Per their website, The Horizons Project is a coalition-based team that acts as organizers, trainers, and facilitators, strengthening connections and collective action among US pro-democracy movements and networks. They’ve just launched “Courage is Contagious,” a new series “which brings you examples of people and institutions within pillars of support taking bold and brave action to challenge authoritarianism and advance democracy.” In their opening to the series, the Horizons Project team writes,

Their first installment includes stories of veterans speaking out against the war in Iran, family business fighting back against illegal tariffs, and faith leaders showing up to fight oppression. Those stories are important, but it’s the thought behind this project that drew me to it — because if courage is contagious, and I do believe that it is, the best thing we can do is spread it around. Courage, remember, is not the absence of fear. It’s about showing up and doing it anyway.

How do you think about courage? What actions, stories, characters, or types of work do you associate with courage, or with feeling courageous? Do you consider yourself courageous? What about your creative work? Do you think others would agree? Why or why not?

Prompt: Consider the phrase “courage is courageous.” Set a five-minute timer and jot down everything that comes to you, no matter how abstract. What did you come up with? Create about it.

Listen. We’re in an objectively horrendous timeline for human rights and dignity, and I will absolutely acknowledge that it would be way, way better for everyone if we were not in this incredibly shitty timeline. On the other hand, if we have to be in said shitty timeline, my personal opinion is that incredible protest signs are some of the few bright spots.

Protest art is a longstanding tradition for resistance movements, but the wave of art happening in Minneapolis is unique not in its content, but in its dedication to the mass production of signs, flags, stickers, and more. There’s an act of unity in that, says art historian Carol Wells:

The protest art being created across the state ranges from block-printed butterflies in memory of Renee Nicole Good, to Indigenous artist-created prints that incorporate traditional Objiwe colors, to “I.C.E. OUT of Minneapolis” posters that take familiar “snow emergency route” signs and replace the snow being pushed away by a plow with the gear of federal immigration enforcement officers.

We love to see it.

Do you have a favorite piece of protest art? What is it about that particular piece — a sign, a poster, a print, a sticker, a slogan, etc — that sticks with you? Have you made your own protest art before? What was it like? What did you do with it? How was creating that different from, or similar to, your regular creative practices?

Prompt: Create a piece of protest art, whatever that means to you. What did you choose to do? How do you feel about it?

THAT’S RIGHT, BACK AGAIN WITH MY MEMBERSHIP TO THE KELLY M. HAYES FAN CLUB. Don’t judge me.

The idea of “unlearning” is a pretty common one in social justice spaces. By virtue of being brought up in a world shaped by colonialism, white supremacism, patriarchy, and capitalism, it’s generally fairly impossible to come into any stage of maturity without having internalized some of those dominant messages. People often talk about “unlearning racism” or “unlearning sexism,” etc, as part of their journey to getting involved with movements for social change. But what does it actually mean to unlearn something? According to author Lewis Raven Wallace,

Wallace goes on to discuss something that I teach fairly frequently in my science of storytelling workshops, which is that studies show, repeatedly, that learning new facts don’t change opinions or beliefs. Human connections — stories, conversations, new experiences, new relationships — are what actually allow us to change our beliefs.

There is so much in this interview that’s worth listening to, so I really encourage you to listen to the whole thing (or at least give the transcript a read!) because I can’t possibly condense it properly here. But the key takeaway for me, at least, was to not give up hope on the idea that beliefs can be changed, that perspectives can be changed, that associations can be changed. Our brains are capable of spectacular, wondrous things. We just need to give them the tools — and the love — to let them learn how.

What does the idea of “unlearning” bring up for you? What has your experience of unlearning — if you’ve had that experience — been like? What did it feel like for you (physically, emotionally, mentally)? Do you consider “unlearning” to be different from changing your mind or learning something new? Why or why not?

Prompt: In this interview, Wallace suggests asking ourselves, “Whose transformation are we in a position to support? And what does it mean to treat that as part of living our politics?” Consider this question. What comes up for you? Create about it.

”One afternoon when I was twelve, bored at home after school, I had an idea: I would bake a cake,” writes Tanya Bush in an excerpt from her book, Will This Make You Happy: Stories & Recipes from a Year of Baking. “I flipped through The America’s Test Kitchen Family Cookbook. The first recipe in the dessert section was for banana bread, paired with a photo so hypersaturated I could practically taste it.”

Maybe it’s because I come from an extremely food-centric culture (Judaism, son!), but I’ve always believed that cooking is a form of magic as much as it’s a form of creativity. There’s something about cooking (or baking) that brings out a kind of visceral sense of connection that’s as powerful as reading an incredible poem or hearing a piece of music played by an orchestra.

Food is also a powerful source of connection. We bring food to others at the births of new babies, at the deaths of loved ones, as a form of celebration, as an offering of comfort. Today, many of us are bringing home-cooked meals to our neighbors who are afraid to leave their homes — a simple, concrete way of saying, I am here for you. I care about you. You deserve to feel nourished. You deserve to feel safe.

There’s no loaf of banana bread that will make ICE disappear from our streets, no perfect chocolate chip cookie recipe that will cure depression, no soup that can reverse our descent into the dystopia of late-stage capitalism. But when we cook for each other, when we show up to share meals, we make it clear to ourselves and to our communities that none of us are alone. And that’s a special kind of magic.

What is your most powerful food memory? Sit with it for a moment — what comes up for you? What sensations? What emotions? What scents or tastes? Who is with you in that memory, or are you alone? What do you feel in your body?

Prompt: Make time to share a home-made meal, dessert, or even just a cup of coffee or tea with a neighbor, friend, or loved one. Pay attention to the process of making whatever it is you’re making, and what it feels like to share it with someone else. What comes up for you? Create about it.

At this point, we’ve all heard the term “doomscrolling.” Most of us have some form of a doomscrolling habit. Our brains have gotten into the habit of sinking into those endless streams of posts about Literally Everything Bad About The World Oh God Somebody Do Something, and I think we can all agree that that’s…not great for any of us.

Enter #bloomscrolling, which is exactly what it sounds like: scrolling through not posts about everything bad, but of photos of flowers. One after another, captured by amateurs and professionals, in every kind of climate, in every stage of…well, bloom. And in the midst of the Everything Bad of it all, those posts are a breath of fresh air.

I don’t have great insights here, other than to encourage you, as much as I can, to replace your doomscrolling habit with a bloomscrolling one. All the thumb exercise, none of the despair. And plenty of much-needed beauty.

What is your relationship to doomscrolling, and how does it impact your creativity? What do you notice happening in your body, your mind, your emotions when you’re engaging in doomscrolling? What about when you stop? If you’ve worked to reduce your doomscrolling habit, what changes have you noticed? In yourself? In your work?

Prompt: Go through the #bloomscrolling tag on your social media platform of choice. Choose three photos that stand out to you (or, hard mode, go outside and find a few of your own!). What is it that made you choose those particular posts? Create about it.