Tending to the quiet work
Tending to the quiet work
The irony of going viral, reciprocity, and community building
The quiet work invites self-reflection and extends beyond echo chambers to welcome new voices and foster conversation. It is generous, always overflowing and ready to give. I cherish the quiet work because it helps me rediscover who I truly am, beyond the labels and pressures I impose on myself. It's a return to and a recollection of what is meaningful and genuine in my life.
- My response to this week’s journaling prompt
A couple of weeks ago, I shared this note with my community:
I’m not lost on the irony of the note's content, and its subsequent virality. I find it interesting that many people in this community and beyond are not striving to be loud and influential, but are instead focused on doing quiet, generous work that aligns with their values. Creative work could be considered a type of quiet work, and this philosophy can also nourish any outward work and action.
In my personal life, this quiet work has been my guiding compass. Since joining Substack, I have felt for the first time that I am on a platform nourished by the community and able to create and share in a way that aligns with my values, at a pace that's not rushed. I have also grappled with the internal push and pull between wanting success on this platform and another part of me that wants to nourish my creativity and adhere to my values of intentional, slow creation, which serves my community first and foremost. I think both wants and desires can exist (I’m only human), with the quiet work as my anchor.
When I think about the quiet work, I’m reminded of Robin Wall Kimmerer’s essay, The Serviceberry. In this essay, Kimmerer writes:
“Why then have we permitted the dominance of economic systems that commoditize everything? That create scarcity instead of abundance, that promote accumulation rather than sharing? We’ve surrendered our values to an economic system that actively harms what we love. I’m wondering how we fix that. And I’m not alone.”
Kimmerer’s words summarise these big questions in such eloquent, yet grounded ways. It makes me wonder about the power of Substack to reimagine these economic systems, where power is given to the creative, and the abundance of creativity is shared with all. I am once again feeling this internal challenge of acknowledging that I am commoditising my creative work through my paid readership; however, there feels like a balance when we consider that folks are choosing to support small-scale artists and creatives. Those of us without big audiences are beginning to carve a space for ourselves where our creativity is supported in a community-driven way.
She adds:
I think that the Serviceberries show us another model, one based upon reciprocity rather than accumulation, where wealth and security come from the quality of your relationships, not from the illusion of self-sufficiency. Without gift relationships with bees and birds, Serviceberries would disappear from the planet. Even if they hoarded abundance, perching atop the wealth ladder, they would not save themselves from the fate of extinction if their partners did not share in that abundance. Hoarding won’t save us either. All flourishing is mutual.
I’d also like to touch on reciprocity, as it feels so important to the quiet work. When we look at nature, we see that reciprocity sustains our ecological world. This notion of “wealth and security come from the quality of your relationships” is rooted in the quiet work. Generously giving back to our community, and sustaining relationships feels very important as we create sustaining ways of being in the world and with others.
I love this phrase: “All flourishing is mutual”
When considering the quiet work, this mutual flourishing feels essential. We don’t simply want our work to be for the betterment of ourselves (although that is important), we also want to consider how our work provides space for mutual flourishing and the bettering of the collective.
In engaging in this quiet, purposeful work, one strives to create not for the sake of fame, but rather for the sheer delight of sharing their passions and joys with others. This endeavour feels like a deep and intentional embrace of meaningful and fulfilling work.
In my essay, Discovering the Unknown I wrote:
As we re-evaluate our secular societies, many folks are turning to nature to source their meaning and a deeper connection with the living world - this connection to nature provides spiritual meaning to their day-to-day lives. When we gaze at a mountain ignited by the rising sun; traverse ancient woodland, covered in moss of emerald green; or swim in the vastness of the sea, we experience a sense of awe. It's this awe, which for many, is a connection to something far greater than themselves. Amongst the natural world, we find a deeper meaning: rooted in interdependence and connection with the more-than-human world.
This notion of interdependence feels incredibly important, especially when considering the often unnoticed and quiet work that goes on around us. Realizing our place in the intricate and interconnected web of life helps us understand that every action we take, no matter how small, impacts the greater whole. This awareness fosters a deeper appreciation for the delicate balance that sustains our world.
In many ways, nature is doing the quiet work. It is easy to overlook the myriad of subtle yet vital activities that nature is playing out, each contributing to the functioning of the larger system. It’s doing the work that sustains, giving and receiving generously. This awareness fosters a deeper appreciation for the delicate balance that sustains our world.
Another thing to note:
Sometimes, our work needs to be loud. In our creative and personal lives, we move between the pendulum of loud and quiet work. The loudness of our work comes to mind when I think about writing about the injustices happening in the world. Our words can be a means of propelling people in the direction of community care and social justice. This loudness, rooted in the quiet work, feels necessary and required during turbulent times.
Final note:
I am by no means a perfect proponent of the quiet work — although, being perfect is far from the point when considering this type of work. I am constantly open and receptive to the ways I engage with the world through my creativity. I don’t want to be dogmatic about one way of being and doing. In that sense, the quiet work is constantly evolving, and I’m learning from it every day, even questioning it. I hope it invites you into curious and loving dialogue, too.
Sending lots of love and quiet tending your way,
Hannah
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Hi, I’m Hannah!
I'm a writer & creative mentor based in the UK, a regular writing contributor to the transformational learning platform, Advaya, and work within the climate space focusing on fostering resilience amongst young people. I’m also a student of Zen Buddhism, an avid reader, and a lover of the natural world.
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