By Jan Worth-Nelson

It’s tough to greet you, dear readers, at a time on the calendar which is supposed to be about abundance, when millions of Americans do not know where their next meal will come from or how they will provide for their children in the coming months – through no fault of their own.

After EVM editor Kate Stockrahm asked me to offer a Village Life column for this month, I dug up one from my essay collection from 2007, believe it or not, that celebrated the word “cornucopia.”

This was, of course, a Thanksgiving column, noting what it is sometimes like to assemble around the table as families, with way too much food, way too much of everything. But it is a naïve luxury these days to engage in breezy affirmations of surfeit.

It is infuriating that the cornucopia, that symbol of abundance, now seems tone deaf and inappropriate. As Heather Cox Richardson recently asked with her customary clarity, “What are we doing, folks?”

And, as Michelle Obama recently confessed to Stephen Colbert regarding the demolition of the White House’s East Wing, my response is: “I’m lost.”

“It makes me confused,” Obama said. “What are our norms? What are our standards? What are our traditions? … What is important to us as a nation anymore? Because I’m lost.”

She noted there had been “a whole standard of norms and rules that we followed to a T – that we painstakingly tried to uphold –because it was bigger than us,” and that, “as a country,” we have to decide what rules we are following and who is to abide by them. “And I hope that more Americans feel lost in a way that they want to be found again, because it is up to us to find what we’re losing,” she concluded.

I feel it. These last few years, I feel like I have to some extent disappeared from myself, have disappeared from who I thought I was and what I could expect from the world. I know I am not alone in this.

From the darker troughs recently, yes, I have heard the calls from my periphery about joy – about joy as a form of resistance, of joy as self-care, bringing light to our days as we approach Winter Solstice.

But some days those calls are empty echoes, hard to hear and act on. What are those sources of joy? Allow me to consider a few.

For me, one is turning to the natural world. It costs nothing to get outside, to get off the couch or get out of the car at ForMar Nature Preserve. I’ve been going out there almost every day, taking long walks, breathing, taking photos of the beautiful changing landscape of trees, sky, water.

And how about singing? One of the sweetest afternoons in my life lately was joining a hundred others at the Unitarian Universalist church for a community singalong.

Longtime beloved musicians Mustard’s Retreat – Flint native Libby Glover and David Tamulevich – along with Dan Hall and Matt Watroba, led us in what to me was a blissful two hours of singing. I went with my neighbors Larry and Ann, and all three of us warbled along – we were ourselves a little harmonizing trio – through a dozen or more old songs most of us in the notably gray-haired crowd have known and loved for years.

I suggest if there’s anything we need to learn from these difficult times, it’s that we can’t just think about ourselves. Singing in harmony is a perfect metaphor for what we need. Ah, a connection between the two threads of this column: the need to retain joy and the need to join as a community to help each other. The first can be a direct gift of the second.

Our neighbors need us. The children need us. This is no joke, and we are learning we can’t count on politicians of either or any party to save us and each other from tough times. This is a time for individual actions that together can become collective love, collectively creating abundance for the community. At EVM, that looks like sharing resources (like where to find a free turkey or meal this Thanksgiving) and updating our online articles as more organizations and individuals join the effort.

Remember the word “Thanksgiving” is not just about thanks, but about giving. Let’s open our hearts, take walks, keep singing, and spread the joy of helping each other through the struggle. Let’s make sure the children have an abundant table now and into the future. Let’s not be lost. Together, let’s be found again.

Editor’s Note: A version of this article originally appeared in East Village Magazine’s November 2025 issue.