Welcome to a brand new year; though much is uncertain, one thing is for sure: time doesn’t stop. The clock struck midnight and continues to march on, and our task isn’t to freeze the moment but to live in it as fully as we can, showing up with all the baggage we’ve got and finding moments of joy and togetherness and adventure any way we can, right smack in the middle of the murky mess. It sounds like a cliché social media kind of thing to say, but it’s true. Who has ever succeeded in only feeling the joy in life and not the bring-you-to-your-knees kind of pain we all know so well, especially in 2020? It's inconvenient, and it's true.

How many times over these past ten or so months of the pandemic have you felt simultaneously terrified AND grateful?

Depressed AND eager for a brighter future?

Uncertain of what happens next AND sure of what matters to you?

It’s mathematically not possible to parse out the human experience into neat little buckets and only drink from one at a time. The tempest comes all at once and soaks us in everything, all the time. If we aren't willing to sip from the full spectrum of what it means to be a human, we will be thirsty forever.

In 2021, there’s no going “back to normal”. I've always gotten burned when I have been lured into that seductive idea, swept into its orbit like an ocean current or pulled by its massive magnetism. Who doesn't buy into that mirage of being able to "get back" to something you lost, left behind, or even voluntarily surrendered at some point in time? It can be dangerous to believe that we can somehow "get back" to what once was: a different age, place, state of health, that old perspective, that long outgrown rule that we lived by but that doesn't work for us any more. We can acknowledge and honor and rightfully mourn the things that we have experienced in the past - the people, habits, and things that served us, the experiences that helped to shape who we are now  - AND still walk forward in this moment.  In fact, it's not only possible, it's a must. 

One of my favorite Buddhist parables is about learning to let go of what once was and move forward in the present moment. The story tells of a man who walks through the woods and comes upon a riverbank. He realized he cannot cross the water on foot, so fashions a raft out of nearby sticks, leaves, and other natural items, which allows him to cross the water safely. When he gets to the other side and as he prepares to continue walking on his journey, he has the option to leave the raft behind or to carry it with him for all the miles that lay ahead. Which should he choose? To continue to shoulder the heavy burden of the raft that he built as he continues to walk through the woods, where it becomes impractical, a weighty relic of the usefulness it once served? Or shall he set the raft down and walk through the woods lighter, feeling gratitude for the past usefulness of the raft in the very circumstances that he needed it, and in which it served him well? This story always helps to remind me on how the insistence to go back or maintain what once was can actually weigh you down in the present moment, making it hard to imagine a future or being able to move forward with curiosity or ease. 

It's impossible to write about these ideas without also acknowledging that I wish I had written more often on this blog in the past year. This self-critical refrain has been building for awhile, and honestly, its presence made it really tough to even start this post today, simply because I was so focused on thinking about what I hadn't done in the past that it was distracting me from the worth of what I am currently doing in the present. Admittedly, it feels messy and clunky to type these thoughts out, and on top of feeling uncomfortable about how out of practice I feel writing blog posts, my inner critic continues kicking up dust, saying things to me like "It's bad enough the writing is out of shape, but you're actually writing about how your writing is out of shape? LAME!"

To which I answer: Yup, I am writing about writing, and no matter what our inner critics, perfectionists, and anxiety believes, the act of creativity (both on the page and in your life) is just that: an ACT. It's action oriented, and to write is to move energy, to take up space, and to (hopefully) let anyone reading this know that if you are feeling like you regret something, if you desperately want to do-over, or wish you could use past time in a way you felt better about, that you aren't alone. It's not always a fun club to belong to, but I'm right here with you. We're all here together. 

​So what does this have to do with the New Year? We can’t reverse or rewind, but we can shed, set down, let go of, reclaim, rekindle, mend, and work with the things we have in the now in order to approach tomorrow with everything we’ve got. The only choice we do get, should we choose to accept the invitation, is to go FORTH, into the world, into our lives, and continue the cosmic art project that is creating the kind of life and world we want to thrive in - and what a masterpiece you are becoming, even if you don't yet realize it.

 Some days, we will feel like we can take on the world while other days, taking a shower or the trash out will be akin to climbing Everest. No matter. Give whatever you have and take care of your precious self to refill the well when you’re in need of more water. Slow or fast, you’ll get there.

