How to Walk Steady Under a Tilting Sky

From the Field Guide on Finding Your Inner Gravity

May 01, 2025

"What are they doing, Mom?" my youngest asked.

I was wondering the same thing as we drove past the festive orange construction cones blocking half the parking lot downtown. If you can even call it a downtown.

"Is it even a town?" I said out loud. "Maybe it's more of a village."

And another ponder conversation erupted on the way to school, with our oldest chiming in, "We don’t have enough culture here to be a village."

True.

The next town over? Definitely a plaza. Shops. Lattes. Windchimes.

The town up the mountain? They call it a city. That's generous. It’s the village. Rich in arts, outdoor adventure, community spirit.

And if you drive the other way, it’s pretty much a post office, a gold exchange, and miles and miles of farmland. Cows. Ragweed. Brooks babbling on and on about the humidity.

We moved here on purpose. Left the noise, the rush, the heat of the pavement. Traded it in for dirt roads, mountains that lean in close, and a little more sky.

And it’s beautiful. But my kid’s not wrong.

The people landscape is a slice of the times. An orchestra of intolerance. A feeling that things can tip and topple us over at any moment.

How do you live inside this hum of tension?

How do you raise kids in a world where the headlines feel like they could eat you alive, bones and all?
How do you stay steady when the ground beneath everything feels a little... unbraided?
How do you stay hopeful without burying your head in the sand?

You train for it.
Like an athlete trains. You train to master the focus of mindfulness.

Like it’s a wild horse. Not by beating it, but by loving it until it listens.

You lay down the ego sword.
You lift up the compass of the heart.

You stay steady:

When fear rattles the windows, you stay steady.
When excitement sweeps you off your feet, stay steady.
When the chores pile up and the sink is full and the car needs an oil change, stay steady.
When boredom fogs your brain, stay steady.
When the gym misses you and the cravings don't, you stay steady.
When health scares knock you sideways, you stay steady.
When the big, messy, hurtful storms come, you find your footing again.

You keep returning. Over and over.

Until one day you realize:
You’re not practicing anymore.
You're just... being.

And you do it like an Olympian.
You do it like someone who knows they’re not alone — who knows they’ve got a team who’s got your back — part earth, part earthlings, part "ether magic holding this wild place together."

You do it with the quiet, stubborn joy of someone who refuses to hand their soul over to fear.

You do it like your life depends on it.
Because it does.