If you like the topics discussed in this newsletter, you can buy a copy of my Patchwork Manifesto here.
My investigation draws on ancient teachings to explain why we stand at the edge of radical change.
It’s a challenging read. Consider this tiny manual if you are just starting your journey.
Welcome to the first pivot point of 2024, everyone.
This is our first eclipse of the year, and it falls in Libra, the sign of partnerships and diplomacy. For the past 2.5 years, we’ve been having eclipses in late April into mid May, which felt stressful because this is a time in the modern world associated with end of school, moving/packing and the need to organize summer plans.
But this year we have our pivot point bumped up to late March and early April. This is essentially Easter time, associated with rebirth. I feel like the events coming to our personal lives will give us a chance to walk into spring and shed what’s left of winter.
Of course, if you look back at all the previous newsletters I’ve written this year, I’ve been discussing global rather than personal things—the way group consciousness is breaking down, niching down and becoming more cultish. This is just humanity’s attempt to fill a spiritual void left after 2020, when the shared Public Square was demolished.
We don’t have “a society” anymore. We have a patchwork of micro societies. Each attempt to resurrect the Big Tent culture of the pre-2020 world is met with less success each time. The “Barbie” and “Oppenheimer” craze of last summer is already dust in the wind. The Swiftie Super Bowl craze is a distant winter echo.
Instead, what we’re resurrecting at this spring pivot point is our ability to BELIEVE that our 1-on-1 relationships are feeding into the growth of a SELF that can stand on its own two feet in this brave new world.
This is essentially a courage challenge that will take shape over the next month or so, and that will have effects until we get to our autumn eclipses.
What can a new self do in a new world? Well, many things. Perhaps the self stays a bit local. Or perhaps that self gets a megaphone and tries to organize people online.
Really, these destinations are besides the point. What we’re truly looking at is a self that sees POSSIBILITY in the new world, whatever path that self chooses to trek on.
Because the real concern now is that the self will not want to shed its old habits through deep 1-on-1 conversations, intimacy and growth.
Instead, the risk is that the self will want to remain angry, resentful, frustrated and yes, even violent.
It can seek out abrasive antagonistic encounters or even band together with other hateful people in order to leave a scratch on this supposedly lonely planet.
I would highly advise all my readers over the next few weeks to practice situational awareness, because some people are ready to pop off now, in response to any perceived slight.
The goal is to constructively CHANNEL our “failed” attempts to make headway or take action in this changing new world.
We’ve got to continually pick ourselves back up, through trusting connection in our partnerships.
Now, those partnerships may be undergoing deep renovation, or if new they may be of an unusual flavor—age gaps, racial differences, language barriers, different career paths, and so on.
It’s not like we’re walking into a stable vacuum-sealed controlled environment.
This will continue to test our patience, or more likely, our ability to suspend disbelief. Can we open up to the world and invite the possibility of beauty, fantasy and unexpected growth without diving into escapist ideologies that try to control and predetermine an outcome?
One must take action at this time, but also not expect that one has all the answers, either.
To unpack this lesson held inside our current zeitgeist, I’m turning to a film that’s beloved by many, so maybe you’ve watched it already: Sofia Coppola’s “Lost in Translation.”
A Match Made in Heaven & Hell
The movie essentially centers on the relationship between two people: Bob, a middle-aged former actor supporting his family with whiskey ads, and Charlotte, a recent graduate of Yale and newly married to boot.
Both of them are in Tokyo, for work related reasons. Bob is of course there to do a shoot for the whiskey company—he even sees a billboard with his likeness upon arriving. Charlotte is there on work of a different variety. Her husband is doing photo shoots for Japanese rock bands. So her “work” is to figure out what she’s going to do, and much of the film follows her trying to get into a rhythm, and even listening to self-help audio books.
She discovers that Bob doesn’t have much of a path, despite seeming to have all the external markers of one. She learns that he’s dissatisfied with the work, and even his dull marriage.
This is where they bond: even though Charlotte is figuring out what to do with her philosophy degree, Bob is looking to abandon his degree in stardom.
I find it interesting that both characters in this movie are tied to the photography, film and media world in some way. They’re both highly creative people, but they’re feeling disillusioned by the presentation of a certain kind of image. Likewise, leading up to this pivot point you may have been on a rollercoaster, feeling inspired highs followed by disillusioned lows.
It draws out the need for commitment, stability and hard decisions. But how, when things seem so meandering?
The same question faces Bob and Charlotte. Bob decides to stay for work a little bit longer, as his relationship with Charlotte deepens. They’re a lifeline to each other, and through their time together they are shedding old habits and learning that they have the strength and courage to live in a changing world.
