At the end of a long week and a long month, I am returning to my breath.
I am returning to the present moment.
I am taking a moment of stillness in a world that has felt frenzied and chaotic, particularly in the last few days.
I am reminded of the gratitude I feel to be alive in this moment, to be in community, to have the family and life that I have.
At the same time, my breath brings attention to the tension in my body, the tension of traumas, past, present, and of a potential future where my existence has been threatened, is threatened, may (likely) be threatened again.
My body reminds me of intergenerational trauma, intergenerational grief, intergenerational healing, and intergenerational strength.
I am holding space for all of it: for the tensions in my humanity, for the humanity of others, for the knowledge that our lived experiences shape the way we live and language (talk about) the present moment.
I am working to remember the present, that I am safe in this moment, and hold the tension of concern for those who can’t say the same.
I am holding on to the knowledge that my ancestors carried wisdom and will to survive, that I am here today because they survived, and that thriving is both a way of showing gratitude to them and resisting those that would seek to destroy the commitments to humanity that I hold dear.
I am holding on to community. We survive by caring for one another. When I care for others and allow others to care for me, it strengthens the bonds of collectivity that challenge the idea that our independence and personal gain is to be valued over the good of the community.
I am reminded that we belong to one another. I hold onto this belief tightly even when I want to let go, even at times when I have to let go, that trust in community means letting others step up at times when I need to rest, because when we belong to one another, I can acknowledge that where my contribution ends, another’s might begin.
I am holding on to my reminders of why. I am reminded that a life without deep commitment is not a life worth living. I am reminded that hope and faith are not signs of weakness but the foundation of strength. I am reminded that the greatest of what remains is love. I am holding on to love.
I hope that you will take moments this weekend, as we enter February, a month that is filled with the deepest of loss and love for me, to hold tightly to those you love, to hold space for yourself and others, and to hold still, breathing in a reminder that you are valued and valuable in the wholeness of who you are.