I Am Not Afraid
This is the most embarrassing public confession I have ever made. I suspect I will regret it.
I have been in a very weird headspace lately, and I’m not sure how to write about it here. I met a friend for coffee this week, who I hadn’t seen in a bit and she said, “You haven’t posted much lately. Are you doing okay?”
And I was kind of embarrassed, and I kind of whispered, “Actually, I’m doing pretty good.”
I know!!!
Last week I was on a business call with a good friend, and we sort of talked about the latest insane bit of news, and my friend, who is a really positive and upbeat guy, by nature, said, “I just don’t think any of this is going to get fixed in my lifetime.”
And I said, “Oh, I don’t know about that. I think we’re right in the middle of figuring it out!”
I haven’t been posting because I haven’t been despairing, and I haven’t been sure what to say about that.
I know what’s going on. I know. And I’m not taking it lightly. My Senators, all GOP sellouts, are going to put me on a “do not call” list if I don’t stop ranting into their answering machines, and my family text chain this morning is workshopping sign ideas for Saturday. The one below, from Steve, is my favorite so far.
We all know what is happening out there. It is objectively terrifying.
But, plot twist.
I am not afraid.
Did I Run Out Of Despair?
It’s reasonable to say to me, “You’re not afraid because you’re not the one in their sights.” And it’s true that middle aged pudgy white ladies are not ICE’s primary demographic. We can accuse me of living in a space of privilege, but that’s too narrow a view.
Because of course this is happening to me. This is happening to all of us, whether or not you recognize it. This week I re-read Martin Luther King Jr’s “Letter From A Birmingham Jail.”
I am cognizant of the interrelatedness of all communities and states. I cannot sit idly by in Atlanta and not be concerned about what happens in Birmingham. Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere. We are caught in an inescapable network of mutuality, tied in a single garment of destiny. Whatever affects one directly, affects all indirectly. Never again can we afford to live with the narrow, provincial "outside agitator" idea. Anyone who lives inside the United States can never be considered an outsider anywhere within its bounds.
— Martin Luther King Jr.
This is not happening to someone else. This is not happening somewhere else. This is happening right here, right now, to all of us.
We are all going to suffer. I know this. The thing is, we’ve been suffering for years, and maybe after the last decade, I’ve just run out of despair, and I’ve run out of anger. Like, all that stuff is just depleted. I go to hunt for anger or outrage and my cupboards are bare of those emotions.
I’ve been angry, I’ve been afraid, I’ve been desperate, and it hasn’t changed anything.
So I’m giving up on giving up.
You know how sometimes, when everything in life is going incredibly well, that you become terrified it’s all going to fall apart?
Well, I’m sort of living in the opposite state right now. Everything is quite objectively terrible, and somehow I am confident we’re all about to come together.
One of the things that people keep saying is “We are breaking things that will take generations to rebuild.”
But here’s the thing. If those things were working, we wouldn’t be in this mess. Maybe that’s how I feel, right now. Like, okay. We have made a giant mess. Time to clean it up.
I never had kids, but I feel kind of like a mom whose kids are behaving REALLY QUITE BADLY and I’m stepping in. And yes, understood, these kids have access to the nuclear codes and all our personal data. It’s not great. But I’m the grownup, and I’m taking charge.
And I’m not angry, because I’m just tired of being angry, angry doesn’t feel good inside of me.
And I’m not afraid, because something inside me, maybe it’s my storyteller, understands that this is just a season. A hard season. Objectively, a frightening season, and perhaps I should be more afraid.
Nevertheless. When I look inside myself right now, bizarrely, the only thing I can find is hope, and peace, and confidence.
God said “Fear Not”, and maybe I finally believe.
This is not okay.
But I think we will be.
Maybe that’s what I will put on my sign, on Saturday. See you there.
Thanks again for another strong, timely, transparent post. It reminded me that vulnerability is indeed a strength.
And yes, if things had been working we wouldn't find ourselves here. Losing our collective national way has been so insidious. And as we see now, apparently too hard to face, methinks because of the sacrifice/s it would require of us.
I'm reminded of an admonition from a personal growth workshop years ago, "What are you pretending not to know?"
To everything there is indeed a season.
May our collective despair hold no more tightly than is needed to fuel the change we seek.
Beautifully said, reverberates with here in vanwa. Thinking I may have to make your heart sign as my sign for this Saturday rally.