The recurring trope is that neither of them can sleep, so they often rendezvous at the bar of the hotel they’re both staying at.
That’s when the viewer starts to see some of the frustration that can potentially hold each character back. Charlotte in her worst moments comes off as pretentious and elitist, unable to connect emotionally with other people because she is bored and lost. Her husband bears the brunt of this, and he often wonders why she acts so petty at times.
Meanwhile, Bob’s wife bears the brunt of his own boredom and jadedness, as he zones out on phone conversations and goes to some empty place in his mind. Problem is, the empty place is not a place of Zen stability but again a kind of lostness. We see Bob try swimming, golfing, cardio machines and low fat diets—all of which never quite “stick” for him because he can’t emotionally connect with them. He’s still too attached to the old habits, which he simultaneously despises, like Charlotte who stays attached to her ideological cynicism that controls everything but keeps her stuck.
This does allow for some humorous moments, like when Bob’s host company sends him a hooker or when he gets sent to wait at a strip club. Nothing can arouse his interest anymore it seems, and he zones out again—not wanting to go home, but feeling like a stranger in a strange land.
Essentially, many of us may be feeling like Bob and Charlotte at this juncture: finding a slice of heaven in hell, but also not knowing how that’s going to get us to the other side or onto greener pastures. Some kind of commitment is needed, right? Bob and Charlotte can’t stay in their Tokyo fantasy land forever.
So let’s keep diving in.
Controlled Burn
Eventually Charlotte and Bob start to learn this harsh truth. And what’s worse, dealing with this harsh truth and moving forward with hard decisions, not knowing how it’ll all play out. . .or staying stuck in the old habits, which are really dissatisfying?
Really, what are the options that the movie is presenting us with? Are Bob and Charlotte going to leave their respective spouses and instead marry each other? The script does tip toe up to that line on many occasions.
And tip toe it does: the film moves at a rather slow pace, never really erupting into a dramatic climax or explosion.
Instead, what happens is that when tension mounts, it begins to move into a channeled path, like a controlled burn through a field of crops.
This is a valuable insight right now, because you’ll likely see people burning it all down. . .and for what?
For less than they already have right now.
They may think they’re getting more by resisting the change and fighting with it, but they may be taking down their bountiful harvest at the same time, which is a shame.
The message is to focus on what you have, and burn away the waste to allow for additional new crops to fill out your garden.
Spoiler ahead. At an important turning point in the movie, Bob and Charlotte go to lunch and begin to lash out at one another. Not only are they underslept, but they’re being pushed to a point where they need to make some decisions to act, but neither of them really wants to act.
Declaring love for each other is risky. Leaving their spouses is even riskier. Neither of them can stay in Tokyo many more days, though.
A waiter brings out the menu. All the dishes look the same. Bob looks at it with jaded disgust. Charlotte sulks. Eventually, Bob calls off the food when he discovers that it’s a cook-your-own restaurant where they bring out a little grill for you.
He resists action. Charlotte risks action. “Bring out a couple beers,” Bob grumbles.
But, unexpectedly, a fire alarm goes off in the hotel in the middle of the night. Bob spies Charlotte from afar. They greet each other. They’re both already awake per usual, suffering from insomnia.
Charlotte comes back to Bob’s room for some very deep talks. She asks Bob if marriage gets easier. He essentially replies that you find your rhythm, even if things feel awkward at times.
All the anger they feel at their life, and which got directed at each other at lunch, is starting to turn into courage.
They are seeing that courage can see possibility where disbelief once reigned supreme.
Bob is returning to Los Angeles a bit more focused, and Charlotte is returning to her husband, a bit more at ease.
There’s one last conversation between the two, but the audience can’t hear it. We’re left to guess what this intimate exchange entails. Does Bob just give her a supportive pep talk, or does he suggest that, in the future, perhaps they’ll get together after all?
We don’t really know. All we know is that Charlotte nods and is in tears.
And it doesn’t fully matter what was said, in a literal sense. What they establish is an exchange that suspends disbelief—they can now believe that going into the future holds possibility, rather than drudgery.
Things are not set in stone for them, and they don’t have to build rigid castle walls to compete with that bleak reality.
Instead, they’ve got a grip on their own lostness, and they’re channeling it into a journey of a lifetime.
Ideas like this can’t be fully translated. They can only be felt in the moment, by diving into it with action and belief.
I hope that spring’s pivot point will bring you a similar epiphany. See you at Part Two in a couple weeks.
If you like the topics discussed in this newsletter, you can buy a copy of my Patchwork Manifesto here.
My investigation draws on ancient teachings to explain why we stand at the edge of radical change.
It’s a challenging read. Consider this tiny manual if you are just starting your journey.