The Earth is Burning...I Can't Breathe

A few days ago for the first time in a looooooong time, I made some art just because. Over the last few months, I've been busy getting my cards out into the world and I've had the honor of making heart portraits for people, but I haven't made any art just because. I've thought about it. A part of me has wanted to. But unless I've been creating a commissioned piece, my art supplies have remained untouched. 

Once I'd made the decision to take time to create, my body began to relax. Personal events earlier in the day had helped me to release some of the tension I've been holding for weeks, maybe months, tension that simultaneously pointed to why creating regularly would help me and why I felt stuck and unable to create. Enough of my tension eased that I literally found myself breathing easier.  

As I was breathing easier, I texted with a few friends in the western part of the U.S.- California, Washington, Oregon, Colorado- who all told me about how they're staying indoors because of the fires and poor air quality. How going outside feels like like living in a sepia photograph. I knew my creation would be about the fires... The Earth is burning. 

I also found the words, "I can't breathe" echoing in my mind. 

"I can't breathe" because of the smoke. 

"I can't breathe" because of COVID-19. 

"I can't breathe" because a police officer's knee is on my neck.

"I can't breathe" because the uncertainty of these times is too much. 

"I can't breathe." 

"I can't breathe." 

"I can't breathe."

I continue to believe 2020 is the year of clearer vision; that clarity is inviting us into some serious reckoning. Some of us weren't breathing well long before 2020 due environmental destruction, lack of access to health care, systemic racism, and other limits to access to basic human necessities. Often multiple of these factors coincide for a person or a whole community. This year is taking the breath of even more people- sometimes temporarily, sometimes permanently. Are we paying attention?

We have the choice to notice and tend to the collective reduced lung capacity or to turn away until the air gets so toxic that we're gasping for breath, too. Do we want to wait that long? 

What can we do now to clear the air- literally or figuratively- so that we- the big WE- not just you and I, not just the people we know, but the WE of deeply woven interconnection- can breathe? 

Discarding Cheap-seat Feedback

A quote from Brene Brown's Dare to Lead has been going around on social media: 

“Don't grab hurtful comments and pull them close to you by rereading them and ruminating on them. Don't play with them by rehearsing your badass comeback. And whatever you do, don't pull hatefulness close to your heart.

Let what's unproductive and hurtful drop at the feet of your unarmored self. And no matter how much your self-doubt wants to scoop up the criticism and snuggle with the negativity so it can confirm its worst fears, or how eager the shame gremlins are to use the hurt to fortify your armor, take a deep breath and find the strength to leave what's mean-spirited on the ground. You don't even need to stomp it or kick it away. Cruelty is cheap, easy, and chickenshit. It doesn't deserve your energy or engagement. Just step over the comments and keep daring, always remembering that armor is too heavy a price to pay to engage with cheap-seat feedback.”

A day or two after reading these words of wisdom, I commented on a teacher friend's post about how his lecture on the first day of school (August 28) would be about Emmett Till, the 14-year-old Black boy who was lynched on August 28, 1955 after a white woman accused him of flirting with her (and decades later said she had lied). I commended my friend for this choice and said I hoped his students would make connections between that story from 65 years ago and current events. I specifically referred to what had recently happened in Kenosha and my grief over the disparities between how the armed 17-year-old who killed two people was treated in contrast to so many, many unarmed Black people...who somehow end up dead. A stranger replied to my comment, saying multiple things I found problematic, including defending the 17-year-old. I responded to him and went to bed. The next morning I saw that someone else, another stranger, had replied. His comment did not in any way address any of what I said. It was a personal attack. It was what Brene Brown would call cheap-seat feedback. 

Even though that stranger knew absolutely nothing about me, his attack still stung. As a rule, I don't respond to personal attacks (nor do I engage in them), since there is nothing productive that can come from them. Remembering Brown's words, I actively worked (and it was active work) to let the comment go. First, I turned off notifications for the post, so that if anything else ugly transpired, I wouldn't have to subject myself to it. Then I tried to release the comment. Tried- I'll admit, I did some ruminating before letting it go...but then I wrote the words down on a piece of paper, went outside, and burned them. The symbolic act helped me feel a little lighter and to truly release the comment. I have no idea what happened with that post and I don't plan to go back and check. 

There are a lot of people out there giving cheap-seat feedback. People who aren't in the game, who've never tried the things we're trying, who speak from a place of ignorance and distance. Personal attacks don't help us grow. We don't have to take them in.

