I do not have words for today. Or rather, mine aren't the ones that are important.
During a pandemic, during a coup, are we equipped to reset expectations and allow each other to process loss and challenge?
Compassion allows me to separate myself from these tendencies and reframe my motivation as understanding myself—being curious—rather than fixing myself. Compassion allows me to remember that I and everyone else are doing the best we can with what we have, and that there is no binary right and wrong.
From the journal entries and freewriting I've managed to do, I created a stanza a week to capture both the personal and world struggles during the pandemic, how "pre-covid" life concerns (aka anxiety/depression) weave with new stresses and situations to create a tapestry of worries and gratitudes, indignation and hope.
My hope for the future is that we can collectively reflect and dream about what a better year would be for the human race—start there, and then define the individual actions we can take towards that resolution.
I’m convinced that, as a country, we are missing the ingredients for true reconciliation with the grief we are all experiencing: acknowledgement and empathy.
I’ve written about the kind of grief that I think we’re all experiencing, but have a hard time naming and therefore talking about: the grief of losing our former lives.
Acknowledging our struggles as a way to support each other and find strength, compassion, and connection.
Although I am consciously working on celebrating the small things, or the things that I can have pride in for accomplishing myself, this week the celebration is big!
This really is a trust exercise: my present self trusting that my past self has my best intentions at heart. And that my future self will thank my present self for keeping a promise. But if the person I’m supposed to trust is telling me that I’m a failure for not living up to expectations, for not getting my lazy ass off the couch, then of course it will be impossible to build that trust.