I’m posting from the road, on our way to our annual ski trip to High Camp Hut, in Colorado. A couple weeks ago I wrote about offering— putting our good work into the world without expecting or needing it to be received by everyone to whom we give it.
While it’s liberating to give in this spirit, lobbing ideas into the world can feel futile at times, like standing at one end of a tin-can telephone connected by string to another tin can one million miles away. Is there anybody out there? You have to surrender control, and direct your energy into wholehearted giving, trusting that your offering will be received by those it’s meant to reach.
This week I read a Twitter post by Blake Butler, author of the devastating new memoir Molly, about his poet-wife who died by suicide in 2020. He wrote, “I’m not going to stop speaking up for myself btw. No one else is doing it.”
This struck me as gut-wrenching but fundamentally true. We have to be our own advocates. We can’t wait for the phone to ring or someone to show up out of the blue, asking to see our work. It’s up to us to act from our own agency, to give openly of ourselves even if we feel vulnerable. Maybe especially then.
The flip side of giving is receiving. It’s the yin to offering’s yang. One without the other is lopsided. Like offering, receiving is done without specific caveats or preferences. We don’t go in with preconceived notions of what we want but, rather, with an open mind, willing to be surprised, delighted, maybe even mystified. Beginner’s mind.
I first discovered receiving when I was 7 or 8, playing Harriet the Spy in my suburban New Jersey neighborhood. I walked or biked around the block, looking for clues dropped on the ground: old receipts, grocery lists, half-torn envelopes. You had to look closely or you’d miss them, but it was worth it: You could write a whole detective story off a single scrap of paper.
This is one of the best things about receiving. You never know what you’re going to get.
Years later, when I started running ultra marathons, I used the same mindset. As long I’d trained to the best of my ability—mentally and physically—I could show up at the starting line ready to receive whatever the race would teach me: good, bad, ugly, win, lose, or drop. It was a physical, visceral sensation—as though there was a switch on my arm and I could just flip it: like turning an avalanche beacon from transmit to search.
You can switch into receive mode anytime, anywhere.
Walking is a great way to practice. It’s slower and more intentional than running, simpler than riding a bike. I love wandering around our neighborhood with my dogs, just looking. It feels less like walking and more like foraging, keeping my eyes and ears open, scavenging for ideas, collecting bits and pieces of ordinary offerings, overhead conversations—the way I used to when I was young.
Receiving is different than manifesting, which my mother, a dazzling optimist, does with uncanny frequency. She always knows she’s going to get the best parking spot right in front because she can see it in her mind. She creates it. Receiving, on the other hand, isn’t nearly so specific. You’re not visualizing a particular outcome, you’re just keeping your eyes open for something interesting to come your way.
Receiving is another word for curiosity.
The other night after dinner, Steve gave me an offering. He was sitting on the couch, scrolling through his phone, while I sat across from him, trying to write. The video was turned up loud enough for me to hear a sport’s announcer’s voice, and above that, Steve’s chuckling.
“What’re you watching?” I said, trying not to sound annoyed. Steve’s indiscriminate, high-volume scrolling—mostly for fishing videos or stupid skiing bloopers—can be distracting, but he’s so cute when he laughs that it’s hard to be irritated.
“Badminton!” said Steve.
This. This is why I love Steve. Never in one million years did I expect him to say that.
"It’s actually pretty exciting,” he went on. Verbatim—because I was writing it down as he talked. “All the shots they take!”
“My grandmother played badminton,” I told him. And there it was: an unexpected flash of Granny—dark, swooped-back hair, birdie in hand. A whole story in a single word.
Just last night, as I was finishing this post, I looked up to the sound of wheezing. Steve was staring at his phone and shaking with laughter, the silent, eyes-scrunched, red-faced, body-writhing kind of laughter.
I didn’t say anything. I just raised my eyebrows at him.
“Oh, it’s this windsurfing thing,” he said. “Don’t laugh at me.”
He walked over and sat down beside me, tears of laughter oozing out of his eyes. He held out his screen for me to watch.
“See?” A windsurfer was riding the lip of an absolutely gigantic wave, making some impressive, clearly pro moves. Steve began to narrate: “Awesome, sick, looking good. Sick. And then——BAMMMMM!” The windsurfer rag dolled across the breaking crest of the wave, head over heels, cartwheeling at least four times before popping up in the whitewash.
I couldn’t help myself. I laughed, long and hard. “You just lap up whatever they give you, don’t you?” I asked Steve.
“Yeah, pretty much.” And then he grinned with his dimple, bathing me in the glow of his beautiful smile.
And that’s the magic: Receiving in this way, wholeheartedly, is its own kind of offering. You’re doing both at the same time. Putting back into the world the energy and curiosity and all the random bits of treasures you’ve just been given. It’s an even exchange, an unbroken cycle. Keep it spinning.
Also, as I write this, it’s Valentine’s Day, which I love because I love ALL the love! Spread it generously. It’s a form of giving, and receiving.
Hugs!
katie
If you like this post, be sure to check out my forthcoming, Brief Flashings in the Phenomenal World, out April 16 and available for pre-order now. It’s love story, an wilderness adventure, and an ode to everyday brilliance we’re usually too busy to notice.
ALSO be sure to reserve your spot at River Flow Camp, on the Pecos River, May 30-June 2 while they last. We’ll be practicing offering and receiving and other simple, pleasurable everyday practices to prime you for flow, wherever you are. Writing, running, hiking, wandering, yoga sitting, receiving. Starting at $2400 at Field Trip NM.
And we’re back at High Camp Hut for Mountain Flow Camp, Sept 5-8. Spaces are going fast! $2600. Register now at High Camp Hut. All levels of writers, hikers, and runners are welcome.
Hi Katie. I just wanted to say hi and let you know I found my way to your substack via the ten junk miles podcast. I really enjoyed your interview and have been enjoying your writing here on substack. I could really relate to your micro running post. I have had a five year hiatus from any ultra races or any formal training. I am living in Colombia for the last 9 months and finally my passion for trail running seems to be coming back. I appreciate reading and learning from others who love running for the pure joy of it. Hoping to read both of your books when I go back to Canada later this year.