Gaia's Call

Listen to the call of the Earth and take action.

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Taste the sweet nectar of stories and articles that make your spirit soar. Gaia's Call is the whispered secret between the pages, urging you to become an Eco-Guardian for our planet's wonders. 📚✨ Listen to the call of the Earth and take action. wbradfordswift.substack.com

Sep 8

Sometimes the Web of Life Asks Us to Stop

A note before we begin: If you’ve been following the recent conversation here on Substack about AI and authorship, you may be interested to know that I didn’t create this article entirely alone. I worked on it with an AI partner I’ve nicknamed GePeTo. The life being described here is mine. The experiences, convictions and final responsibility for what you’re about to read are mine. But GePeTo helped me ask better questions, explore connections I might otherwise have missed, organize my thinking and, yes, write some of the words. Rather than hide that collaboration—or reduce it to an AI percentage—I want to be transparent about it. In an upcoming Substack post, I’ll take you behind the curtain and show you what our collaboration actually looks like. For now, I simply wanted you to know who was in the room while this article took shape. In May, I celebrated my 77th birthday with my family, body surfing at Hilton Head Island like a 17-year-old kid. By mid-June, I was experiencing increasing pain and stiffness in my neck and shoulders. By the end of the month, I sometimes found it difficult simply to get into bed, much less sleep once I got there. The pain and stiffness had spread to joints throughout my body, including my fingers. That’s when I remembered experiencing something similar about ten years ago, which I eventually came to understand as an autoimmune-type response—essentially, the body’s immune system becoming confused and attacking its own healthy tissues. As I reflected on this unexpected and certainly unplanned health challenge—and aren’t most health challenges that way?—I began to recognize just how much physical, psychological, and emotional stress I’d been carrying during the previous several months. Ann and I had moved from the upstairs portion of our home, with its four bedrooms and three baths, into our much smaller one-bedroom, one-bath downstairs apartment so our daughter, son-in-law, and two grandchildren could move into the larger space above us. It was something we chose and something we genuinely wanted, part of our continuing experiment in creating a more interconnected, multigenerational Loving Homestead. It was all great stuff. And it was also greatly stressful. During that same period, Ann and I experienced the deaths of two close relatives, losses that brought their own grief while quietly reminding us of something neither of us particularly enjoys being reminded of: in our seventies, we’re not getting any younger. Add to that my writing, Gaia’s Call, coaching, gardening, homestead projects, family responsibilities, and my longstanding tendency to find approximately seventeen interesting things to do with every available hour, and perhaps my body had something to say. For the past two years, I’ve been writing a great deal about regeneration—regenerating our forests, oceans, soils, communities, and ultimately our relationship with this remarkable living planet we call Earth, Gaia, or Pachamama. But somewhere along the way, life handed me a much more personal question: What does regeneration mean when the ecosystem needing to be restored is my own life? That question has been staying with me during these past several weeks, sometimes comfortably and sometimes not so comfortably. Because if I really mean what I say when I write, I am nature. You are nature. We are as inseparably linked to the web of life as the cells of a single body, then I don’t get to exclude this 77-year-old body of mine from the equation simply because it isn’t behaving the way I’d like it to. And perhaps that’s one of the unexpected gifts hidden inside this difficult time. My health challenge has given me an opportunity to turn the Four Great Truths around and look through them in the other direction. I’ve spent the last couple of years exploring what these truths might mean for humanity’s relationship with Earth, with one another, and with the larger web of life. Now I’m discovering what they might mean for my relationship with myself. I want to be careful here. I’m not suggesting that the Four Great Truths are some new medical treatment, or that if I simply become sufficiently enlightened my aching joints will magically stop aching. I wish it were that easy. Nor do I want to turn illness into one of those annoyingly tidy life lessons in which everything happens for a reason and we’re supposed to be grateful for it. There have been nights lately when gratitude wasn’t anywhere near the top of my list. What I am discovering, though, is that these truths give me another way to be with what is happening. Instead of experiencing this health challenge only as something that has gone wrong and needs to be fixed as quickly as possible, I