.

Nelson Mandela said that moments of beauty helped him maintain his conviction and compassion. He wrote, "A garden was one of the few things in prison that one could control. To plant a seed, watch it grow, to tend it and then harvest it, offered a simple but enduring satisfaction. The sense of being the custodian of this small patch of earth offered a small taste of freedom."

Maya Angelou, who survived childhood trauma, racism, and poverty, wrote about beauty and wonder as forms of resistance. "If you suddenly and unexpectedly feel joy, don't hesitate. Give in to it. There are plenty of lives and whole towns destroyed or about to be. We are not wise, and not very often kind. And much can never be redeemed. Still, life has some possibility left. Perhaps this is its way of fighting back, that sometimes something happens better than all the riches or power in the world. It could be anything, but very likely you notice it in the instant when love begins. Anyway, that's often the case. Anyway, whatever it is, don't be afraid of its plenty. Joy is not made to be a crumb."

When systems of power want us numb, exhausted, and despairing, accessing joy and beauty becomes an act of resistance. Beauty and awe awaken us, sustain us, and remind us of our humanity when everything around us conspires to make us forget. It’s a fundamental way of resourcing ourselves when so much is trying to drain us.

A Ritual of Remembering

I have a practice that helps. I read the news in the morning, and then I step out on my porch to shake off the doom. The ancient Appalachian Mountains loom in front of me, steady, almost eternal, having survived centuries of storms. The bright green of spring growth greets me as trees shake off winter. I watch for a moment, soaking the beauty and reassurance into my bones. I feel my body begin to relax and my breath deepen. I recognize, even if only for a moment, that I am part of these ancient mountains and that there is something eternal and untouchable in me, too.

This isn't spiritual bypassing. I don't pretend the problems aren't real or that beauty would magically solve them. But in those moments of presence, I remember that what we're fighting for is not abstract. It's this very capacity to be present, to experience wonder, to belong to each other and this earth. It's the right of all beings to flourish.

The Courage to See the Good, True, and Beautiful

Beauty doesn't negate our pain; it gives us the strength to bear it. Awe doesn't solve our problems; it reminds us why they're worth solving. Beauty isn't just in sunsets and mountain views. It can be found everywhere, even in unexpected places.

I watched our community here in western North Carolina come together after Hurricane Helene, neighbor helping neighbor regardless of politics or various worldviews. I saw the same thing when I lived in Florida. Neighbors helping neighbors through the storms. There is beauty in the human capacity to come together in our darkest moments. It’s in our DNA.

There's beauty in the grief that shows us what we love, in the rage that shows us what matters, and in the vulnerability that connects us even across our differences.

What Might Emerge From These Flames

Even as systems crumble, even as we face the consequences of collective blindness, seeds are waiting to sprout through the ashes. Remember the Table Mountain pine I wrote about? Its seeds need intense heat to release. What if our most beautiful possibilities are like this, waiting for the very fires we fear?

Noticing beauty and seeking out awe isn’t meant to be a one-time event or occasional luxury. It's an essential practice. And like any practice, it requires intention and commitment.

When I wake in the morning, I step out on my porch and welcome the morning, mountains, trees, birds, and Greta groundhog. Throughout the day, I take small moments to touch into the good, true, and beautiful, what poet Mary Oliver calls "the endless opportunities to be astonished."

Beauty Is How We Stay Human

This isn't about toxic positivity or forced gratitude. It's about developing the capacity to hold the beauty and the brokenness, the wonder and the worry, the pain and the possibility. When we’re burned out and despairing, our capacity to help a world in need diminishes. When we’re connected to beauty, to purpose, to the miracle of existence, we find reserves of energy we didn't know we had.

This isn't about hope in the conventional sense—the expectation that things will necessarily get better. It's about being present to what is, including the wonder that persists alongside the heartbreak. As Francis Weller writes, "The work of the mature person is to carry grief in one hand and gratitude in the other and to be stretched large by them."

When we can hold both grief and gratitude, we develop what Stephen Jenkinson calls "a love of what is" that requires neither optimism nor pessimism. We act not because we're certain of outcomes but because action rooted in beauty and presence heals and restores.

Here is my invitation to you amidst all that is uncertain and unraveling: Notice one beautiful thing today. Really notice it. Let yourself receive it fully, if only for a moment. Tomorrow, notice another. And the next day, another.

In times like these, beauty isn't a luxury. It's an essential balm. It’s evidence that we belong to a world of astonishing wonder despite everything.

That belonging cannot be taken from us unless we forget it. And as long as we remember to look up, to notice, to receive the gift that is always being offered, we carry with us the seeds of what might yet emerge from these flames.