11 Mar 2026 4 min read

Wintering on the brink of spring

What if we thought about human possibility as a state of being that can be learned from, instead of a set of actions to achieve?

Hi friends,

We’re back in your inbox to say (again, from another angle, in a whole new set of words): “The world is on fire, but if you forget to breathe you’ll definitely burn up.” We will never stop advocating for your nervous systems to regulate amid the chaos and uncertainty of the moment.

Read on for a reflection on giving space to possibility in order to illuminate the next, right, necessary action. Even and especially when the world around us is in crisis.

A note from Mia

New Year's has long been one of my favorite holidays. I relish the way the grinding wheel of capitalism unclenches its hold on our time and we can make room for pause—to reflect, to be spacious, to exist in the liminal space between ending and beginning. I love the darkness and the wisdom it invites us into. And while I do love a clean slate, starting to fill that slate on January 1st doesn’t really make sense. We are not supposed to jump into new shit in the dark of winter. New life emerges in spring.

So I’ve spent winter giving space to the pause. Because in the pause, everything is possible.

My friend and mentor Akaya brought me this lesson several years ago. At the time, I felt like I was in between things. A chapter was closing, but what came next was unclear. When I spoke to her about the discomfort I was feeling in this space of not knowing, she said with a gleam in her eye and a grin on her lips, “That is the best place!” In that place of not knowing, she explained, everything is possible. As soon as a direction is chosen, possibilities fall away. This was a time to relish the possibilities, to be curious and listen. She stressed that choosing a direction from a place of impatience, discomfort, or fear was, of course, not going to put me on the path that is mine to walk. Instead of rushing toward certainty, I could wait, allowing the clarity to emerge.

*Quilt 35 (Vex)*, Sanford Biggers (Image ID: On a multicolored quilt background, with interlocking curves in green, red, purple, and beige, eminating like rays from a sun-like motif in the top left of the visual field. A painted branch with yellow flowers emerges from the right, as if reaching for that sun, preparing to overtake some dripping white and gray marks, evoking the melting end of winter snow.)

Right now, there are so many things urgently demanding action. I was speaking to someone recently who shared that he wanted to “do everything humanly possible” to fight facism, protect his neighbors, and all the rest we so desperately want to achieve. And it made me think about how we often assume that everything we can do is everything we should do. In a time of relentless attacks, horrors, and distractions, maybe it’s even more important that we take a moment so that we can respond instead of react.

What if we thought about human possibility as a state of being that can be learned from, instead of a set of actions to achieve? What if we let the slice of possible that is ours to carry, the piece of the work that is each of ours to do, emerge and become a guide. How might you feel in the face of current crises, if you could let go of the assumption that you are never doing enough? If you felt clear about your role— not forever, but for now?

We still have another week of winter left. Instead of sprinting toward spring (I know the Fire Horse is quivering to get going), let the earth’s movements set your pace. Take a breath (always). Notice what might be budding within you. Let it blossom.

*Artwork* by Ash Kwak Lukashevsky (@ashluka on Instagram) (Image ID: A fiery red horse with a mane of orange flames topples military-style figures with one in its mouth. The year “2026” is written above the horse in pink and black script, and below reads the text “The Fire Horse will burn empires.”)

Winter Poem
Nikki Giovanni

once a snowflake fell
on my brow and i loved
it so much and i kissed
it and it was happy and called its cousins
and brothers and a web
of snow engulfed me then
i reached to love them all
and i squeezed them and they became
a spring rain and i stood perfectly
still and was a flower

Current inspiration

This inside scoop from one of winter’s true highlights.

This reminder to honor lived experience and nuance.

This icon's new album.

This guide for bearing witness.

If you’re glad this work exists in the world, you can help keep it going.

Water what we're growing