can also become curious about it. What might I learn by listening more carefully? What has my body been trying to tell me that I’ve been too busy to hear? And perhaps most importantly, how might this difficult chapter become part of my continuing experiment in living more consciously and purposefully within the web of life? Interconnectedness: I Am Nature The first Great Truth has taken on an entirely different meaning for me lately: I am nature. You are nature. We are as inseparably linked to the web of life as the cells of a single body. I’ve understood that intellectually for a long time. I’ve experienced it more deeply in the rainforest, working in the garden, sitting beside our creek, and through my lifelong relationships with animals. But it’s one thing to experience interconnectedness while standing among magnificent trees. It’s quite another to remember it at two in the morning when your shoulders hurt, your fingers ache, and you can’t find a comfortable way to lie in bed. My veterinary background probably influences the way I’m looking at this. As a veterinarian, I learned that the sore leg walking into the examination room was attached to an entire animal (and that animal was attached most often to another animal called owner by a leash). The symptom mattered, of course, but so did the patient carrying it and for sure I was there to treat the pet while also caring for and nuturing the bond that exists so stronger between pets and people. It took me several years in practice to learn this last lesson of interconnectedness. I’m finding myself returning to that same perspective now as the patient. One of the things I’ve long appreciated about functional and integrative approaches to health is their emphasis on connections among systems. Rather than seeing my stiff fingers over here, my painful shoulders over there, my disrupted sleep somewhere else, and the stresses and losses of the past several months as completely unrelated events, I’m being invited to become curious about the whole ecosystem. Body, mind, emotions, relationships, nutrition, movement, rest, grief, purpose, environment—perhaps the boundaries between them aren’t nearly as tidy as the labels suggest. Interconnectedness doesn’t give me an easy answer to what’s happening. In some ways it does something more useful. It gives me better questions. Instead of asking only, What’s wrong with me?, I’m learning to ask, What’s happening within the whole living system that is me? Sufficiency: What Is Enough Now? The next two Great Truths coupled together are giving me the most trouble (and room for growth.) There is already—and always—enough when we remember how to share. I love that truth when I’m applying it to our consumer culture and questioning the assumption that more is always better. It’s a little more challenging when I turn it toward myself. I like doing things. I like writing. I like coaching. I like gardening and working around the Loving Homestead. I like spending time with my family. I like playing pickleball. I like creating Gaia’s Call with Marla. I like learning, exploring, reading, experimenting and dreaming up the next project—preferably before I’ve finished the previous three. Most of those things bring me joy and purpose. And perhaps that’s precisely why recognizing enough can be so difficult. My health challenge is asking me a question I might rather avoid: What is enough for this season of my life? Not what was enough when I was 57. Not even what seemed reasonable when I was body surfing with my family in May. What is enough now? I’m beginning to see that Sufficiency doesn’t have to mean resignation. Returning to my writing at half speed doesn’t mean I’m half a writer. Doing less around the Loving Homestead doesn’t mean I’ve abandoned the experiment. Coaching fewer people doesn’t diminish the difference I can make with the people I do coach. Perhaps the invitation isn’t to make my life smaller. Perhaps it’s to become more present to the life I’m actually living. There’s another part of our definition of Sufficiency I’ve been noticing: when we remember how to share. I’ve spent much of my life trying to contribute, help, fix, create and make a difference. But sharing doesn’t mean Brad does everything. Sharing means allowing other people to have the sacred experience of serving another. And that’s where the one-two punch of these two Great Truths hit home the hardest. Reciprocity: Giving and receiving, in balance, is the law of nature. I’ve always been pretty comfortable with the giving half of that equation. Receiving, on the other hand? That’s another story, but from these last few challenging weeks, it’s become undeniably true that I still have some work to do there. For much of my adult life, purpose has been closely associated with contribution. First as a veterinarian, later as a writer and coach, and now through One Cause, Gaia’s Call, my family and the Loving Homestead. I love being useful. I love making a difference. But healthy ecosystems don’t work in only one direction. The garden gives us food, but it needs nutrients returned to the soil. Trees pr
Aug 22

