Like many millennial women, I love The Lord of the Rings. The story, the characters, the world. The fact that being hot is somehow a hallmark of an entire race (the elves) and having curly hair, another (the hobbits).
That’s no doubt why, when I spend too much time scrolling through my phone—reading the news, ingesting hot takes—I often find myself later thinking of this quote from J.R.R. Tolkien:
“I wish it need not have happened in my time," said Frodo.
"So do I," said Gandalf, "and so do all who live to see such times. But that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us.”
In those moments, I honestly feel melodramatic. I’ve often wished to live in a different time, but I know my experiences are no trek through Mordor.
Still, I feel the bargaining. The grief. I’ve often romanticized life without the internet. A quiet house on the coast of Maine where even mail service is slow and my dog is queen of the beach. In that version of me, I have the face of someone who has never seen a push notification in her life.
And based on last week’s doomscrolling poll results, I’m guessing you’ve felt the same: 41 percent of our audience says they doomscroll regularly throughout the day, and another 24 percent said they do so a few times a day. When we asked how people cope, we heard about media diets, timers, and avoidance. It’s clear we’re all burning a lot of energy just trying to shield ourselves from overwhelm.
Which—of course—got me thinking about The Lord of the Rings again. That quote I shared happens early on, when Frodo first learns of the ring and the evil overtaking Middle Earth. Peak overwhelm.
In recent years, I’ve often resonated with Frodo’s words. But this week, as I was considering the inevitability of hard things—the times we live in, the myth of a simpler past, how the world has always been this confluence of success and struggle—I saw Gandalf’s words differently.
They feel like an invitation: agency. I can choose what I do with the time I have, even when the world feels like too much.
Yes, quick-fixes—media detoxes, Do Not Disturb mode (my fav), time limits—help me cope day to day. But they don’t help me make peace with the bigger truth: that this is my era, complicated as it is. This is my reality.
That’s where agency feels grounding. Even if there’s no perfect answer, I still get to decide what comes next, who I spend time with, who I love, how I navigate the path forward.
If I were Frodo, this might be the beginning of my reluctant hero’s journey. But I am no man. I’m a woman and, therefore, a heroine.
In literature, the heroine’s journey archetype is more complex. Unlike Frodo’s arc, it isn't just about destroying the ring (although we have to do that, too). It’s also about what happens after: what we learn in the darkness, how we reclaim and rebuild and return to ourselves. It’s a journey that marries adventure with community, creativity, and spirituality—ultimately shaping us into people who lead with strength and compassion.
If that resonates (and I hope it does), these are the heroine’s journey–inspired questions I’m asking myself as I step into this new era:
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Separation: Where do I feel most disconnected from myself or my values?
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Descent: What “dark wood” am I being called to walk through right now—grief, uncertainty, change?
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Reclamation: What parts of myself do I want to call back, protect, or nurture?
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Integration: How can I carry what I’ve learned into my daily life, even in small ways?
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Return: How might my growth ripple outward—to friends, family, or my wider community?
Now: How can your answers here help you embrace agency in your own life and take your first steps forward? No Fellowship required—just courage to accept the journey that’s already unfolding.
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