Campfire Chat: Awake (and a Little Uncomfortable)

What writing a poem taught me about control, climate grief, and sticking with the hard stuff.

🎧 What I’ve Been Listening To: Honestly? Myself.

Not in a “wow, what a voice” kind of way (I can’t sing)— but more like… finally hearing the stuff underneath the noise. The anxious loops. The pressure to fix. The ache that comes from being too online and not enough outside. I’ve also been cueing up the Poetry Unbound podcast on the recommendation of a friend. If you’ve never listened, it’s a gentle deep dive into one poem at a time, hosted by Pádraig Ó Tuama. Short, soft, and sneakily radical.

🖋️ What I’ve Been Writing: Things I Didn’t Expect to Share

I’m part of an outdoor writers accountability group (shoutout to the Rough Draft Rangers). We check in weekly, stay in touch on Slack, cheer each other on, and throw out prompts and challenges that keep us on our toes—and sometimes make us squirm. A few weeks ago, the challenge was poetry. I wanted to bail. Instead, I sat outside, opened my laptop, and wrote something I didn’t know I needed to say. It cracked something open in me. And yeah — I cried a little. Then I edited. Then I decided to share it—first with my fellow Rangers and, with their encouragement, now with you.

🌎 What I’ve Been Sitting With: The weight of being “awake”

The older I get, the more I understand why people numb out. Especially people who care deeply about the climate, equity, or justice. It’s a lot. But staying present — awake, even when it hurts — matters. And for me, that awareness has to come with action. Even if it’s small. Even if it scares me. Even if it’s just one little, raw and vulnerable poem. (Stay tuned below.)

🌀 What I’ve Been Learning to Loosen: The need to control everything

Writing my article, “Camping Kayt Is Fun Kayt,” was another vulnerable moment for me. I wrote about how being outside — like really outside, with nothing to schedule or fix — helped me unclench. My shoulders dropped. My jaw loosened. My expectations softened. And something shifted. Being in nature reminded me that I don’t have to hold it all. That it’s okay to let go. That rest isn’t failure.

📢 What I’ve Been Reminded Of: 89% of us want climate action

And yet… we often stay quiet. This week, we joined forces with The 89 Percent Project to amplify the fact that most of us do care. We just don’t always know what to say, or how to say it. Sharing your voice — in a poem, in a vote, in a family group chat — matters more than you think.

🌼 What I’ve Been Grateful For: Creative community, weird prompts, and tiny breakthroughs

This experience — writing the poem, sitting with it, sharing it  — was a reminder that discomfort can be a portal. It’s where growth happens. Where clarity comes. Where the earth shifts a little under your feet and says, “Yup, you’re still alive. Keep going.”

Awake

By Kayt Myers

I am awake.

Not the buzzing brain of sleepless nights,

but the deep-bell truth that thrums in marrow—

a knowing.

I see the fault lines.

Cracks in the country,

in the climate,

in the quiet faces of people trying to hold

too much

with too little.

I see the animals losing homes

they never had a voice to beg for.

I see the land—aching, sacred, scorched.

And I feel it all.

That’s the trouble with being awake.

You feel it all.

I’m bone tired.

But my eyes are open.

My hands still reach.

My heart still breaks

and beats and burns

for better.

I am grief, braided with grit.

Call it consciousness.

Call it conviction.

Call it inconvenient.

But I will not trade clarity for comfort.

Because sleep is a luxury the Earth cannot afford.

Because love without action is just a lullaby.

Because justice requires witnesses.

And revolution needs gardeners

who plant even as the storm rolls in.

I am awake.

And let me be wide-eyed forever.

Let me never go blind with comfort.

Let me never fall silent with fatigue.

I am awake.

And I am sounding the alarm.

Now, it’s your turn.

✏️ Writing Prompts from the Edge of Comfort

Pick one, start scribbling, and see what shakes loose.

🧵 Thread I’m Pulling:

What truth are you circling right now but haven’t named yet? Write one line that scares you a little.

📦 What’s in My Pack:

What are you carrying that you don’t need to fix? Just name it.

🐾 Tracks in the Mud:

Write about a time you tried to control everything — and what happened when you let go.

🫖 Steeping:

What part of you feels wide awake lately? What part still wants to hide?

📍 Pinned to the Map:

Where were you when you last felt that deep “marrow truth”? Describe the scene in full sensory detail.

If you write something because of this, please tell me. And if you are feeling brave, I’d love to read it.

Need a permission slip to rest, rage, or write a poem? This is it.

🫶

More soon,

—Kayt

Why listen to me?

Because I’ve spent the last 15 years writing about the outdoors and conservation—with muddy boots, dirt under my nails, and way too many bug bites to prove it.

I’m a certified Bee-Friendly Gardener, a Pollinator Steward, and a volunteer with folks who care about bats, trails, and treading lightly. I’m also a DarkSky Advocate and a proud member of the SC Native Plant Society, The 89 Percent Project, and 1% for the Planet. My backyard wildlife habitat—certified by the National Wildlife Federation, Pollinator Partnership, and the Cornell Lab of Ornithology—is basically a wild little résumé of its own.

I started Field Trip for folks who’d rather be outside. Now I spend my days researching, asking too many questions, and turning what I learn into stories that help people fall in love with the outdoors—and want to protect it.

Thanks for being here with me.