A Gaia's Call 2.0 Conversation with Erin Remblance

GAIA’S CALL 2.0 Reader-Friendly Podcast Transcript Guest: Erin Co-hosts: Brad Swift and Marla Lise Editor’s note: This transcript has been lightly edited for readability while preserving the substance, sequence, and conversational character of the recorded discussion. Timestamps are retained so readers can follow along with the podcast. [00:00:03] Hello, everybody. This is Brad Swift with Gaia’s Call 2.0, and I’m so excited to be here with my co-host today, Marla of the Eco Chapter. And we have a special guest, which we often do, and I’m very excited about that. So excited that I was able, even easily, as it turned out, to get up early in the morning. So you may see It looks kind of like the sun’s coming up. Well, it is kind of coming up here on the North Carolina coast. So, let’s just dive right in, Marla. Introduce our guest, if you would. Yeah. Thanks, everybody, for joining us today. And yes, we have Erin, and I’ve known Erin for a couple of years and, excited to have her on the show. So, Erin is Sydney-based, and she’s a researcher, writer, wife, and mother to three children. [00:00:51] She began her career in business working in national account management for Nestle, Unilever and L’Oreal. And then she took a break to raise her children. And then she became aware of the ecological crisis and has pivoted her career to raise awareness of these issues and what we can do about them. She’s the co-creator of Beyond Duality, which is an eight week online course, which goes beyond sustainability as usual to see what we can do to create an ecological future and how we can do that. Erin is also passionate about animal rights, whole food, plant-based eating, and is currently working on a course to raise awareness of the harms of industrial animal agriculture. So I’ve been really lucky to do a couple of courses with Erin. I did her Project Tipping Point course a couple of years ago, [00:01:36] and I’ve also done her Healthy Habits Accelerator twice, twice actually. So, so Erin, why don’t you start by Maybe telling us what was the biggest push to get you to pivot from that very corporate career in business to what you’re doing now? Firstly, thanks for having me on the show. I’m really happy to be here with you both. What was the push? I think there was a little bit of emptiness in the work I was doing anyway. So for 10 years I was a bit like, oh, shouldn’t I be doing something more meaningful than selling more Coffee, margarine, tea, fragrance, whatever. Shouldn’t I be doing something more than making... So L’Oreal’s mostly owned by the wealthiest woman in France, like it’s the family. [00:02:25] Shouldn’t I be doing something more than making her wealthier? So there was an emptiness in the work that I was doing already. But I think it takes stepping away from that work. And we often say this, like it takes a period of illness, a parental leave break, A sabbatical, any sort of break from the system to be able to see it a bit more clearly. And when I was home with my children, which is busy work, but not very often very mindful work, I had some mental space to see more clearly what was going on. And I was able to read more and learn more about what was happening in the world. And what I was learning, I was not liking very much. So when you talk about what was the thing, what was the moment that made you want to pivot your career? I remember it very clearly. My youngest, who is eight this year, she was three months old. [00:03:13] No, she was, I think she was five weeks old. And I was walking up and down my hallway just here, like trying to get her to sleep. I was wearing her. And as I was trying to get her to sleep, I was reading an article published by the New York Times Magazine, I think. And it was titled, The UN Says Climate Genocide is Coming. Actually, it’s worse than that. And it was written by David Wallace-Wells, who’s written The Uninhabitable Earth, which is a Difficult read, but probably important read. And it was written just after the IPCC released the special report into 1.5 degrees of warming in 2018. And it was just, just everything that was coming through. I was like, it’s so much worse than I realized. Like I really thought there was the Paris Agreement that had been signed and governments were doing something, but it was, it was, [00:03:59] I was horrified, but I was reading and I was like, you know, like I’d be waiting for the toaster a week later and I’d be like, Like you think about what you did in your head and you’re like, how is everyone just living like normally? Like this is horrifying. And I had another friend who’d passed the article on to me, which instigated me reading it. And she felt the same way. So between us, like we wanted to do something, but we didn’t know what it looked like. And, you know, everyone has these sorts of conversations. How can we be part of the solution? And