Meditation: You can be an agent

My favorite song is by the band Zounds, called Subvert. I first heard it when I was 14, 15 years old and it's shaped my life. The lesson I received was that power is in perspective. There is almost always a way to work toward positive change, to make the world better.

The song was written in the 70s, and the main repeating line is "If you have a job, you can be an agent." It then lists all the ways you can use the situation you are in, whether that's working in a kitchen or an office, to help others in need. Now that I run my own business, I think about it all the time. I often find I've failed in acting out all the ways I discover to utilize my power as a worker, but it is motivating to remind myself of those failures with an open heart, because there is always tomorrow, there are always opportunities for good.

As writers, what stories can you tell, what voices can you help broadcast, what curtains can you pull back? Whether it's exposing an injustice, giving a hero their flowers, or bringing humanity and perspective to a polarizing or under-considered human condition, we can be agents for good.

So for this meditation, think about — with love — where you've allowed perspective to remove power from you, and where now you can find moments of agency to fight for positive change.

Imagine yourself sitting under a large oak tree in a city park. It's a warm day and the shade is a comfort. Through the leaves, speckles of sunlight flicker and warm your face. You close your eyes to the light. You feel safe in this park, with your back against the warm bark. You take this moment to breathe deeply and slowly, in and out, taking in this tree's oxygen and giving it dioxide in return, a symbiotic friendship. You listen to the other people in the park, living their lives: What do you hear? A couple arguing, kids playing tag and squealing with excitement. Sometimes, the sound of children screaming puts you on edge, but not today. In this moment, you know they are safe. There are a few adults watching on, but these kids have the freedom to play and explore, and their tones with each other are gentle.

Suddenly, from this oak tree, sweetgum balls start to fall. But how? Their spikes alert your skin and make you feel alive — they are too light to hurt, but bring your attention suddenly back to yourself, to where you are. What does it mean that this oak tree is shedding another genus's seed?

You open your eyes. As you try to stand you find it difficult to maneuver your way up because the light spiky sweetgum balls that had tickled when they fell are now much sharper under the weight of a human. The sensation puts you on alert: not anxious or hyper vigilant, but determined. In sitting with the sounds and sensations of your surroundings, you realized there were some corners of this park you'd never noticed before, never heard. You gather yourself and head to the far corner of the park, the corner of the sweetgum trees. What is it like?