A year of yes, and…
"Every 'yes' changes something in me. Every 'yes' is a bit more transformative. Every 'yes' sparks some new phase of revolution." — Shonda Rhimes
I write from Minneapolis, where our city feels heavy with grief and fear. Recent days have brought tragedy, and many of us are feeling small, powerless, and uncertain about how to act and move forward.
In moments like these, the idea of saying "yes" to life might feel impossible, even offensive. And yet, I keep returning to a question I heard last year on a Modern Love podcast, where actor and director Jay Duplass asked: What does it mean to "yes, and" your way through life?
When Everything Feels Out of Control
"Yes, and" is a principle from improv comedy—accepting what comes and building on it, staying present even when you don't know what happens next. But Duplass was talking about something deeper: how we show up to life, especially when life is hard.
Right now, "yes, and" doesn't mean pretending things are fine. It means something else entirely.
It means: Yes, things feel terrible. And how can I take care of myself today?
Yes, I feel powerless. And what small action is within my reach?
Yes, I'm scared. And where can I find connection and community?
This is different from "yes, but..." which shuts down possibility. "Yes, and" acknowledges the reality of our pain while refusing to let that pain be the only truth we hold.
The Practice of Small Yeses
I fell last week and broke my wrist, and I've been learning what it means to "yes, and" my way through healing. Yes, I fell. And I can pick myself up and move forward. Some days, that looks like making big plans for the year ahead. Other days, it looks like asking for help opening a jar.
When the world feels chaotic and our individual power feels small, we don't need grand gestures. We need small yeses. A client who lost her husband has been slowly reimagining her home—not all at once, but one corner, one room, one intentional choice at a time. Another client going through a difficult divorce said yes to going out with friends, even though staying home alone felt safer.
What small yes is available to you today? What small yes might open a door you didn't know was there?
Living with Complexity
The more we practice saying "yes, and," the more we inhabit a place of possibility. This doesn't mean saying yes to everything indiscriminately or ignoring our boundaries. It means approaching life with intentionality—making conscious decisions to embrace experiences, even when fear whispers that we should stay small and safe.
Living with this openness means accepting complexity. The scary things and the wonderful things often arrive together, wrapped in the same package. The more we can say yes to the full spectrum of life—the messy, uncertain, beautiful, terrifying wholeness of it—the more authentic our lives become.
I think about my client who's been saying "no" to everything. What would it look like for her to say "yes, and" to one small thing? Not to pretend her grief isn't real, but to acknowledge it and remain open to moments of connection or joy? And a client considering a career change—what if he could hold both his fear and his readiness and take a small step toward yes, rather than waiting for certainty that may never come?
Finding Our Way Forward
Television producer Shonda Rhimes wrote about her "Year of Yes"—a commitment to say yes to opportunities that scared her. But the deeper wisdom isn't just about saying yes to the big, shiny things. It's about saying yes again and again to the work of staying open, staying curious, and staying present, especially when everything in us wants to shut down.
Yes, the world feels chaotic and frightening. And we can still choose to care for ourselves and each other. We can still find moments of connection. We can still take small actions that remind us we're not completely powerless.
This is the practice of "yes, and." Not toxic positivity. Not pretending. But holding both our grief and our agency, our fear and our capacity to act, our pain and our need for community. Whatever you're facing today, may you find one small yes. One small step. One small moment of connection and care.