we never ended up building anything, but it never left me that drive to do something. Sorry, I dabbled in working in carbon offsets, but it didn’t feel meaningful enough. So I’ve just kept trying to find something that ticks that box of this is going to help make a difference. [00:04:45] And, you know, there’s only so much one person can do. I don’t know how, you know, the idea that I can make a real difference is probably... If I get stuck on that, I won’t do anything because there’s probably nothing I can do that will make a significant difference. But still, I think the metric is if lots of people were doing this, would it make a difference? Yes. Then I keep going and I try and bring more people along with me so that eventually we hopefully do make that difference that we all aspire to. That was a long-winded way of telling you how I got here. Sorry. That’s good. I think many of us can relate to that path. Yeah. Yeah. Just that, like, I don’t want to, I don’t want to close my eyes to this. I don’t, I want to continue to look at it face on as terrifying as it is and do something [00:05:35] about it. Yeah. Yeah. So it seems you’ve done a lot already. I mean, you’ve done like university lectures and you’ve also done like all these courses and I guess your, your latest course is called Beyond Duality. Do you want to tell us about that? Yeah, I’d done a couple of courses. I think I’ve been doing maybe for the last three years. I started with Rebiz, which was like more related to how a business could exist in a non-harmful, regenerative, sustainable way. So that was very business orientated. And from there we did Project Tipping Point, which you’ve done with us. We did that for a couple of years. And then I was like, I was hosting Project Tipping Point calls, which is all about social tipping points and how I can contribute to them and how they can I was wanting to talk about other things on the calls for Project Tipping Point, [00:06:23] so I had this desire to talk about imperialism and colonialism and manufactured consent and all of these things that are bigger than the Project Tipping Point course was about. So I had this idea to create the course, like if I was to get hit by a bus tomorrow, Beyond Duality is the course that passes on the knowledge that I’ve acquired in eight years since I read that David Wallace Wells article. So it’s just, it’s the culmination of everything that I’ve learnt and would, you know, if I, those eight years ago, if I could have taken this eight week course, I would have saved myself a lot of work because it’s just, it’s all there in one place and it just takes you on the journey of A lot of stuff. I remember starting my climate journey going, all right, carbon dioxide, let’s go. [00:07:12] And then you go, oh, there’s eight other planetary boundaries, damn it. And like we’re transgressing six of them and it’s the seventh being climate. So we’re transgressing seven, but one of them I already knew of. So, oh, no, it’s worse than I thought. It’s not just climate change, it’s biodiversity loss and it’s So then you start to go like it’s bigger and bigger and bigger. And, it’s sort of helping people cut out years and years worth of learning and just get straight to the heart of the problem. Yeah. Yeah. And how have people been reacting to this so far? It sounds like it would terrify quite a lot of people, right? Yeah. So we’ve had like genuinely a couple of hundred people sign up and, far it’s all been very positive, [00:07:58] but there is a stage after about the second week where people go, literally people go, does it get more positive? I feel so anxious. Like I really like the course and the resources, but it’s making me feel a bit unsettled. It’s like totally, it gets better from us. So, like there is like a necessarily you have to take people through the world as it is today and how we got here and what that looks like. And then we do it does it gets better. We take people on a journey that is hopefully more positive and more action orientated and solutions based than just highlighting the problem. But I do very carefully never word people’s experiences having enjoyed the course because I don’t think it’s something you enjoy. I think it’s something that might resonate with you or you might find powerful or compelling. [00:08:47] But I don’t think it’s something you necessarily enjoy because the subject matter is not an easy one. It’s an important one, but it’s not, you know, it’s not. Oh, has anyone ever used the word? I’m so happy that you’ve got a new hobby or like that sort of tone with you about like being active in this space. No, I’m passionate. I’m so glad you found something you’re passionate about. Like if this is not something you do because it’s like fun and cool, like it’s not playing the guitar, it tends to be a moral imperative that we feel like we have to help because we’re in a state of crisis a
Jul 3

