Touching Grass
nervous system regulation in these times
Based on a recent podcast episode of Morning Tinto, which I co-host with
There's so much spinning in my head— around everything coming out about artificial intelligence, the devastating impact it is having on the planet, water, energy use, the implications for everyday human beings,
and especially for those who are resisting oppression and fascism,
the normalising of AI.
How it's everywhere ,
it's being pushed everywhere.
The impact of oppression being validated by the federal government in the United States, which is having knock on effects through the states, through organisations, through private companies, through individuals
and across the world.
Our friend and colleague, Kay, talking about people being in emergency mode in the US.
And I know of people here in Colombia who have lost jobs and funding.
For me, personally, I don't live in the United States. I don't know what it feels like to to be around people that scared, in that way, right now.
I spent a couple of years fully immersed in the experiences of asylum seekers and refugees In the United Kingdom. And so I do understand what it's like to be around that constant uncertainty and stress.
And they want us to be in a constant state of stress.
It's hard to connect with other people, it's hard to be in relationship, it’s hard to strategise, think clearly, and organise — when we're in a constant state of stress.
During the first Trump presidency, there was some of this, but more of it was outrage.
And now it's more of a kind of existential stress due to impacts on more people, people with more privilege and power than were impacted in the first presidency.
And so what's on my mind today is nervous system regulation.
My daughter is 16, and there's a saying around “touching grass”,
that some people never touch grass.
Touching grass means being in touch with the physical world and not just engaging virtually through our phones, our laptops, our desktops, our tablets.
It's going out and being with this stunning planet on which we live.
Yesterday, the sun came out for the first time in a while, and I left the house and immediately was hit with a quality of the air that reminded me of England, like a spring or summer evening in England.
It was about 5pm here, so one hour left of light, and it was just delicious and nostalgic. And it fed me it. It was sad as well as delicious. And it fed me in a way that being on a Zoom call with my friends in England can't do.
Our sense of urgency can make it seem like we don't have time to touch grass. We have to figure out how to make money. We have to figure out how to protect loved ones. There is no time to touch grass.
But I argue, and I believe the science does, too, brain science, that we won't be as creative, we won't come up with as good strategies, if our nervous system isn't regulated.
So, if we want to keep as many people as safe as possible, if we want to figure out how we're going to live in these times, if It's that urgent, then we have to slow down, or we will make big mistakes.
We will miss excellent opportunities for connection, for building solidarity, for resisting effectively. We can't skip that part. Or else it will backfire.
That's so hard to get our heads around because it feels like the house is on fire. But, for most of us, it literally is not on fire.
If we want to make good decisions about how to respond to the genocide in Gaza, where houses and people are literally on fire, we need to think clearly. We need to decide with others. And we won't be able to do that if we're acting as if it is our house on fire. We need all of our senses alive and well and directed towards what makes sense in these times.
Grounding ourselves, reading physical books, getting fresh air, water, healthy food, getting together with people laughing and thinking together. Touching grass together.
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