I sat down today to write a reflection of the year. A year of great loss and surprising regrief for so many of us. It was a time for deep change, going inward, staying a new course and hunkering down. It became a time of great resilience for those who had to move to online school, work, and in most cases—far away family. Isolation. We wore masks to keep ourselves and each other safe. Most of us. Some of us. That too was shocking.
We watched as the world became sick with the senseless loss of Black lives. Most at the hands of law enforcement. A reckoning upon a reckoning. Fires burned in hearts and in forests afar. Mother Nature cried for us to listen. I think the virus was here for us to slow way the hell down and see, really see what was going on in the world. We took to the streets. Speaking out. Crying out for change. Change that was and is long overdue.
I am forever grateful for the Black authors who shared their words and worlds. I was totally unaware and cracked open to learning and leaning into what my white privilege meant. I was especially moved by, “I’m Still Here” by Austin Channing Brown. Classes with Milagros Phillips. Learning about needs in my backyard My Block, My Hood, My City and the work of Jamal Cole. iGrow Chicago and their work in Engelwood. Their numbers in community donations from PPE to food security and computers and homework help for the kids are truly astounding. Watching a slew of movies, taking accountability and being with the discomfort of these new learnings was and remains a huge part of a transformation that was and is much needed in my life.
I wrote a lot this year. A lot. About topics I have never broached. I shared darkness, and memories and hope. Tickled my way around memoir and morning pages amidst The Artists Way. Trying to learn and hear my own voice. In doing so, storytelling became a salve and salvation. I wrote about an old abusive love. College days came flooding back. When Facebook reared, I had looked him up and he was like a ghost. After writing about him and reading the piece to my group, I woke the next day and Googled. I learned he had died. Just months prior. He had been jailed for sexual assault, and I imagine the same drug problems that took over his life, and in turn my own, remained.
Gathering with The Memory Circle during Covid, was nothing short of a miracle. Being able to gather in community via zoom. Our very own circle in the square. Each one of you, bravely speaking the name of the person you are missing into the evening’s quiet. Loss of life, of freedom, of normalcy, of togetherness, of drinking, of drugs, of unborn babies. I took great heed in the small delights of Ross Gay and shared. You showed up for one another, for yourself, and those who came before you. Holding that space has been the greatest honor. Thank you for trusting me.
Being away from my family has been hard. My dad with dementia. My eldest Emma away from us since Summer. My sister, home alone with children off to college. Our extended family missing our once-a-year Thanksgiving slash Hanukkah get together. A long distance Bar Mitzvah for a dear cousin. Another cousin lost to Covid, one to complications of heart surgery.
I am grateful to we three. My daughter Quinn, husband Alex and Rocco (ok, 3.5). We have found the dance of alone together under one roof. So proud of both. School, work, and the new us it created. Tomorrow marks a new year and also our 11th anniversary.
I have hope in Biden/Harris, in a vaccine, in an awaking I pray remains. I wish you all health, happiness and thank you for your support and guidance. Bless you all.