Independence Day… or Interdependence Day?

Tomorrow, the United States celebrates the 250th anniversary of its independence. Two hundred and fifty years is no small thing. By any measure, it is a remarkable milestone in the life of a nation, especially one born from a bold and imperfect experiment in freedom. And yet, as I sit here listening to the pounding upstairs from the Loving Homestead renovations the day before this historic July 4th, I find myself strangely unable to simply join the celebration. Not because I don’t love this country but because I do so very much. I’m so grateful that the forces of life allowed me to be born in Weymouth, MA a little over seventy-seven years ago. I do not take that bit of kismet for granted. That distinction matters to me. This is not intended as a political article, even though politics is the language many of us have been trained to use when we talk about the state of our nation. Politics matters, of course. Policies matter. Elections matter. Leadership matters. But beneath the politics, there is something deeper: the stories we live inside, the assumptions we rarely question, the values we embody, and the future we are either consciously creating or unconsciously drifting toward. Lately, as part of my morning One Cause vow, I’ve begun asking a simple question: What is the web of life asking from me today? This morning, that question did not lead me to an answer so much as a deeper inquiry. What does it mean to honor Independence Day when so much in our national life (and consequently our world) feels fractured, fearful, and off course? What does it mean to love a country without pretending it is well? What does it mean to grieve the direction we seem to be heading while still refusing to surrender the possibility of something better? I don’t feel at home in either of the easy camps. I cannot celebrate blindly, waving a flag as though all is well. But neither do I want to become one more voice shouting into the great national storm, convinced that outrage alone is a contribution. I know people who seem to think patriotism means defending everything America does. I know others who seem to think honesty requires condemning everything America has been. Neither feels whole to me. A nation, like a family, can be deeply loved and deeply troubled at the same time. Two hundred and fifty years ago, courageous and complicated people declared independence from a distant king. That declaration was visionary and incomplete, inspiring and flawed, liberating for some while excluding many others. It’s been a work-in-progress ever since. The American story has always carried both promise and contradiction. Perhaps every human story does. What matters now, at least to me, is not whether we can polish the past until it shines or condemn it until nothing remains. What matters is whether we can tell the truth about where we are and still choose who we are becoming. Let me rephrase that as a question: Can we tell the truth about where we are and still choose who we are becoming? And that brings me to the possibility that maybe this particular Independence Day is inviting us into a new kind of declaration—not independence from another nation, but independence from the assumptions that have brought us to this moment. For starters, let me suggest a few. * How about independence from the belief that we are separate from one another and from the living Earth. * Independence from the story that more is always better. * Independence from the illusion that Earth’s resources are endless and ours to consume without consequence. * Independence from the hope that technology alone will save us from the deeper transformation we are avoiding. In the language of One Cause, maybe this is a moment to begin freeing ourselves from the Four Great Untruths and recommitting ourselves to the Four Great Truths: Interconnectedness, Sufficiency, Reciprocity, and Stewardship. Not as political slogans. Not as ideology. Not as something to argue about online. But as ways of being we practice in our families, our neighborhoods, our communities, and our relationship with the living world. When I look at Logan and Piper, this all becomes much less abstract. They don’t wake up asking whether the world is red or blue. They notice worms, flowers, birds, puddles, berries, bugs, and whether the adults around them feel safe and loving. They are learning, every day, what kind of world this is by watching how we live inside it. And I find myself wondering: What version of “normal” are we handing them? Perhaps a new patriotism is being asked of us now. Not the patriotism of certainty or superiority, but the patriotism of stewardship. The kind that loves a country enough to help it mature. The kind that tells the truth without bitterness. The kind that plants trees, repairs relationships, protects children, tends soil, welcomes neighbors, and asks what freedom is actually for. Because freedom is not only freedom from. It is freedom for. Freedom for compassion. Freedom for responsibility. Freedom for service. Freedom for the long, humble work of becoming better humans, parents, and ancestors. Freedom to participate in the healing of a world that is not separate from us, and never has been. So tomorrow, I may still watch fireworks though probably just listen to them from the distance as I try to calm my two canine companions. I may still feel gratitude for the many blessings this country has made possible in my own life. And I may also feel sadness, concern, and grief for how far we still have to go. Both can be true. Maybe that is what maturity asks of us—to hold love and grief in the same heart without collapsing into denial or despair. This Independence Day, I’m not sure I can celebrate in the old way. But I can recommit. I can recommit to living as though the web of life is real, sacred, and asking something of me. I can recommit to my family, my community, and this small patch of Earth we call the Loving Homestead. I can recommit to the future Logan and Piper deserve. And perhaps that is celebration enough. This weekend, maybe the question is not simply, “What are we free from?” Maybe the deeper question is, “What are we free to become?” If this exploration of freedom and independence calls to you I invite you to become a free or paid subscriber. Let’s continue to explore these topics together This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit wbradfordswift.substack.com/subscribe
Jun 26

The Stories We Live By — Part 1: The Sea of Meaning

Check out Nate's interview of Rob Hopkins at https://drive.google.com/file/d/1lspKl7pjUtz3WQDy9To8qp4-gRBpOTsJ/view?usp=sharing This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit wbradfordswift.substack.com/subscribe
Jun 19

