In a feeble attempt to avoid discomfort, most of us spend our lives running in circles trying to control our lives or at least give the illusion we live extraordinary lives. We try to pretend we are fine despite facing life’s twists and turns.

We are losing ourselves and each other in the process, forgetting most of our lives are spent in gloriously ordinary moments, making ordinary choices. Ordinary choices in favor of listening, kindness, empathy, self-compassion, wonder, play, and connection are what makes for a happy, healthy life across a lifespan. Even when we face uncertainty and hardship. Even when the chips are down.

Science shows us over and over again we are happier and healthier across decades when we link arms, face forward together, and stay deeply connected.

The sequoia redwood trees are the biggest in the world.

The largest is about 275 ft tall, 25 feet in diameter, and around 2,500 years old. A tree that huge must have an incredible root system that goes down deep into the earth in order to stand upright, right? Nope. Sequoia roots are relatively shallow, only reaching down 6-12 feet. These mammoth trees withstand strong winds, earthquakes, fires, storms, and flooding, with roots only going down about 10 feet. How?

The sequoia trees’ root systems are tightly intertwined. Just under the surface, these root systems literally hold each other up. 

These trees’ root systems are like a community of women, arms interlocked, shoulder to shoulder, standing strong in unity, supporting each other, creating safety, celebrating together, and building community.

Having interwoven roots prevents the sequoias from being knocked down, thus protecting the individual, the group, and, importantly, the sapling trees. These trees actually communicate with each other, sending messages and even sharing nutrients through their roots, protecting each other, especially those trees deemed to be most at risk. 

This is how they have survived for thousands of years.

When wildfires threaten the great sequoias, firefighters rush in and wrap the trunks of high-priority trees in foil. These high-priority trees are critical to the entire redwood forest’s survival. High-priority trees must be saved so younger or at-risk trees can survive. 

The tinfoil works. 

The high-priority trees are saved, thus, securing the safety of those trees that make it through the fires. 

We are mighty sequoias. 

When we prioritize connection with other women, we all benefit. When we care deeply, protect, share, and fight for each other, we thrive, and our families thrive. 

Women are the priority trees, the ones others rely on for safety, security, and nourishment. We need to remember how vital our role is, no matter what age or stage, or circumstance we find ourselves in. 

Science shows us that when we are connected, we are happier and healthier. When we are connected, we continue to grow.

On the other hand, science shows that disconnect is damaging to our health, our happiness, and even our economy. Disconnect puts us at risk for a variety of addictions and dangerous behaviors. 

Disconnect leads to loneliness. Loneliness was an epidemic well before the pandemic. The pandemic simply broke the system. Loneliness has been associated with an increased chance of dementia, heart disease, and hospitalization. 

When we disable our instinct for connection, we become vulnerable to loneliness. Without connection, we aren’t able to problem-solve or resolve conflict effectively. It becomes difficult to reimagine solutions for the challenges we are facing. We lose our ability to stay mentally and emotionally nimble. 

Especially during times of transition, it is easy to retreat or plaster a smile on our face and pretend everything is fine. The harder choice can be to choose in favor of a deeper connection with people by being honest about the joys and fears we are facing. 

Each of us, in our own ways, faces a new chapter. Life is complicated and demanding in ways no other generation has faced. 

This ain’t your grandmother’s life’s transition. 

When I was young, I remember being enthralled with my grandmother’s buffet, which housed drawers dedicated to the card game bridge. 

There were linen napkins we couldn’t use because ‘they were for bridge.’ There were nuts we couldn’t eat because ‘they were for bridge.’ Candies, coasters, little pencils, and colorful notepads that filled the drawers were ‘only for bridge,’ too. 

I once walked into my grandmother’s house as a very young girl while she was hosting her friends for bridge. All the women wore pretty dresses. They sipped drinks and rested their glasses on fancy napkins, I vividly remember thinking, ‘Oh, no! Am I going to have to grow up and play bridge?’ 

The monotony and tedium of bridge playing seemed unavoidable. My grandma played bridge. So did my mom. Bridge didn’t look like much fun (aside from the pretty dresses and beautiful napkins). I didn’t like playing card games. I’d rather just have fun. Would I have to play bridge in order to be a grown-up? 

