Category Archives: On My Mind

On My Mind

Vote!

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My political coming of age occurred during the Obama years, a different time that seems like it came out of a different world. The question that hung around my university in the fall of 2008 was whether America was ready to choose a Black man as president. There was discourse, discussion, and dialogue. There were conversations about policies and expertise, the economy and foreign affairs. I went to at least one student-run forum to analyze policy positions of different candidates. Like my peers, I made what I thought was the best choice, and I voted in my first election.

For years after that, I continued to look into policy statements and records. I read the websites of everyone running for local and state office for every election, and I voted in every local and state election. I subscribed to newsletters and read the emails that poured into my inbox. I made lists of pros and cons and tried to do what I had been taught in school, which was to inform myself and make a decision.

And then came 2016.

I’d just returned from two years living overseas and moved back to a country I didn’t recognize. Dialogue and discourse were no longer words that were used. It was a time of rallies rather than campaign events, insulting rather than debating, catastrophe and failure rather than hope and change. With a group of friends, I attended gatherings and marches, signed petitions, called elected officials and left messages whenever their mailboxes weren’t full. This was the game plan before the election and it remained the game plan thereafter. The game wasn’t over.

Now here we are in 2024. And we are asking a similar question to the one that was humming through my university in 2008: Is America ready for a Black woman as president?

But this is very different from 2008. Now, the questions about specific policies have become less important because answers about other policies loom large. The dialogue that occurs takes place between people who already know one another’s opinions, and probably agree with them. There are deep feelings rather than deep discourse.

The front page of The New York Times today proclaims, “WORRY AND HOPE ON LAST DAY OF VOTING”. In 2008, the front page read, “The ’08 Campaign: A Sea Change for Politics as We Know It”.

My political awakening occurred not so long ago, but in a different time. The world will be a different place still as a result of who wins this election. The only way to be part of that decision is to exercise the most basic democratic right, which is to vote. And if voting feels good, vote for those who believe in your right to make your voice heard.

Vote for those who believe in the democratic system that allows for dialogue and discourse, questions and answers.

Vote for those who want to build up a country for its people rather than tearing it apart.

Vote for the people who wanted to and couldn’t, who tried to and were condemned, who fought for it and died.

Vote. Because it matters.

New York City – January 2017
On My Mind

The Rain

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We had just finished clipping gear to our harnesses when the phone rang, and, without a word to each other, we knew. The call was predictable and short, as were the tears that followed. We packed away the gear and the rope and descended as quickly as we could.

We drove, and my thoughts were full of you. It’s been two and a half years and there you were, all over again.

At the house just over an hour, a long hour, later, we split up the tasks. Some drove to the hospital, some stayed home. I had never met the last person to arrive nor spent time alone with any of them, but that didn’t matter anymore, either.

There was some managing and organizing to do, but mostly we waited. We didn’t know what we were waiting for, so that was hard to explain. We made up excuses that grew increasingly unbelievable, and we were relieved when the waiting was over and the truth-telling began.

And then we waited, one eye vigilant, and the initial shock began to soften. Fatigue set in.

When I wasn’t doing something else, my thoughts went back to those last days with you.

A flurry of phone calls with those who couldn’t be there, who needed to be there, who made plans to come, who are probably there now as I write this. I tried to explain what no one else understands, which is how desperate, how lonely, how cruel it is for the body to be somewhere else when the heart and soul are where the body should be, wants to be, cannot be. The mind spins a thousand tales and the time crawls by. It takes effort to resist calling every half hour, every hour. At least everyone who is there knows what’s happening as it happens. The distance, no matter how far, is crushing, and there’s no comfort when it’s needed. Waiting becomes synonymous with existing, even when you don’t know what you’re waiting for. No one should have to grieve alone.

The questions of what comes next and what happens now and who is responsible for what, questions that have been avoided all this time, suddenly appear perfectly rationally, calmly voiced by people who are anything but calm and rational. It gives us something to do and somewhere to bury the fog, even for a moment.

There is a stark and sudden shift between laughter over old pictures, tears over memories, and the utter stoicism of plans that need to be made.

We got home late and stayed up late, finally sleeping fitfully, a sleep full of too many dreams.

I spent the day thinking of you and looked for moments to talk about you. I’m still thinking about you now and writing about you, too.

As we walked up to the crag, the sky grew dark and we found ourselves under a raincloud that hadn’t been in the forecast. We stood at the base and followed the lines of our routes in the guidebook, pleased that the sun had come out and a light wind had picked up; the rock would dry.

“That must have been the rain,” you said as we hurried back down towards the car. “And then he found his peace.”

The roads were completely dry. That must have been the rain.

Weimar, Germany – February 2024

On My Mind

Take a Moment

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I woke this morning early, heart beating hard and mind picking right back up from either a dream or the events left over from the night before – it was hard to say. When changing positions in bed and a sip of water brought nothing, it was time to get up, despite the early hour I made out through the glow of my old running watch, fumbling for the correct button.

I took myself to the sunniest spot in our small apartment and did yoga as the sky changed. I made a glaze for the date and nut bars that had cooled overnight, poured my coffee, and took my book outside onto the balcony. Our balcony is the last to be kissed by the morning sun and while the neighbours’ laundry had surely dried, I bundled into a jacket and let the sun gently bring me into the day.

It was hard, actually.

I was antsy, uncertain, energetic, and had far too much on my mind to sit there as calmly and quietly as it may have seemed. Even while doing yoga, I had thought of lists to do, weighed scenarios in my mind, and pushed myself time and again back to my intention – be here now. On the balcony, I let my book focus my attention, let the feeling of the chair pressing into the backs of my legs keep me anchored to where I was.

As is often the case, the uneasiness dissipated as the sun moved higher in the sky. Along with it, I felt better as dawn became day. The concerns I’d had were logical, systematic, manageable. The beating of my heart slowed down, the anxiety I’d felt crushing my chest upon waking drifted off and settled somewhere out of reach.

When such feelings flickered again later, as feelings often do, I looked for the breath I was supposed to find during yoga. I looked for the breath that had been elusive in the moment, and waited as years of practice called it back when I took a step back and closed my eyes. I smiled instead of settling into the negative emotion and felt the emotion loosen its grip. That’s not always the right response, but that was what this moment required. There would be an opportunity to revisit later on.

Be here, now.