The Stories That Shape Our World

Over the next few weeks, I’d like to invite you into an exploration of an idea that has been quietly growing in importance for me. It sits at the intersection of my work as an author, my role as a grandfather, my One Cause experiment, my Write On Purpose Coaching practice, and my growing conviction that stories may matter far more than most of us realize. The idea is called Thrutopia. Subscribe for the Thrutopia Series If that word is new to you, don’t worry. A few months ago it was new to me too. In this first article, I don’t want to explain Thrutopia so much as explore why it matters. Why stories matter. Why imagination matters. And why the future we create together may depend upon the stories we choose to tell ourselves and each other. Let me begin with a simple story. A few weeks ago, I was spending time outdoors with my grandkids, five-year-old Logan and three-year-old Piper. We were in the backyard where there’s a fantastic playground set up that has been the site for many of our adventures. This day was no exceptions. One moment we were climbing the ropes of a pirate’s ship, the next we were on a spaceship flying to Mars. Then, in the blinking of an eye we were dragon riders. To Logan and Piper, these weren’t merely games. They were possibilities. They were rehearsals for who they might might someday become. Watching these two beautiful children, I was reminded that long before children learn facts, they learn stories. Long before they understand economics, politics, or climate science, they begin constructing an understanding of how the world works through narrative. Who are the good guys? Who are the bad guys? What happens when challenges arise? Can ordinary people make a difference? Is the future something to fear or something to help create? One of our favorite shows to watch with Logan and Piper these days is Bluey. On the surface, it’s a delightful animated series about a family of Australian dogs (already a winner in my book). But beneath the humor and playful adventures are stories about imagination, kindness, resilience, creativity, friendship, and the importance of family and community. Episode after episode, children are quietly absorbing messages about what it means to be human—and perhaps just as importantly, adults are too. Stories answer those questions long before logic does. They help children—and grownups—develop an internal map of reality. They shape what we believe is possible, what we expect from others, and what kind of future we imagine ourselves inhabiting. What Stories Shaped You? I’d love to hear from you. What book, movie, television show, teacher, coach, or family story most shaped how you see the world today? Share in the comments. And then it struck me. Maybe adults aren’t all that different. Most people assume the future is created by politicians, corporations, technological breakthroughs, and economic forces. Certainly those things matter. But I’m not so sure that’s where the future begins. I think the future begins in imagination. One Cause is my ongoing exploration of the deeper narratives shaping humanity’s relationship with nature—and how we can create a regenerative future together. Before every nation, there was an idea. Before every movement, there was a story. Before every invention, there was someone who imagined something that didn’t yet exist. The Wright brothers imagined human flight. Martin Luther King Jr. imagined a different America. Jane Goodall imagined a different relationship between humans and the natural world. Every meaningful change begins twice: first in imagination and then in reality. Stories are the bridge between those two worlds. The more I’ve reflected on this, the more I’ve begun to see that many of the challenges we face today are not simply political, environmental, or economic. They are also narrative challenges. We are living amid what many people call the polycrisis—a convergence of climate disruption, political polarization, technological upheaval, economic uncertainty, social fragmentation, and a growing crisis of meaning. Yet beneath all of these challenges lies a deeper question: What story are we telling ourselves about who we are and where we’re headed? Because the dominant story many people seem to be living inside right now goes something like this: the world is broken, human beings are the problem (or at least those ‘other’ human beings who don’t agree with me), everything is getting worse, and the future is something to fear. If we’re honest, much of our entertainment reinforces exactly that narrative. Turn on the television, scroll through streaming services, or browse the bestseller shelves. Dystopian futures are everywhere. Civilizations collapse. Artificial intelligence takes over. The environment falls apart. Communities disintegrate. People betray one another. To be clear, I understand why these stories resonate. I’ve written a few of my own including