It’s going to be a lot harder if you try to do it alone.
I’ve been trying to wrap my mind around everything—from the tragedy of the world down to the minutiae of a never ending day. And, like a person trying to carry a hundred wet water wigglies, it slips out of my control.
One minute, I’m reading a critical argument for ditching the foundations of this country and starting fresh. The next, I’m reading a posh Vogue article about a woman whose teenage son is running a small hedge fund as she paces about the house she’s renting upstate, out of the hustle and bustle of a city under siege of a pandemic. It ends with me in the fetal position, somewhere in between.
Lebanon, the Uyghur people, the unhoused people in Los Angeles, my elderly neighbor—everywhere, there is a heavy need that I am not yet strong enough to carry. I am sometimes keeping myself watered and getting a few minutes of sunshine each day. And yet, those other needs exist and persist. Grief grows like weeds in an untended garden.
The lie is that we are supposed to carry everything all alone. The lie is that this is an individual responsibility; that we must be American Lone Rangers of social justice. The lie is that we have to do everything, all at once, by ourselves. The lie is designed to keep us from caring.
Instead, it’s all of us, together. And it’s not a million causes and catastrophes—it’s one. We’re caretakers, fighters, writers, legislators, artists, funders, teachers and it takes each of us to show up with our very best. There are those who do their work better than I could ever do, which is the whole damn point.
Do the right thing, the best way you know how. Do better next time.
And bring a friend.
Next Steps: Drink a glass of water, and read a few pages of a book. Read some more. Breathe.