Senses of Reciprocity
Some musings about the gifts we give and receive—and writing prompts, of course.
Earlier this month my friend Jennie [who authors
] asked a great question [I’m grateful to have many beloved humans in my life who excel at asking great questions] about the best gifts we've received in our life, be it physical gifts or intentional acts of kindness and support.I shared a story about finding surprise tickets to Disney World tucked into our Christmas tree when I was nine, and how it was A Very Good Gift and meant that not only did I get to see WHALES and DOLPHINS and STINGRAYS and SHARKS for the first time*, I also got to meet Donatello—who was by far my favorite Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle—in front of a Harrison Ford look-alike while rocking a very '90s mullet (thanks, Mom!) and slouchy hot pink socks.
I also got to "dance" with break dancers and audition to be an extra on a Nickelodeon set; see again: A Very Good Gift.
After our initial conversation, I thought of so many more examples, including an ice-pack fish from one of my best friends I used every day for a year (hi, Jen!), a monthly Wisconsin cheese curd subscription from my brother-in-law that sincerely delights us month after month, handmade earrings from
, a recurring Life Flight subscription (my parents are nothing if not thoughtful and entirely practical gift-givers), a handmade orca that traveled all the way from Iceland to me, a handmade envelope from another dear friend (hi, Brenna!) I've had sitting on my desk for weeks—filled with heartfelt words of hers (and words of mine she shared back to me) when I needed to hear them most. That two-page handwritten letter is by far one of the best gifts I've ever received, and it's not hyperbolic to say I'll cherish it forever.I have at least a dozen letters, cards, and assorted gifts from some of my dearest humans near and far I would add to my list of "best gifts." Many of them are quick watercolors shared with love, or notes I've essentially memorized I've read them so many times. One of them is me in a rainbow raft, courtesy of
.
I started looking around and really paying attention and couldn't help but notice that despite being displaced from our home, from my desk, from everything I'm normally surrounded by, there are thoughtful gifts from beloved humans everywhere I look.
Some I had the presence of mind and time to bring with me when our house was flooding, knowing I'd need the bolstering they provide [this is also why I grabbed notebooks, my travel watercolors, and select poetry collections; it’s good to know yourself]; some have shown up in the mail between mid-January and now.
*If you're imagining I wanted to spend all of my time at SeaWorld, preferably in the water with the whales, please, then you're imagining nine-year-old Kerri correctly. Keep in mind this was before Free Willy became my middle school cinematic obsession and before I knew about how terrible it is for whales to be kept in captivity—perhaps a blessing in disguise, being that I was 100% the sort of kid who would have accidentally gotten her parents arrested for trying to free all the marine mammals in a gigantic marine park.
Speaking of gifts that ripple far beyond their original intentions, yesterday marked the last of four! years of weekly Wednesday Creative Fuel sessions led week after week by our beloved
and filled week after week with some of the brightest and most supportive humans I’ve had the pleasure of interacting with in my life.I started attending the weekly Wednesday Creative Fuel group in 2020 and from then until yesterday I only missed a handful of sessions [less than five, if my math and memory hold] since my very first Wednesday. Showing up week after week, Wednesday after Wednesday, to make (and talk about) art together was a special sort of gift—one we were collectively giving to each other every week, while getting so much back in return.
It’s difficult to summarize what weekly Creative Fuel Wednesdays have meant to me. As I told my dear friend Genny who first introduced me to Anna and Creative Fuel back in 2019, it’s not hyperbolic to say these weekly sessions (and the humans I met inside them) have changed my life.
I’ve met and more deeply connected with some of my closest friends via Creative Fuel Wednesday sessions, alongside getting to meet and be inspired by a bevy of sincerely wonderful humans around the world who I hope to be in contact with for the rest of my life.
Anna recognized the long-dormant facilitator in me and tapped me in to lead some sessions over the years so she could take well-deserved and necessary breaks. Getting to lead cozy and collaborative Creative Fuel gatherings in her stead has been a sincere and lasting gift, to be certain, and something I’ll always be grateful for.
That trust and partnership (two of the most game-changing gifts we get to give and receive in this life) also led to me helming DIVE—a seasonal writing group under the Creative Fuel umbrella—something which continues to be a highlight of my creative life, and something I feel like I was, in part, born to do: Helping writers of all types unearth their most potent stories.
What I keep coming back to: There’s such power in showing up, and such power in stepping into the reciprocity of creative community.
Even if you never joined a Wednesday session, you don’t have to miss out on the magic that is creative community; Creative Fuel will always be alive and well via Anna’s newsletter (and there’s more fun, community-centric programming en route from her and CF, too, of course)—
I've enjoyed thinking about reciprocity this month—about the seemingly endless depth and breadth of gifts we give and receive on a daily basis—oftentimes, I think, without consciously thinking about them.