The Stars Beckon, Babble and Rabble. They often contain important warnings. They can help us see dangers we might otherwise ignore. But warnings alone rarely inspire transformation. As I recently learned during a Gaia’s Call 2.0 conversation with author Manda Scott, people don’t change simply because they’re frightened. They change when they can imagine something worth moving toward. That insight landed deeply for me because when I look around, I don’t see a shortage of warnings. I see a shortage of compelling visions. I see a shortage of believable pathways toward a future people actually want to inhabit. I see a shortage of stories that tell the truth without surrendering hope. And perhaps that’s one reason so many people feel stuck. Human beings can endure remarkable hardship when they can see meaning, purpose, and possibility on the other side. Without that, fear easily becomes paralysis. This is where I find myself increasingly drawn to the idea that writers, artists, musicians, filmmakers, teachers, podcasters, and other creatives have a larger role to play than we often realize. Yes, creatives like you and I. Not because creatives possess all the answers. Lord knows I don’t. The deeper I dive into the polycrisis, the more aware I become of how much I don’t know. But perhaps our role has never been to provide answers. Perhaps our role is to expand what people can imagine. After all, before we can build a different future, we must first be able to see it. That realization has been quietly changing how I think about storytelling, about my own fiction, about Gaia’s Call, about One Cause, and even about the conversations I have with Logan and Piper. It has also led me to a fascinating question: Why is it that so many of our stories about the future seem trapped between two extremes? On one side, we find dystopias—stories that warn us where our current path may lead. On the other side, we find utopias—visions of a perfected future that often feel disconnected from the messy reality of getting there. One leaves us frightened. The other can leave us skeptical. Yet it seems to me there ought to be another possibility. What if there were stories courageous enough to tell the truth about the challenges we face while also helping us imagine realistic pathways toward a world we would actually want our grandchildren to inherit? What if stories could help us move beyond both blind optimism and doom-filled pessimism? That question led me to discover a growing movement known as Thrutopia. And it may turn out to be one of the most important storytelling movements of our time. In preparation for next week’s article, I’d like to invite you into a simple experiment. Pay attention to the stories you encounter over the coming days. The books you read. The movies and television shows you watch. The news you consume. The conversations you have with family and friends. As you do, ask yourself: What future is this story inviting me into? Is it inviting me toward fear or possibility? Toward helplessness (as in learned helplessness) or agency? Toward isolation or connection? Toward resignation or participation? You don’t need to judge the answers. Simply notice them. Because once you begin paying attention, you may discover that stories are shaping far more of your worldview than you previously realized. In fact, they may be shaping your expectations of the future itself. And that brings us to where we’ll begin next week. We’ll explore Thrutopia—what it is, where it came from, and why an increasing number of writers, thinkers, and changemakers believe it offers something our culture desperately needs right now: stories that tell the truth about where we are while illuminating believable pathways toward where we might yet go. Until then, pay attention to the stories. They may be shaping the future more than any of us realize. If this article sparked something in you, please share it with a fellow reader, writer, teacher, parent, grandparent, or changemaker. Stories spread one conversation at a time. An Update on Write On Purpose Coaching Since selling my small animal veterinary practice in 1989, I’ve been on a joyful adventure that has blended two lifelong passions: writing and transformational coaching. A few years ago, I brought those passions together through Write On Purpose Coaching, helping aspiring and emerging authors move from “one day” to “today.” Then, in late 2024, I took a hiatus from coaching to focus on my own writing—including much of what many of you have been reading here on Substack. Today, I’m excited to announce that I’m returning to Write On Purpose Coaching. Over the years, I’ve discovered that most people don’t struggle because they lack talent. They struggle because they lack clarity, confidence, accountability, or simply someone who believes in them before they fully believe in themselves. That’s why I continue to offer complimentary Creative Clarity Sessio
Jun 12

