This week I’ve been noodling hard on change and impermanence.
As a neurodivergent person, casually being asked, “So, how are things?” can send my overthinking mind into a turbo high spin cycle.
I start scanning for something socially acceptable to say. Something honest, but not too honest — and by the time my brain times out, the unspoken window for responding has already closed. And so has the chance for connection.
My instinct then is to jet — to exit the conversation and find somewhere quiet to dry out my emotions.
But in writing, I can go at my own pace and I can choose how and when to tell my story.
So here I am. I want to tell you how things really are right now and in the only way that feels true for me, today.
As a poem.
How are things?
“How are things?”
Things are new again.
Things are blue again.
Things are few again.
I have no clue what I will do.
Again.
I hold onto the things I have touched — that have touched me.
My touch has turned cold because of these things I hold,
for if they stayed warm,
they would have stayed with me forever.
I would then have too many things.
Things I don’t need.
Things have slipped through my hands,
as has time,
and my hands are now stained
and empty.
I will fill them with new things,
as I have before,
things will be new,
again,
yes, there will be more.
Until, of course,
change turns things to blue,
things become far,
things become few,
touch turned cold,
again,
nothing left to hold.
But as long as I am warm,
as long as I am alive,
these hands will hold again.
They do so to survive.
Not to own.
Only to touch,
and be touched.
For no-thing was ever mine.
Only passing through.
You asked,
How are things?
Again,
I have no clue.
© 2026 Life Planned & Organized with Alyssa Castro
Time, Time, Time — See What’s Become of Me
There have been multiple job losses in my life. Each time, things became few.
Over and over I’ve learned that I always figure it out and that it will be okay.
As time has shown — my hands have not stayed empty forever.
I have held work, stability, and hope, again and again.
While I look around, things become new again — not because I control them, but because I am more present to notice them.
Even in this.
This hazy shade of winter.
Change has a way of reshuffling our sense of stability and it can be very difficult finding your footing.
How are things with you?
No pressure to write me a poem.
Just an invitation to check in with yourself.
Does that deer-in-the-headlights reaction feel familiar when someone casually asks, how are things?
If that question makes your nervous system tighten and your left glute twitch, you’re not alone. Sometimes it’s easier to say “fine” than to untangle what’s actually happening beneath the surface.
If you’re in a season where things feel blue, few, or fewer than usual, maybe try these things that I am working on too:
1. Name the Season
Instead of trying make sense of the chaos of change, start by simply naming the season of life you are in.
Is this a contraction season?
A rebuilding season?
A waiting season?
A letting go season?
Naming — the season, situation and feeling — is taming. It brings grounding to the floating panic of change.
2. Locate the Warmth
Even in contraction, something is still alive.
Where do you still feel warmth?
Who feels steady?
What idea hasn’t cooled?
What part of you is still breathing with curiosity?
Warmth is your core resource.
Tend that flame.
3. Separate “Few” from “Failure”
When resources thin, it’s easy to feel that as personal inadequacy.
But “few” is a condition — not an identity.
Fewer dollars. Fewer opportunities. Fewer answers.
Not few worth. Not few capability.
Things become not few again.
4. Choose One Small Thing You Can Hold On To
Choose one thing to have and hold this week:
One application.
– One conversation you’ve been meaning to have when the time is right. It can be as small as talking to (even just a ‘hi’) a neighbor you meet at your mailbox.
– One organized drawer.
– One budget review.
– One hour of focused creative work.
This one thing is enough.