Other people speak from wisdom, from care, in a spirit of fostering growth. They are the ones to listen to. The ones who help us cultivate self-trust rather than self-doubt. The ones who offer thoughtful questions and challenges that help us expand our thinking. The ones who give us specific suggestions to address a problem rather than trying to shame us. 

May we learn to discern the cheap-seat feedback from the front-row or in-the-arena-with-us feedback and take in only what will serve. May we be discerning when we give feedback, not devaluing ourselves or others by shouting from the cheap seats. 

Power and Choice...Boundaries and Consent

In my last post, I wrote about power and choice in times of limited options. Today I want to offer my still-forming thoughts on boundaries and consent. In the age of coronavirus, we are being invited to explore boundaries and consent in new and very obvious ways.  

Here in Kentucky, as in many places in the U.S., we currently have a mask mandate for public indoor spaces. Wearing a mask in these spaces is something I’m willing to do. Based on the information I’ve gathered from a variety of sources, I make the conscious choice to follow the mandate. It’s not because I’m blindly following authority or because I am particularly fearful.

I don’t enjoy wearing the mask, but I consent to doing it in the interest of public health. I practice social distancing for the same reason. I also know that, along with the public health benefits, my decision to do both brings a greater sense of peace, a lowering of anxiety for those who face greater risks than I. In a time when so many people are experiencing anxiety for so many reasons, if I can help bring a greater sense of ease to someone, I will.

Last week I was standing in a long line and as the line moved along, I noticed my extreme discomfort with how close the person behind me was. She was not following social distancing guidelines and I could feel her near me. I was actually a little surprised by my discomfort because in other circumstances, I haven’t been so uncomfortable being in close proximity to others. As the line moved, I tried to move in ways that kept us farther apart. She continued to be closer than was comfortable for me. Finally, I turned around and said something like, “Hi, I’m feeling uncomfortable with how close we are. Would you be willing to stay a little farther back?” I didn’t know what she’d say, but thankfully, for the remainder of the time we were in line, she stayed farther back. She respected my boundary. I relaxed.

Earlier that same day I walked with a friend. When we met up, she was wearing a mask. I asked if she wanted me to put my mask on, too. She said yes. Normally when I go for walks, I don’t wear a mask, but because my friend said she’d prefer I wear it and because I want to respect her boundaries, I put my mask on.

This morning I walked with a different friend. She was wearing a mask. I asked If she wanted me to put my mask on, too. She said no. I asked if she was sure about that and she said yes, so I didn’t wear my mask. In both circumstances we negotiated boundaries and came to a place of consent.

I haven’t had negative encounters with people around masks or social distancing, though I’ve seen many stories about people aggressively crossing those boundaries. Refusing to wear a mask in public spaces. Refusing to social distance. Getting angry when asked to respect someone else’s boundaries, whether an individual’s or a business’s. In some cases, ignoring boundaries suggested or mandated for public health reasons has increased the spread of COVID, and even led to some people dying.

Is this really the world we want to live in? Where one person’s comfort and desire is more important than someone else’s safety? Or public safety?

With these questions, my mind flies to the theme of comfort vs. safety, power, choices, boundaries and consent as they relate to the movement for racial justice. That topic merits its own post (or two, or three, or four…) and so I mention it with the intention to return to it another day.    

Until then I will answer the above questions for myself. I’d be curious to know your answers, too.

I don’t want to live in a world where we can’t trust each other to respect boundaries, whether related to masks, social distancing, sharing personal information, sexual behavior and other issues of body autonomy, or anything else.

I want to live in a world in where I can state my boundaries and trust that you’ll respect them, even and especially when your comfort or desire is different from mine.

I want to live in a world where we’re willing to consider that we may not know the full story of someone else’s boundaries and that we don’t need to know the whys in order to respect them.

I want to live in a world where we put communal safety before personal comfort.

I want to live in a world where asking for consent in our interactions with others is common practice.

As with my last post, there is so much more to say. I haven’t touched the idea of boundaries and consent in relationships where power is unequal. That, too, merits more than just this mention. Maybe I am the one to write about it, maybe you are…

I’ll close with this: This work is deep. It is complicated. It is messy. It is hard. It is beautiful. Navigating boundaries and consent is a practice. And so again, I invite you to explore these themes for yourself and, if you choose, to practice with me.