Each Attentive Step, A Quiet Revolution: Tending to What Emerges in SilenceHonoring Earth Day, meditative embodiment, and the slow, beautiful work of tending to what matters.
I am happy to report that my experiment these past five weeks of stepping back from social media continues to unfold in meaningful ways. Aside from the occasional inadvertent migration of my finger toward familiar apps I am still not ready to delete, I've mostly stayed true to this intention, noticing subtle yet significant changes. I've reclaimed some psychic real estate within myself—mental clarity, a deeper capacity for creativity, and even a renewed writing practice have emerged. The overwhelming noise of daily events now arrives in smaller, more digestible doses, allowing me to engage with the complexities of our world with greater intention.
Of course, this process hasn’t been entirely painless. Initially, during the first weeks of Lent, I was immediately struck by how uncomfortable I felt extricating myself from the constant chatter—wondering anxiously what I might be missing. Despite my diligent avoidance of social media, my phone still reported considerable screen time. It felt like I was craving applause from my device for every small yet herculean effort I was making! Yet, wherever a void appears, something swiftly moves in to fill it. Indeed, podcasts and audiobooks have been occupying more of my time, often starting before I'd even left my porch for dog walks.
Then, sometime during the second week, I began to challenge myself further by walking for at least half of my route in true silence. To my delight, silence was neither empty nor quiet. It is richly alive—songbirds serenading, ravens calling, mourning doves softly cooing. Each effort I make to embrace the discomfort of actively listening to the world around me, the more heightened my senses become, allowing me to notice a hawk perched high above on a telephone wire, a doe camouflaged amid the unfurling salmonberry blossoms, and the first nettles of spring, signaling fresh foraging possibilities.
This journey away from algorithmic distractions has gently reminded me of the profound wisdom held within the body. True transformation isn’t abstract; it happens in our cells, our bones, our senses. By deeply listening, nurturing what aches, and immersing myself in life's simple pleasures, I feel myself becoming attuned to a more embodied knowing. Each step in silence is a small revolution, bringing me back home to myself.
While I still intend to make the most of the final days of my Lenten fast, I can already feel that the spiritual benefits will extend well beyond its conclusion. My hope is that when I eventually return to those nefarious platforms—ideally only when necessary— I can do so with greater discernment, using them for their practical purposes while remembering that a living, breathing world awaits my witness and engagement beyond the screen.
But like all revolutions, the path isn't straight or predictable. Healing does not progress linearly, but is remarkably cyclical in nature—two steps forward, one step back. Backtracking helps to reassure us of our footing, our location on this Earth, revisiting where we have been so we can better know where we are going. Nevertheless, change is the only reliable constant, and the energy of the cosmos is always, only moving in one forward direction.
As Lauren Olamina, the protagonist in Octavia Butler’s Parable of the Sower, so wisely reminds us:
“Change is the one unavoidable, irresistible, ongoing reality of the universe.” “All that you touch you change. All that you change changes you...God is change.”
These words have echoed for me since I first read them decades ago (incidentally, Butler’s Parable books are currently bestsellers—more than 30 years after they were first published… go figure) as they offer both humility and comfort, reminding us that to resist change is to resist life itself. And yet, to walk alongside change—to tend it with care and attention—is to participate in something sacred and transcendent.
Some days my resolve to be my better, constantly evolving self is stronger than others. I do all the “right” things: start the morning with a prayer and a meditation, avoid the noise, the junk food, silence my baser instincts. And then other days I am reaching for my phone before I am even out of bed, drinking more coffee than is good for my nervous system, and gobbling up every bit of content my mind can absorb.
Meditation is touted as the only real path to enlightenment, and the few glimpses I have had of that spacious, potent void that awaits me within do taste promising. Yet, sitting still for any longer than fifteen minutes hurts my hips, and my mind is literally counting down the seconds until I can resume going about my business. The only real success I have had with longer meditative stints is when I have been able to remove myself completely from my day-to-day on a spiritual sabbatical of sorts. But running off to the jungle or sequestering oneself to an ashram is not an option for many—or all that often.
However, walking meditations are a great way to keep in touch with one’s inner space while keeping the body moving at the same time. A few mornings ago I left the house without any podcast chattering in my ear, intent on experiencing the whole hour-long walk in true silence. I immediately felt the ripeness of the moment, no anxiety surfacing about being without my device for that long. Just me and my thoughts with the birds in the trees. I was so elated to notice myself paying attention to everything and it was gloriously liberating… for about 20ish minutes.
