Aloha nui nō kākou,
“Busy-ness can easily become a cover for mediocrity when you don’t make time for proximity.”
– Tulaine Montgomery
I wanted to dive deeper into the theme of busy-ness tonight, a sickness of which I am afflicted. It’s just one way that I’ve learned to cope with life, to move forward, always having something to plan, something to be committed to. Rest is something I idealize, but I’m honestly not that great at it. How about you?
Aunty often asked us about this, how we were doing with our busy-ness. But the truth was that she was always going just as hard. During the pandemic, when her circles moved online, we’d talk on the phone. “I’ve just been to China!” she’d say, voice filled with wonder. “…in my Zoom canoe!” She was thrilled to connect, to bring people together. Even when she became ill, her work inspired her. It gave her drive to get better and get out of whatever facility she was in. She was always thinking of the next circle, curating it in her mind. I loved that about her, even as I wasn’t sure and then eventually knew that we would not have another circle like the ones we had before.
Family and friends visited her when they could, forming impromptu circles in whatever facility she was in. The nurses became her friends. She inquired deeply of their lives and dreams. Sometimes it was just a circle of two. We brought lei, flowers, art. Natto and poi. We bore witness to each other in the way she taught us: without judgment, without the need to fix or respond, just being curious together.
I recently reflected with a friend about the value of Aunty’s circles—how they shaped us and maybe you, too. The equity of time, the sacredness of listening. It was a sort of deep collective presencing that I refer to as witnessing. We have the privilege of witnessing each other’s stories in the circle, our blue skies, our dark days. It’s a beautiful thing.
When prepping for this post I was going through my notes on busy-ness and found some amazing, decontextualized quotes from some conference or another. I realized they were from an iHuddle I attended in 2023, hosted by Līli‘uokalani Trust. They come from an inspiring talk by Tulaine Montgomery, CEO of New Profit, who spoke of proximity as a practice—a muscle we must build to hold space for each other:
“It’s important to be intentional about building proximity. Proximity is a practice—building muscle to enlarge space we hold, for what we share. If you don’t actively practice proximity, the well-intentioned things that you build on your own to help community will cause harm that is invisible to you.”
She also said, “People speak of hope as if it’s this delicate, ephemeral thing. But it’s not. Hope has dirt on her face, blood on her knuckles… Love is the only fuel that will enable us to make changes at the systemic level.”
In my community development work over the years, I’ve witnessed the accidental violence of good intentions—when well-meaning folks with some kind of power don’t know what they don’t know. This perpetuates systemic inequities due to lack of proximity, of context. And hope and love—bloody knuckles and all—they’re not just blind idealism. Hope is fought for. Love becomes fuel for change. This makes me think about aloha. Aloha is not passive, it’s not just blind love, it’s an active force. It’s profound too, because it doesn’t sit in blind opposition, either. To me aloha feels like coming to the middle in the way that Aunty taught us. It isn’t easy, but it’s necessary.
Aunty taught us to sit in the cognitive dissonance of our work. In Building the Beloved Community, the only way to help people discover where their hope lies is through articulating and valuing our gifts out loud in a world that would call for our erasure. It’s through telling our whole story, not just the pain but the triumph too. The way we engage and enact our gifts and whole stories towards hope is a radical act of sustainability and perpetuation in an increasingly violent and disconnected world.
Ua mau ke ea o ka ‘āina i ka pono. The life of the land is perpetuated in hope.
Proximity and hope are intertwined. The strength of our relationships, our nearness to one another, deepens our understanding and makes the social fabric more lush, more alive. In that closeness, we not only reduce harm but also stand together for what must be protected, for the non-negotiables. We cultivate hope in the very act of showing up for each other. I think this can help us overcome the dissonance that occurs in systems where people on one end are disconnected from the folks on the other end. In our speed and distance, we misalign; we can’t recognize each other’s needs.
I don’t know how to solve the conundrum of busy-ness. Peace and rest can feel like a privilege, self-care an indulgence, a box to check—performative and hard to prioritize amidst our myriad crises. Maybe for now, while I work on my nervous system, I can settle for proximity. If I must be busy, let it be in alignment with what I believe in, with what I know I must protect, with people I love. (In the system of my body, what is my proximity to rest? What violence am I unintentionally doing to myself? What beliefs must I reconcile, what must I protect, how can I love myself more? Where does hope lie?)
I wonder, what space(s) do you actively hold, and build muscle for? Do these spaces drive you toward proximity and hope? Want to work out together?
Aunty often asked about the difference between having a job and having work. She never began her circles with introductions of titles or professions. She wanted us to know each other as humans first. Only in the fifth circle would she ask us to tell the story of our work. She’d have us read this poem, “Work as Blessing,” and share the story of the thread we hold onto. Here’s that poem by the beautiful poet, John O’Donohue, to support you as we enter a new week and grapple with the ways of the world:
Work as Blessing
May your work excite your heart,
Kindle in your mind a creativity
To journey beyond the old limits
Of all that has become wearisome.May this work challenge you toward
New frontiers that will emerge
As you begin to approach them,
Calling forth from you the full force
And depth of your undiscovered gifts.May the work fit the rhythms of your soul,
Enabling you to draw from the invisible
New ideas and a vision that will inspire.Remember to be kind
To those who work with you,
Endeavor to remain aware
Of the quiet world
That lives behind each face.Be fair in your expectations,
Compassionate in your criticism.
May you have the grace of encouragement
To awaken the gift in the other’s heart,
Building in them the confidence
To follow the call of the gift.May you come to know that work
Which emerges from the mind of love
Will have beauty and form.May this work be worthy
Of the energy of your heart
And the light of your thought.May your work assume a proper space in your life;
Instead of owning or using you,
May it challenge and refine you,
Bringing you every day further
Into the wonder of your heart.John O’Donohue, To Bless the Space Between Us
Mahalo nui,
Dawn
Lake Waiau in the ahupua‘a of Ka‘ohe on Hawai‘i Island near the summit of Maunakea taken 2/20/25