Manda Scott & the Rise of Thrutopia

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Jun 5

Becoming a Trimtab for Life on Earth: How small actions help turn the larger system

In Part One of this series, we explored how the stories running in our minds shape what we believe is possible. If the narrative we carry says the future is doomed and nothing we do matters, our most likely response will be withdrawal, anxiety, or quiet resignation. But when we step back and notice that those stories are interpretations rather than inevitabilities, we begin to reclaim a small but powerful space of freedom. We can choose which stories we continue feeding and which ones we begin to question. Follow the series and stay connected In Part Two, we looked at something equally important: the science of motivation. Research suggests that people rarely change because someone else tells them what they should do. In fact, that approach often creates resistance. What truly motivates people is discovering their own reasons for caring and acting. When we reconnect with something we love—a river we grew up near, a forest trail that shaped our childhood, a garden we tend with our hands—the desire to protect life arises naturally. What’s one place or relationship that makes you care more deeply about the Earth? Join the conversation with others exploring this pathTaken together, these two insights point toward something quietly revolutionary. If we change the stories we carry and reconnect with our own motivations for protecting life, the possibility of meaningful action begins to open. But there is still one question that many people understandably ask when they look at the scale of the challenges before us: What difference could one person—or one family—really make? This is where one of my favorite metaphors enters the picture. The architect and systems thinker Buckminster Fuller used the term trimtab to describe a very small device attached to the rudder of a large ship. When the trimtab moves, it creates a small change in pressure that helps turn the much larger rudder. Once the rudder begins to turn, the entire ship slowly changes direction. In other words, a relatively tiny input can help shift a much larger system. Fuller loved this metaphor because it illustrated how complex systems often change. Transformation does not always begin with massive force. Sometimes it begins with small, well-placed actions that alter the direction of the whole. Small actions can shift big systems. This might be exactly what someone you love needs to hear. When I think about the ecological challenges facing our planet, the trimtab metaphor feels especially relevant. Many people assume that only governments, corporations, or global agreements have the power to influence the trajectory of the Earth’s future. Those forces certainly matter, but history repeatedly shows that cultural change often begins elsewhere. It begins with shifts in how ordinary people live, relate, and imagine the world. Over time, enough of those shifts begin to alter the larger system. This is where the Four Great Truths of the One Cause framework come into practical focus. These truths are not abstract philosophical ideas; they are descriptions of how living systems actually function. Interconnection reminds us that life operates through relationships. Sufficiency invites us to reconsider the assumption that endless growth is necessary for human flourishing. Reciprocity reveals that life thrives through balanced exchange. And stewardship invites us to live as participants entrusted with care across generations. When we begin living with these truths in mind, even small choices can become trimtabs for a larger cultural shift. A family plants a pollinator garden in their yard, and suddenly butterflies and bees return. A group of neighbors organizes a repair café, extending the life of everyday objects. A school plants a small food forest where children learn how soil, water, and sunlight collaborate to create life. Someone chooses to support a local farmer, strengthening both community and ecosystem. None of these actions, by themselves, solve the climate crisis. But they begin changing the story of how we live on Earth. In my own life, I see small examples of this almost every day. When Logan and Piper come to visit, we wander through the yard and the small food forest we’ve been nurturing here at the Loving Homestead. What begins as simple curiosity—digging in the soil, noticing worms, watching birds—quietly becomes something deeper. They are not just learning about nature. They are forming relationships with the living world. Moments like that remind me that transformation rarely begins with grand declarations. It begins with relationships—with soil, water, animals, neighbors, and children who still remember how alive the world is. What’s one small action you’ve taken—or could take—that helps life flourish where you live? Leave a comment and reflect Each of us can participate in this shift in ways both large and small. Some will influence systems at scale. Many of us will contribute more quietly—through how we live, how we relate, and how we care. In systems language, these are trimtabs. Small actions that help the larger system turn. If you feel inspired, begin with something simple. Identify a place or relationship that matters deeply to you. Ask yourself: Why does this matter? What would I like to see flourish here? And what small step could I take? You don’t need to solve everything. You only need to begin. Because when enough trimtabs begin to move… The ship begins to turn. As we close this three-part series, I want to return to the simple experiment that began it. The stories we tell shape the possibilities we see. When those stories shift—from despair to responsibility, from separation to relationship—we begin to see new paths forward. In a time when the challenges can feel overwhelming, perhaps the most powerful question we can ask is not: How do we fix everything? But rather: What is one small way I can help life flourish today? That question may sound modest. But history suggests… It is exactly how great turnings begin. This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit wbradfordswift.substack.com/subscribe
May 30

The Invisible Forces Beneath Our Feet

Note: Due to tech issues with our regular recording modality, today’s episode was recorded using Google Meet. This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit wbradfordswift.substack.com/subscribe

Taste the sweet nectar of stories and articles that make your spirit soar. Gaia's Call is the whispered secret between the pages, urging you to become an Eco-Guardian for our planet's wonders. 📚✨ Listen to the call of the Earth and take action. wbradfordswift.substack.com

Creator

Listen to the call of the Earth and take action.
Years Active

2024 - 2026
Episodes

86
Rating

Clean
Copyright

© Brad Swift
Show Website

Gaia's Call