Taking a Cue From the Squirrels in My Birdhouse

Just before 2023 gave way to 2024, my husband and I drove down a mountain, talking about how to manage election-year anxiety. Specifically, my election-year anxiety. We had just spent a few days in a cottage in the woods, and we were jazzed on silence and stillness and the obligation to do nothing but walk together among the trees. To listen to the wind in the trees.

We weren’t making New Year’s resolutions, exactly. We were feeling for ways to carry those days of calm into a troubling new year. I was proposing things like eating by candlelight every night or reading only poems after 5 p.m. My husband was proposing things like hiding my phone.

For most of 2023 I managed to avoid poll-related panic by reminding myself that the election was still more than a year away. There were plenty of other calamities to worry about in the meantime — climate, biodiversity, war, gun violence, racism, health care access and the persecution of my L.G.B.T.Q. neighbors, just for starters. But lurking beneath it all was an understanding of how very much worse such troubles would get if autocrats took control of the American presidency in 2024.

My husband is not very worried about the election. He trusts that American voters aren’t fools. He is able to check the news at night and only a moment later fall into the sleep of winter bears. I, on the other hand, will lie awake if I so much as glance at the headlines after dark.

I found I didn’t worry so much while I was out on book tour last fall. There is really nothing like spending time in libraries and bookstores to give a person faith in humanity. I am profoundly direction-impaired, and solo travel can be disorienting for me, every street bewildering in the dark. But inside those little lighted spaces, people were nodding and smiling. People were reaching out for my hands.

They would go home with a book, or sometimes a whole stack of books, and I was reminded yet again of how this commonplace miracle of connection — between writers and readers, between readers and one another — persists across distances. Every time I left a bookshop or a library last fall, I was filled with love for the sweetness in people.