out of the instant pot, into the...cold plunge?
out of the instant pot, into the...cold plunge?
omg is that a horizon out there in the distance?
In the spirit of reparations and community, between now and December 1, 2020, I will match 50% off all new subscriptions, which will be donated directly to the Sogorea Te’ Land Trust.
Happy Thanksgiving - humbled by and grateful to all of you.
This week, slightly more pressure got released out of the collective Instant Pot we’ve been sweating in. Some steam was released that Saturday when the AP called the election for Biden. But the relief was short lived, more akin to that violent spurt of steam that shoots out when you tap the toggle at the top of a pressure cooker (and then jerk away before it blasts your eye out or burns your hand off) than anything resembling an exhale, or an unclenching of mandible, or a meaningful softening of shoulders. That burst of relief was followed by an emotional hangover when we realized that things are dark as ever, more people are dying than ever, and the current administration still has two months to wreak as much trouble as possible.
There we were, so close yet still so far to being even somewhat out of the woods. Blanketed under media reports of an impending “dark winter.” Dealing with the mindfuck of wanting more than anything to be together but knowing that we must continue to maintain distance. Swirl this all together, and you’ve got all the ingredients for a soup I’ll call Blue as Hell and on the Lonesome Cusp of Despair. It’s a cold soup.
So this week’s news was a warm and subtle shift, like a plant turning toward the sun. The news I’m referring to is twofold: first, the woman responsible for initiating the transfer of power between administrations finally got that process underway. Second, we continue to receive encouraging news that a vaccine is close by. Bob Wachter, a UCSF doctor who’s been a helpful voice through this whole thing (if you look for him on Twitter he regularly puts out the most helpful updates that any layperson could understand) is
“optimistic that we’ll make a big dent in Covid by spring. And it’s not crazy to have hope that we’ll achieve herd immunity by summer – which will require that 65-70% of the population is protected, via vaccine or prior infection.”
I know better than to get lost in magical thinking. I know this is only the beginning. I know everything is still the hugest mess. And. I felt a space open up inside me this week. I got present to the degree to which I, like all of us, have just been trying to make it through the every day.
What a relief to look forward. To see some glimmers on the horizon, albeit fuzzy and out of focus.
Some physical space opened up for me this week, too. At the beginning of COVID one of my housemates lost her income and moved in with her partner. Since then, we’ve had an extra bedroom sitting open. So I bought a little couch to put in there. Was practicing yoga on the smooth wood floor. But mostly, it was sitting mostly unused. Last weekend, I swapped things around and now have a bedroom separate from my workspace. I’ve been having the hardest time articulating the impact this small change is having on me. I barely know how or what to think. Mostly I’ve just been laying on the floor, dreaming.
My job with this newsletter is to hold a fierce and rigorous vision for the future.
“Chaos is not simply disorder. Chaos explores the transitions between order and disorder, which often occur in surprising ways.”
Here, in this wilderness, anything is possible. Anything, y’all. Just like a butterfly flapping its wings in Brazil can cause a typhoon in Taiwan, just like the quietest agitation to a swinging pendulum can utterly alter its trajectory, the unpredictable nature of this time is pregnant with possibility. I’m not saying to ignore all the trouble. This isn’t about spiritual bypassing, or sticking our heads in the sand. I’m just saying that there is more than trouble. There is pleasure, and joy, and an evolving into a future beyond what the 24-hour news cycle would ever have us believe is perhaps right here, waiting to surprise us.
May all of us have a safe space from which to lay on the floor and expand our imaginations. May we hone a vision of a wild and generative future.
*
🙌🏾 Written from Huichin and Yelamu, also known as Oakland and San Francisco, on the unceded territories of Chochenyo and Ramaytush Ohlone peoples, who have continuously lived upon this land since time immemorial.
(with apologies to my MFA instructors for the cheesy Instant Pot metaphor)
Just one newsletter this week y’all. Enjoy some links:
🦋 Many of you know I’ve been geeking the hell out on Chaos Theory. This little article helped my brain wrap my head around some of the complicated concepts (it’s also where the quote above comes from!).
🐳 Have rogue orcas really been attacking boats in the Atlantic? This is so so good:
Killer whales live, hunt and move in very closely connected family pods: tightly knit, matriarch-led groups that - in some populations - have even been shown to have their own pod-specific dialects.
Families generally stick closely together, with long-lived grandmothers helping to raise young and to teach youngsters to hunt.
👉🏽 From The White Pages:
The problem comes when we confuse “the things we do to cope with our guilt” for “anti-racist action.” For those of us who are white, if we earnestly want communities other than ours to win, then let’s fight for things that actually tip the scales toward justice. Otherwise, all we’re doing is play-acting to make ourselves feel and look better.
⚖️ Things Ain’t Always Gon Be This Way
Mama had a way of circumventing, until what was left was her father’s anger, his courage in the face of a disrespectful, racist White man. Other Black folks in Georgia were murdered, but not Charlie James. My grandfather was a farmer who never owned land or even finished grade school, but Mama cast him always as the victor, not the victim. There were many of my mother’s stories about her father’s moxie. It took me years to clarify the ways that Mama canted her father’s suffering in the segregated Deep South. By focusing on his individual courage, she drew attention away from his oppression. She made his resistance possible, his everyday acts extraordinary.
💔 A sweet, sad and helpful ditty on grief from our friend Nick Cave.
🥗 This, along with my wit and charisma, is what I’m contributing to today’s feast.
Reminder: In the spirit of reparations and community, between now and December 1, 2020, I will match 50% off all new subscriptions, which will be donated directly to the Sogorea Te’ Land Trust.