Your permission slip to rest and retreat
It's Day 1 of our mini-retreat, and this is your reminder that rest is as important as action.
Ever since early November, we’ve been living in a liminal place: knowing that a new political administration is coming—one we didn’t vote for, didn’t want back, never wanted in the first place. We’ve all been hearing the news and social media noise ratchet up about plans or policies or cabinet members that will endanger us, mother Earth, and the people we love. And we are, today, on the precipice of stepping across the threshold.
What happens tomorrow is always unknown. But I think we know enough to realize that the next four years are going to be, at a minimum, infuriating, and at its worst, deeply damaging to people and planet—a giant grift at the expense of, well, everyone. In 2016, we gathered to protest the election of a president who didn’t win the popular vote. Maybe we wore pink hats, or marched, or were outraged. I remember the first policy that came out and how proud I was that people in San Francisco immediately rallied and protested at the airport. We thought a public demonstration could have influence.
Today, I feel so tender for all of us who, back then, armed with hope and a bit of naivete, thought the time-proven ways of demonstrating could change policy. We know more now, and I think that’s why there hasn’t been an organic push to organize or demonstrate. We’re tired. We’re sad. We’re resigned. Especially after so many white folks (and a few others) voted for this. The idea of America as an exceptionally good place, well, this dream can die hard.
And yet the good news is also that it’s not 2016. We are about to cross a threshold, but this time, we cross it with knowledge, better ways of coping, and better ways of helping. We are not the same, and we are going to endure together. When harm comes for us or ones we love, our resolve and values will kick into action.
We can do hard things.
The thing I take away, the most, from the difference between 2016 and now is that 2016 was full of anger and resistance. I remembering thinking, “we are better than this.”
Today, I am full of resolve and action. I know who I am. You know who you are. We may not be in the majority of voters, but we are here and we are numerous and we will take care of each other.
The first thing we can do, and the first thing we really should do with any of the chaos, real or imagined, that will be thrown our way, is to pause. To take a moment to center ourselves and ask, “do I have the resources to help right now?” If not, “what can I do to fill my cup?” And, if we do have the resources, inner or otherwise, to ask, “what I can I do to help?”
These next few days of mini-retreating are about taking that pause. Together, we’ll take a few quiet minutes each morning, not so much to do something but just to be—with ourselves and each other.
We are going to turn inward, if only for a few minutes each morning, and do one small thing to fill our cups. To make sure that we have the ability to hold onto hope for the beautiful, diverse, inclusive, welcoming, and warm-hearted world we want to live in.
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