But as I acknowledged earlier, wherever a void emerges there is always something waiting to rush in and colonize that open space. Much like the clearcut I walk past every morning that is about ten years into its own healing process. Where there were only stumps and forest debris, now boasts flowering currants, red alders, and willows, more than happy to take advantage of the plentiful sunlight.
My capacity to pay attention to the world around me—each step, each breath—diminishes at about twenty minutes before the thoughts of my to-do list, bookshop needs, all the shoulds and coulds, reclaims my headspace. But that is better than the five minutes that lasted two weeks ago, or even yesterday morning. Our meditation—our ability to pay attention—is a muscle, and it gets stronger every time we exercise it. And the more I am able to catch myself, bring my awareness to how my mind has taken over once again, that is the real heart of meditation.
I’m deeply grateful for the companionship of our dog, Winona, who continually guides me toward the immediacy and wonder of the natural world. This April marks two years since our return home to the Salish Sea, two cycles around the sun and eight seasons of constant transformation—a reminder of life's inherent cyclical nature. As spring fully awakens with nightly frog choruses, blooming bulbs, and longer, warmer days, I'm comforted by the dependable rhythms of nature, embodying the interconnectedness that defines our existence.
We live near Discovery Bay, and each step of my daily walk along Cape George Road has become so ingrained I could probably navigate it with my eyes closed—if not for the occasional speeding car that whizzes past. I've become so familiar with this route that I comfortably read a physical book while walking Winona, leash in my left hand, pages turning in my right. This is a practice I first developed during the sixteen years spent walking through my NE Portland neighborhood. I was delighted to discover I could carry it forward here, once my feet memorized the new terrain. It's now second nature, yet it continues to amuse and intrigue our new neighbors, who've affectionately dubbed me “the Reader”—a nickname I warmly embrace, as it feels particularly fitting for a bookseller. Reading + walking = my meditative self-regulatory sweet spot.
Reading, after all, is its own kind of meditative practice. It slows us down, attunes our senses, and invites us into deeper presence with ourselves and one another. At Imprint, we’ve come to think of the bookshop not just as a place to buy books, but as a space to nourish attention, curiosity, and community. In many ways, it mirrors what these walks have taught me—that the ordinary moments of our lives become sacred when we truly show up for them.
And yet, even with books, I still have to practice discernment: am I reading to nourish myself, or am I reaching for a story to avoid sitting with discomfort? Sometimes, the medicine I need isn’t another page, but the quiet company of my own thoughts.
On these walks, I've also observed another recurring pattern—an unknown someone who regularly discards beer cans and cigarette packs along the roadside. Initially, I felt irritation, crafting stories about their apparent disregard for nature and even entertaining detective fantasies about putting a stop to it. Gradually, though, my frustration softened into something humbler and more reflective, even symbiotic: they litter, and I pick it up. In many ways, it mirrors the practice of meditation—catching the mind when it wanders, noticing what doesn't belong, and gently returning to presence. Each crumpled can, each discarded wrapper becomes like a thought I didn’t choose but still must attend to. And so I stoop, breathe, and place it in my bag—not out of anger, but with quiet care. These small, imperfect moments are reminders of our interconnectedness, and of the shared responsibility we hold—not just for the Earth, but for the attention we offer the world.
None of us truly owns this world, yet all of us share the privilege of tending it. In many ways, the same could be said of a bookstore. We are just stewards—of stories, of place, of each other. The shelves may belong to Imprint, but the stories live on in the hands and hearts of those who carry them home.
Earth Day may officially be observed on April 22nd, but our planet sustains us every single day, tirelessly and without resentment. If Earth can remain generous despite human neglect, the least I can do is pick up a little trash or plant some seeds of beauty or wisdom along my way. Each moment spent actively listening, each conscious breath that connects me to my physical surroundings, reminds me of the profound wisdom that our bodies carry—the deep knowing that we are inseparable from nature. When we truly embody our role as stewards, the ordinary becomes sacred, transforming small acts of care into meaningful rituals.
So, I invite you to reflect deeply:
What quiet wisdom is your body whispering?
Which cycles are gently asking for your attention?
What stories are shaping your inner life this season?
And most importantly--how might you actively listen and lovingly tend to the beauty in your own corner of the world?
