Aware of the problem, I sought to learn. I learned enough to think the right way (on certain issues), buy the right books (but not necessarily read them), not flaunt my privilege (or so I thought). But have I allowed the injustice to change me? Have I changed how I spend my time, where I spend my money, who I listen to, what I think about? Concerned with doing the wrong thing, I do nothing. Comfortable in my white privilege, I drop the cause when it becomes inconvenient. I stopped working to change the one person I can change: me.
Stealing away
End of the day, ready for bed, just one more thing, I write.
Unexpected service
I've gotten used to being the one who decides on a meal, then cooks it, unwinding from my day. But when he stepped in, waving me away, my heart filled with delight. Being served a home-cooked meal is a beautiful gift.
Cauliflower pizza
I've become one of those people, buying a gluten-free pizza crust. I'm slowly admitting I do feel better eating more veggies, less bread. I've had to untangle it from my identity, what I eat saying something about who I am. I've had to dismantle my unspoken judgements, smile and laugh with ease when I'm questioned. I've had to gain confidence in my choices, not get defensive and sheepish when I'm challenged. We live in a world where pizza can have a cauliflower crust. So what? If pizza can adapt, so can I.
Memorial Day
Rains falls outside, vegetables roast in the oven, jazz plays, he studies, I read. All is calm.
And now a break
Monday holiday tomorrow, Sunday stretches out, relaxed. Nowhere to go, nowhere to be. All I have to do is be. Be myself. Be present. Be grateful. Be here.
Unrushed
Another Saturday, a 3-day weekend, time to be. The urge rises up to remind myself time is scarce, to question what I've done so far today. I take a deep breath, let the wave pass over me, then go about my task. Unrushed.
Rhythms
Even the trash and recycling collection has a rhythm. A routine. It's easier for them to schedule, and easier for us to remember. The most mundane rhythms can be strong anchors.
Re-opening
My yoga studio sent out an email today sharing the tentative plans for re-opening. It's still a month away, and it could all change. But I felt a seed of hope plant itself in me. The new procedures are extensive— detailed instructions to restrict movement, even as we return to the space to expand. The return may be sadder than the absence, when I realize how much as been lost, how much has changed. Even changed, it will be good.
Making time for what’s important
It's a practice— learning to say yes to myself, saying yes to the activities that fill me up and bring me joy. Choosing myself might mean stealing away, disappointing someone, or missing 24-hr only stories on Instagram. When following others, I risk feeling fomo if I miss a day. But how many days have I missed myself?