This was my first existential crisis. I was four.

Thankfully, I was afforded more choices in my life. I decided to throw myself wholeheartedly into a messier, less predictable life than my grandmother had. I’ve won, I’ve lost, I’ve moved a lot, I’ve hurt, and I’ve loved without boundaries. I have grieved. I’ve made some real doozy mistakes. It hasn’t always looked pretty, but I’ve cobbled together a life with a whole lot of meaning. 

And a lot of transitions. 

Psychologists have a word for uncomfortable life transitions: ‘Liminality.’ It means the time between roles at work, career paths, and changes in relationships. 

I don’t know about you, but I think liminality sucks. I’m beaten down and exhausted from all the liminality. Mercy, already! I’m ready for bonbon eating and stability.

I’ve had a scorching case of liminality for years now. 

Six years ago, our financial situation changed when my husband lost his job for two years. Four years ago, my husband had a stroke. Two years ago, I had a hysterectomy. One year ago, we downsized. This hardly feels like a transition. It feels more like a life quake!

The good news is that 90% of the time, people ultimately report their transitions were a success insofar as they made it through in one piece and with no permanent setbacks. Though in my case, I developed a full-blown addiction to Lindor Chocolates, and I spend way too much time wondering if my lymphatic drainage system works properly.

Anyhoo. Want more good news? 

Worry, anxiety, and stress are actually linked to meaningfulness. Worry, anxiety, and stress may not make us happy, but these uncomfortable feelings end up providing meaning. And meaning is really good for us.

For those of us who are drowning in transition, coughing up a lung, barely able to keep our nose above water, we can look forward to meaning. A lot of meaning. 

Meaning oozes into the cracks of our lives and solidifies, like the way oatmeal does when people don’t rinse out their bowls. This hardened meaning glues the pieces of our lives together, which, hold onto your hat, actually helps us feel more stable in the long run. Especially during future transitions.

How do we bring meaning and health into the shitstorm we call life, you ask? 

First, actively connect.

Take a chance. Go beyond small talk and polite conversation. Actually, share. Be vulnerable. Connect.

When we see the world, and each other, through the goggles of connection, concern, curiosity, and compassion, we heal trauma. We self-regulate. We reduce loneliness which keeps us out of the hospital and helps with our brain health.

Next? Love people, not stuff. 

In theory, we know this, but it is harder to put into practice for many of us because we live in a society that tells us more is better. We live in a world that believes we need the prettiest homes, the greatest cars, the nicest vacations, and the most enviable clothes in order to be considered successful. Unfortunately, the high of stuff doesn’t last for long. We end up feeling detached and let down, needing more stuff to create the adrenaline ‘hit’ we had when we bought the previous stuff. 

Studies show people who put great value on wealth, status symbols, and material possessions are more likely to be depressed and anti-social. So the thing we think will make us feel whole and happy does quite the opposite.

To be clear, wealth and surrounding yourself with beautiful things are not the problem. Not at all. The problem comes when we find ourselves in an endless race to fill emotional voids with stuff. Focus on loving people instead of stuff.

And, lastly, play.

Play, for God’s sake! Would it kill you to be playful?

Play improves brain function, stimulates creativity, it helps us problem solve, improves relationships, play actually heals emotional wounds! 

Go to comedy clubs. Laugh. Be silly. Try something ridiculous. Be ridiculous. But play. Play like your life depends on it because it does. 

Not only does play help and heal us, but when we play, we model joy and healthy living for our families, friends, and even strangers! Emotions are contagious. When you are joyful, you spread joy. When you spread joy, you receive joy in return. Pretty soon, you are creating a habit of joy. Your joy, your healing, protects us all.

We are the great sequoias.

Don’t ever minimize your importance, your power, or our collective ability to transform each other’s lives. We are worth rushing in and protecting. Our figurative (and literal) forests are worth fighting for. Wrap yourself and each other in protective foil so we all flourish ~ so we all get through the fires of these brutal but meaningful transitions.