□ From Our Shelves: Readings for Earth Day and Inner Renewal
As we collectively tend to our own corners of the world, we will continue to curate a selection of books that inspire reverence for the Earth, deepen our capacity to listen, and offer guidance for quiet transformation.
Whether you're seeking poetic reflections on nature, practices for meditation and mindfulness, or visionary fiction that reimagines our relationship to the planet, you'll find stories that resonate with the rhythms of the seasons.
Come visit us this month for staff-curated Earth Day reads—fiction and nonfiction alike—and let your next good book be part of your own spring awakening.
We look forward to seeing you soon, and as always, thank you for being part of the Imprint community.
Upcoming events...
Author Event: Thu.April 24th, 6pm at Imprint Bookshop The Book Club for Troublesome Women by Marie Bostwick
Join us for a captivating evening with New York Times bestselling authors Marie Bostwick (in conversation with) Erica Bauermeister, as Marie unveils her latest novel, The Book Club for Troublesome Women. This intimate, ticketed event will feature light refreshments provided for your enjoyment and $5 of the $15 ticket price can be applied toward the purchase of the author's book.
Exciting News!The Book Club for Troublesome Women will be in store and available for purchase starting Tuesday, April 15th, a full week before its official pub date so you can get acquainted with it prior to the event. Having just read my advance copy, I can safely say you are going to thoroughly enjoy it!
Please use this PreOrder Form to let us know which titles you'd like to us have on hand for the authors to sign. We look forward to sharing this special evening with you!
Join us Wednesday, May 28th from 5:30–7pm for a special evening with award-winning biologist and author Thor Hanson, celebrating the release of his newest book, Close to Home — a powerful reflection on nature, climate, and the places we hold dear.
Hanson’s work is known for blending scientific insight with lyrical storytelling, and Close to Home is no exception. It’s a book that speaks directly to our moment, urging us to notice, care for, and defend the natural world that surrounds us.
✨ Reading and book signing □ Imprint Bookshop, Port Townsend
□ Books available for purchase and signing
Just a few new releases we are excited about this April....
□ Nettles and Petals: Grow Food. Eat Weeds. Save Seeds. by Jamie Walton This beautifully illustrated and practical guide celebrates the power of homegrown food, wild edible plants, and seed-saving traditions. Jamie Walton, a regenerative grower and forager, invites readers to rethink their relationship with weeds and everyday garden spaces. From cultivating nutrient-rich perennials to embracing the value of so-called "pests" like nettles and dandelions, Nettles and Petals is both a handbook and a philosophy for living in deeper harmony with the land—accessible to beginners and inspiring for seasoned gardeners alike.
□ Everyday Permaculture: Sustainable Living for Every Space by Anna Matilda
Perfect for apartment dwellers, urban gardeners, or anyone looking to tread more lightly on the planet, Everyday Permaculture brings ecological living into the everyday. Anna Matilda offers simple, low-cost ways to grow food, reduce waste, and reconnect with natural cycles—no matter your living situation. From composting on a windowsill to cooking with foraged greens and repurposing household scraps, this book empowers readers to make regenerative choices that feel joyful, creative, and deeply doable.
□ Dysphoria Mundi: A Diary of Planetary Transition by Paul B. Preciado
In this genre-defying work, philosopher and activist Paul B. Preciado turns the lens of pandemic-era introspection onto the systemic crises of our time—colonialism, capitalism, cis-heteropatriarchy, and ecological collapse. Blending memoir, manifesto, and speculative theory, Dysphoria Mundi argues that the global dysphoria we face is not a sickness to cure, but a moment of planetary transition demanding radical transformation. Preciado’s writing is provocative, poetic, and unflinchingly honest—an urgent call to imagine a new, post-normative world.
✍️ Dear Writer: Pep Talks & Practical Advice for the Creative Life by Maggie Smith
From the celebrated poet and author of You Could Make This Place Beautiful, Maggie Smith offers a heartfelt guide for writers at every stage of their creative journey. Dear Writer is structured as a series of personal letters—equal parts encouragement and grounded wisdom—addressing everything from self-doubt to discipline, grief to joy, and rejection to resilience. With her signature grace and candor, Smith reminds us that writing is both a craft and a relationship with the self, and that nurturing it is a practice of presence and compassion.
