"I guess it's no fun to have a heart when we are living through these days"
a little stream of consciousness on trying to keep my heart open and make it through the day
Quick announcement - I’ve decided to throw out my strict posting schedule. I’m still going to limit myself to emailing you once a week because I refuse to clutter your inbox. BUT in the meantime, over on Substack, I will be posting as much as I want, whenever I want.
What does this actually mean, Alexa?
I’ll still show up in your inbox once a week. Sometimes, I’ll post something and opt out of emailing it to you, and it will just show up on the Wild Cozy Free homepage. Whenever I email you, I’ll send links to what else I’ve posted lately so you can get caught up.
This feels really freeing and right. I write a lot, and I’m excited to share more of my writing with you more often, without spamming your inbox. I think that this new approach is already forcing me to be less polished and more off the cuff, which is the point of Wild Cozy Free anyway.
Here are two posts from this week, before we get into today’s essay.
“Oh, ain’t it a fight. Oh, let there be a light.”
I just got off a Zoom meeting for a fundraising committee I was recently invited to join, for one of my alma maters.
When I signed off, I immediately played A Little Light from Brandi Carlile and Elton John’s new duet album, Who Believes in Angels.
If I had to describe this song in one word, I’d say that it’s about how to go on when we can’t imagine going on.
Pain can put you on your feet or bring you to your knees.
I have been brought to my feet and my knees by pain throughout my life, throughout this week, and even just this morning.
I woke up today after an amazing night’s sleep. I turned on my air conditioner for the first time yesterday, and it literally felt like I was exiting the desert. If you’ve ever lived through a summer in New York, you know that powerful AC can literally bring you back to life.
I then picked up my phone and watched a video of US Senator Alex Padilla being forcibly removed, physically dragged, and tackled to the ground after asking a question at an LA news conference. And then I scrolled down and watched a video of an influencer making homemade bread, and watched ten more of her videos. I honestly understand why these influencers are making so much money. Nara Smith’s voice is so soothing.
I kept scrolling on my phone. I’d pause and stare up at the ceiling. I thought to myself:
What the hell are we all doing? I’m not paying enough attention. No one is paying enough attention. But am I paying so much attention that I’m paralyzed? I don’t want to get out of bed today. Or ever. I don’t want to live in a country like this. But also, I’m not going to let this fucked up administration run me out of this country and especially out of New York. I’m a New Yorker goddamnit. I can barely afford to live in New York. I should get up and do some work. But everything in my life feels so stupid and meaningless. I can’t get that image of the kids with zipties around their tiny little wrists out of my head. I’m pissed, and sad, and anxious all the time.
I then checked the time and realized that I had five minutes to join my Zoom meeting, so I threw on a presentable outfit, made coffee, and hopped on the call.
“If you’re locked inside the end of days and darkness fills your mind, bend the bars and hold the fire.”
We welcomed new members and said goodbye to those departing. We introduced ourselves. We talked about the current fiscal year and what’s ahead. We spoke candidly about the challenges of fundraising in the country’s current climate. We talked about how much we love our school and the importance of supporting liberal arts education.
I left feeling so inspired and grateful.
The heartbreak didn’t go anywhere. I am still simultaneously being brought to my knees and put on my feet by pain each and every day, and each and every moment.
But I am trying like hell to stay on my feet.
I am giving myself and others grace when we’re brought to our knees.
There is no playbook for living through what feels like the end of the world.
I’m doing my best. I don’t think it’s enough. I don’t think I’ll consider it ‘enough’ until there are no more babies in cages.
But it’s still my best, and I hope that my best gets better every day.
“Sing into the darkness like a Sunday morning bird.”
I hope I’ll berate myself less and less for being a human being who can hold space for both joy and pain.
I try to keep reminding myself that joy is an act of resilience.
I remind myself that my personal struggles are no less painful, just because others are suffering far more than I am, and have far less privilege than I do.
I try to remind myself that the more money I make and the more success I find, the more I can help and reach others.
The more I take care of myself and regulate my nervous system, the more I can do for this world.
And for myself, because I am part of this world. And as a black queer woman, I’m fighting for my own liberation too.
Thank you, Brandi Carlile and Elton John, for the album that’s been keeping me sane lately. I’ve been watching the documentary that they made, about making the album, about five times now.
And thank you to all of you, for letting me show up as my wild cozy free, unfiltered, heartbroken but still on my feet self.
PS All the quotes in this piece are from that song ‘A Little Light’ that I linked in the beginning. (The title of this post is also from that song!)
PPS I just got off my weekly therapy session, and when I filled her in on everything going on in my life, she literally said, “Wow, I’m not speechless, but I kind of am, wow.” Not the first time it’s happened. I’m definitely one of her favorite clients.