All of This

Photo by Jeremy Ricketts on Unsplash

I take a breath.

I’m overwhelmed.

This little life I’m living - it’s a good one. I have food, shelter, people who love me and people I love. I have money in the bank account, a working car, a heater that will turn on when the temperatures get too cold, a huge blanket I crocheted years ago that will keep me warm until then. I am healthy enough that I can do mostly what I choose to do each day. I have two, independent, beautiful, brilliant children. I have an entire gang of neighbors who support one another. (Priceless.) I have an internet connection, cellular service, and health insurance.

And.

I am educated. White. Middle-class. Bi but can easily pass as straight (being in a heterosexual marriage). On the surface, non-offensive to almost every majority group. I worked hard and have suffered a lot, AND I’m privileged and benefit from systems set up to protect me, I was born “in a good place at a good time”, …. I’m lucky.

And.

There are multiple struggles in our home life. They are not mine to name, but they are having a profound impact on our daily life. School challenges continue as the kids navigate online-only learning. Community challenges continue as new Covid cases emerge at restaurants and in our schools. I am energetically beaten down every morning when hearing new news - justices not played out, division-fires stoked, racism continuing, fires burning … you know the 2020 drill by now. I have health issues that are creeping up and threaten to overtake me if I don’t address them now.

And.

I could delete Facebook, not watch the news. I could tiptoe through my world, only bothered by a long line at Starbucks or dust bunnies that no one else vacuums up at home. I could overlook the health issues, knowing I can work with them for at least several years to come. I could survive.

And.

I choose to not choose ignorance. [ Ignorance: Middle English: via Old French from Latin ignorantia, from ignorant- ‘not knowing’ ]

The truth of this world, this existence, is that everything is interconnected.

I know this. I won't ignore my knowing.

My well-being depends on your well-being, the environment’s well-being, our society’s well-being, … and vice-versa.

The goodness in my life, the pains, the suffering of Breonna Taylor’s mother and boyfriend and friends and every black person who embodies the knowing of the pain in a way I never will, the joys of my friends whose child was just born, an ego-driven president who is tearing apart this country, the delicious scent of my freshly-laundered fuzzy sweater, Ruth Bader Ginsburg’s death and her life and the consequences of her absence, the squealing laughter of my daughter as she plays with our dog, my anxiety over my son soon getting his license and going out into the world on his own, each black person’s anxiety over their son driving and getting pulled over and that child’s life being at risk, ….

the realities of everything that is exist within me.

And within you.

Our collective knowing resides within your cells. What you choose to do with that is up to you - And what you choose to do with that affects all of our well-being.

As Lauren Morril tweeted (which got incorrectly attributed to Dr. Fauci), “I don’t know how to explain to you why you should care about other people”.

You have to start with the awareness of our interconnection, of how another person’s suffering (regardless of the color of their skin or their political leaning) is your suffering and that person’s joys, yours. Sprinkle in copious amounts of empathy and stir. Take a taste and see if you start to care. Just start there.

Then understand that some ingredients are toxic. Decide what sort of life cake you are baking, and take responsibility to mix in only what will nourish.

—-

For anyone keeping track of my commitment to write every day in September (and post every week day), you might have noticed I did not post yesterday.

The thoughts were there, the words were not. I chose to honor that.

And.

A moving quote I recently heard (attributed to Rick Warren) reminds me why I write:

“An impression without expression leads to depression.”

Put in another way, “an inhale without an exhale leads to expiration”. Think about it.

So I plan lunch, check my voter registration, donate to a cause in which I believe, write this post, and pull my blanket a bit tighter around my shoulders (because I refuse to close the windows while I relish the fresh, cool air).

And I take another breath….