□ Briefly Perfectly Human: Making an Authentic Life by Getting Real about the End by Alua Arthur
As a death doula, Alua Arthur has sat beside hundreds of people facing the end of life—and through those sacred encounters, she’s come to understand what it means to truly live. In Briefly Perfectly Human, Arthur shares poignant stories from her work, along with deeply personal reflections on mortality, legacy, identity, and transformation. Rather than treating death as something to fear or avoid, she invites readers to see it as a mirror—one that, when honestly confronted, can illuminate what matters most.
□ Atavists: Stories by Lydia Millet
In this darkly luminous collection, Lydia Millet crafts interconnected stories of people living on the edge—of relationships, climate catastrophe, and the American myth of progress. Set in a society slowly unraveling in the wake of ecological disaster, these characters grapple with longing, alienation, and the tug of ancestral memory. Millet’s prose is precise yet lush, her moral vision clear-eyed yet humane. Atavists is a haunting exploration of the ties that bind us—to each other, to the planet, and to the ancient instincts that stir beneath modern life.
□ For a Girl Becoming by Joy Harjo
Poet and former U.S. Poet Laureate Joy Harjo offers a radiant, affirming book-length poem that honors a young girl’s journey from childhood into womanhood. With luminous illustrations by Adriana Garcia, For a Girl Becoming celebrates Indigenous wisdom, ancestral connection, and the sacredness of each life stage. A perfect gift for graduations or rites of passage, it’s a timeless and deeply personal meditation on identity, heritage, and becoming who we are meant to be.
□ When a Tree Falls: Nurse Logs and Their Incredible Forest Power by Kirsten Pendreigh
This gorgeously illustrated nonfiction picture book explores the powerful role of nurse logs—fallen trees that provide shelter, nutrients, and a home for new growth—in forest ecosystems. When a Tree Falls helps young readers understand death as part of a living cycle, teaching ecological literacy with reverence and wonder. Author Kirsten Pendreigh, with illustrator Elise Gravel, creates an accessible and awe-inspiring introduction to forest ecology that will captivate nature lovers of all ages.
John's Review of The Lilac People by Milo Todd
I received The Lilac People as an ARC during my first season as a bookseller, and I am deeply grateful to Milo Todd (author) and Counterpoint Press (publisher) for bringing this story into the world at this exact moment in time. I also appreciate the opportunity to read an advance copy in exchange for my honest review.
As we reel from the devastation the current administration has wrought in just one month, the alarms that sounded before the election feel both prescient and entirely insufficient. Those who warned of an impending autocratic regime and the Project 2025 agenda were often accused of hyperbole when drawing comparisons to the Nazis. Yet, with each passing day, it becomes increasingly clear that the Nazi playbook is being followed with fervor and precision. The scapegoating of LGBTQ2IA+ and immigrant communities is both deeply distressing and tragically familiar. Now, as the dismantling of our public institutions accelerates, it is imperative that we recognize these echoes of history for what they are.
During a recent conversation about the state of our beleaguered nation, a friend remarked, “No one is coming to rescue us this time.” As I was in the final chapters of The Lilac People, her words struck me as particularly troubling. They underscored how deeply Americans have internalized a narrative in which the United States and its Allies were benevolent liberators. While that may have been true for some Holocaust survivors, the story was far more tragic for LGBTQ2IA+ people under Nazi rule. What Milo Todd does so powerfully in The Lilac People is shine a much-needed light on this reality: there was once a vibrant queer—specifically trans—community thriving in Germany when Hitler came to power. And when the Allies arrived, these individuals were not liberated. Instead, many were forced to serve out the remainder of their sentences for so-called “crimes.”
What I love about historical fiction—when done well—is its ability to connect readers with often-overlooked or forgotten figures in history through fully realized characters. Todd accomplishes this brilliantly, and with profound humanity, in Bertie, Karl, Sophie, and Gert. Reading this story now, at a time when our trans siblings are being systematically targeted by an administration intent on erasing them—not just from visibility, but from existence—gave me chills for its stark parallels and timeliness.
I feel honored to have experienced The Lilac People ahead of its April 29, 2025 release and will use whatever influence I have as a bookseller to ensure others learn about this forgotten history. Not only do I heartily nominate Milo Todd’s stunning novel for Indie Next, but I will also be placing this book into as many hands as possible upon its release.
A poem to end on...
“I Live My Life in Widening Circles” - Rainer Maria Rilke