Thinking about where and how we can show up—for each other, for our communities, for our beloved and essential ecosystems, for a world that so desperately needs our attention, our resolve, and our civic engagement—is something that gives me hope even on the darkest of days.
We can give our time, our words, our expertise, our support, our laughter.
We can give our tears, our empathy, our compassion, a great big hug.
We can ask silly and serious questions, cook a meal, make a cup of coffee, share a story or a selfie. We can make space for other people to tell their stories.
We can let ourselves be challenged, and challenge others in powerful, affirming ways.
We can make donations (literally life-saving in certain scenarios), Venmo friends for treats, massages, or just because.
We can send memes, send stand-up comedy bits, send flowers, send poems, send a video of someone making nachos in a huge plastic bin, send links of all kinds with a "Thought you'd like this” / “This made me think of you.”
We can pay genuine compliments to friends and strangers alike.
We can tell the truth when it's easy, and we can tell the truth when it's hard (and even when it might cost us something). We can move about the world with integrity and purpose.
We can self-advocate, and in doing so, advocate for others we share space with, and those who might not be able to safely speak for themselves.
We can learn something and share our enthusiasm about it. We can teach.
We can make signs and show up to rallies to protest systemic injustice and abhorrent violence here and abroad. We can march and chant and sing.
We can sit quietly. We can listen in profound and meaningful ways.
We can trust ourselves, and we can trust each other.
All of these things are the most precious of gifts. So many of them have less to do with spending money than they do with giving energy, time, and intention to the world around us and the countless creatures in it.
If we're lucky, we're giving and receiving gifts like this likely every day in countless ways, both intentionally and without thinking.
If we're lucky, we're surrounded by people who see us, and who want to see us better, people who want to jump into deeper pools of friendship with us, who get excited to show up for us in myriad tiny ways across the span of our days (and who let us show up for them in return)—friends who would audition to play lookout as we bust out the bolt cutters to remove the chains and pry open the doors to the the most authentic versions of ourselves.
[Friends who would also potentially even play lookout as we bust out the bolt cutters to free marine mammals from their pens.]
If we’re lucky, we’re seeking out and surrounding ourselves with people who challenge us to see the world differently, to see it more honestly, and to see it brighter—humans who inspire us to dream and build an equitable and hope-filled future for all creatures we share this planet with.
What I can't stop thinking about: How lucky I am. If you’re reading this, I bet you're lucky, too.
Writing prompts below, and you know I'd love to hear about any favorite, memorable gifts in your life if you're up for sharing.
WRITING PROMPTS TO EXPLORE RECIPROCITY
Where do you currently have community?
Where are you seeking community?
Make a list of beloved gifts you’ve given and/or received in your life.
Follow-up prompt: Circle a few that stand out most to you, and spend a handful of minutes writing about them, noting any feelings that come up when you do.
Write about a time you felt like you truly belonged somewhere, past or present.
Make a list of things you can do to ask for and/or receive help.
Make a list of ways you might be able to offer help to your larger communities.
I always recommend sitting with each of these prompts for at least ten minutes at a time. Set a timer and try to keep writing for ten minutes without stopping or self-editing or even trying to steer yourself a certain direction. I’m a firm and longtime believer that when it comes to prompts like these, wherever you end up on the page is precisely where you’re meant to be.
A little bit of backstory about Kerrtopia & the woman behind the words:
A lifelong writer, enthusiastic English Lit major (see also: I read a lot), and fan of learning something new every day, I wanted a dedicated space to share more writing-specific thoughts and prompts more regularly. By day I work for an indie nonfiction publisher, and by night (among other things) I lead a quarterly writing workshop called DIVE via Creative Fuel Collective—you can learn all about it and sign up to be kept in the loop for future offerings right here.
Registration is open right here for DIVE’s upcoming cohort [April-June 2024]. Have questions about the sessions? Odds are good I have answers. Please reach out!
Do you know someone who would benefit from receiving regular writing prompts to their inbox, who might delight in reading some intentional rambles about words and water and the power in finding our respective and collective (voices +) senses of place?
I’d love it if you’d share this post and Kerrtopia with them.
Kerrtopia is a free offering, though I've turned on paid subscriptions for this newsletter if you have the means to support it now or anytime in the future. It's not necessary to pay to read, but it is of course very much appreciated. I’ll likely be adding some special content for paid subscribers down the line. Thanks for reading, and for your ongoing support. I’m grateful you’ve found me here, grateful we’re here together. You can also find me on Instagram.
Oh my goodness this is so lovely. Gratitude x 1000000.
This is so beautiful 💕💕💕💕💕