Tending Your Corner of the World (When Everything Feels Overwhelming)
In a recent Heart of Being Human call—a space where we gather to pause, reflect, and speak honestly about what it means to be alive in complex times—we began, as we always do, by arriving.
A few quiet moments to settle, to come back to breath, to notice what’s here.
I shared a passage from Wendell Berry (see below)—one that doesn’t try to convince us that hope is always available, but instead turns our attention toward what continues anyway: the first flowers returning, small acts of care, beauty that doesn’t ask to be earned—only received.
Berry’s words lingered in the room as we began to speak.
Photo by Jonathan Kemper
When the World (and We) Feel Out of Sync
One participant shared about returning home after time away in Europe, where spring had fully arrived—tulips everywhere, trees in bloom, people out in the parks. And then, landing back home, where there was still snow on the ground.
There was a kind of disorientation in that. The body remembering one season, the eyes meeting another.
Spring, we found ourselves saying, isn’t always gentle. It doesn’t arrive all at once. It pushes and pulls. Winter holds on, even as something else insists on emerging.
And maybe that’s part of what feels so hard right now—not just in the landscape, but in ourselves.
That sense of being between worlds. Of not quite knowing where to anchor ourselves in turbulent times.
Feeling Scattered in an Overwhelming World
The conversation turned, from there, toward the wider world. Toward something many of us are feeling: the experience of being overwhelmed by the news, social media, and the sheer volume of what’s happening.
The same disorientation, in a different form:
Wanting to stay informed, to demonstrate care, to respond to injustice. And, at the same time, feeling pulled in too many directions. Scattered.
Not because of indifference, but because of care.
There was an honesty in naming how easy it is to get caught in it—to keep reading, scrolling, and reacting. To feel that staying activated is the same as being effective.
Slowly, something began to settle: a recognition that when our attention is scattered, our impact becomes diluted.
So the question shifted from “How do I keep up with everything?”, to:
How do I find focus in a world that feels overwhelming?
Where can I actually place my attention in a way that has integrity?
I shared a short reflection on this here, if you’d rather listen:
Tending What Is Yours to Tend
And that’s where the image came in: tending a small corner of the garden.
Not as a grand solution, but as something simple enough to hold.
The stories that followed revealed the quiet, rippling power of being present to what’s right in front of you—of tending what is yours to tend.
One participant spoke about their front yard, which they’ve slowly transformed into a garden filled with flowers. Not for any grand reason. Just because it brings them joy.
And yet, that joy doesn’t stay contained. People stop to admire, take photos, and strike up conversations. The garden becomes a point of connection in the neighbourhood - a place where something shifts, even briefly.
Those everyday moments of connection—the conversations that happen when people pause and relate to each other—have a meaningful impact. One person put it simply: “Relating is our juice.”
Being met, even briefly, changes something and moves outward in ways we’ll never fully see.
There was also a quiet, powerful reflection from someone who has had to reshape their life after illness. In being forced to let go of what they once imagined contribution would look like, they’ve discovered - slowly - that their gift is listening. Really listening. At first, it didn’t feel like enough. But over time, it became clear that this, too, is a form of care. A form of presence.
By the end of the call, nothing had been resolved in the way we sometimes hope for:
The world hadn’t become less complex. The questions hadn’t disappeared.
But something had shifted. There was a softening, a reorientation back toward what is close, tangible. What we can actually influence: The small acts, the moments of attention, the care we bring to what’s in front of us.
Not as a retreat from the wider world—but as a more grounded and sustainable way of participating in it.
This is the quiet work of hope. We enter into it when we notice what is still growing, when we receive what is being given, and when we choose, with intention, to tend what is ours to tend.
Photo by Samantha Borges
An Invitation to Gather
These reflections come from a recent Heart of Being Human call—a free online space to pause, reflect, and explore what it means to live with presence, focus, and intention in uncertain times. You’re welcome to join this growing community!
Photo credit: Emma Love Photography
Author: Karla Combres
As a Legacy Guide & Celebrant, I help individuals, couples, families and organizations make the big and small moments in life count, and shape their legacy along the way. I offer:
Drawing on my vast experience as a Life-Cycle Celebrant and in working with people at the end of life, I am uniquely qualified to help people move through transitions meaningfully and to think about how they want to leave this world so they can live better now.
I’m based in Saskatchewan, Canada and serve clients worldwide. Read more about me here.