Particularly in the middle of a pandemic, a New Year continues to push me to consider what I want to get "back" to when circumstances allow some semblance of normality. Honestly, I have no desire to “go back” to the parts of life that weren’t feeding me before the pandemic, and in fact, the things about my life that were starting to whisper to and nudge me from time pre-pandemic have now taken to shaking me by the lapel several times a time, shouting if they need to in order to get my attention.

Getting "back" to normal / before / business as usual? Not possible.

Moving into a new year with a blazing desire to keep the fires of love and ambition and hope and justice and movement burning brightly, with a sizable side of relentless refusal to return to the patterns, people, and paths that don't make me feel alive? Absolutely. 

Feel it all. Don’t fight it. Then, forge ahead (and push "publish" on your post).

I love cemeteries. I took this photo of a cemetery while I was running a 5K race in Upstate NY a few summers back. Yup. I stopped running to capture this photo as onlookers looked at me like I was nuts. I was sweating and my heart was pounding and my legs were throbbing and my breath was fast and when I ran by the cemetery, I just stopped: "I am alive and someday, I will die. But right now, I am alive." What a wonderful discovery to make.

I love visiting cemeteries whenever I have a big life decision to make. I love visiting when I have something I really want to do, a leap I want to take, but I feel scared. When I visit a cemetery during these times, it evokes questions that allow me to reflect on the life I am creating.

For example, in the summer of 2017, before I taught my first class at Emerson, I biked by a cemetery in Cambridge. I felt nervous about teaching and my fear had started me thinking I might not even want to take that risk. Was it worth feeling anxious, inadequate, and confronting my inner critic day after day for the whole semester?

When I biked by the cemetery, a voice inside of me said "I have to teach this class. I MUST."

See, taking a moment to be cognizant of the fact that someday, you will die, helps to throw your life into sharp relief. It helps to put things in perspective. When I imagine being on my deathbed or think about my name on a headstone, I think: When I'm dying, will I wish I had taken the risk of teaching (or performing or writing or loving or getting on that freaking airplane, etc., etc.)? Even if it involves hard work and anxiety and sweat and doubt and people telling me I'm no good at it, will I wish I had done it?

"YES."

For me, teaching was one of those things that evoked this answer. And this summer, when passed by this cemetery during the 5K race, I asked myself these questions about the short film I wrote and directed. When I'm dying someday, will I wish I had made this movie?

YES.

Try it out. Sometimes you will get this YES and other times, you'll get a NO. Which is just as helpful as the YES, because unless we say NO to things that we don't feel strongly about, we won't ever have the energy and heart and time to say YES to the things that really get us excited.

It's often hard to do this exercise in a cemetery where people you love rest, so try going to a cemetery in a different neighborhood, or in a different state. Try visiting a cemetery where one of the authors or actors or musicians or artists you admire is buried. I love visiting Sleepy Hollow Cemetery in Concord, MA where Louisa May Alcott is buried. It's a special experience that makes you realize that no matter what we spend on time here doing, we're all going to die someday, so it's critical that we do things that matter to us. When you doubt yourself, it's powerful to realize that even the "genius" that you admire and are convinced you could never compare to, had one chance at mortal life, just like you do now. There's no more excuses in the face of death.

I'm going to die. So are you. But if you are reading this right now, you are alive and can ask yourself a question.

"If I died today, what do I wish I would have done?"

Since you are alive, you can take a teeny tiny step towards that thing you see in your mind's eye and keep taking steps towards it as if your life depends on it. Because it actually does.

No one is getting out of this world alive.

Time is finite and is ticking away as I type this and as you read it.
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Best to make sure that when we do make our exit from this world, it's with the peace of knowing we were true to ourselves and with the ecstasy of having spent our souls on something that set them on fire.

I wrote this note to myself this spring, when Covid quarantine was fresh and I was in a near constant state of fight or flight. Amidst daily worries that my throat was sore (and therefore I must have Covid) and the reality of my pounding heart, I found myself writing these words. As they flowed from my pen, I felt surprised.

​Do you ever feel like your wise mind or a higher frequency is speaking to you from inside your own brain and heart? Does it happen more than you like to admit, but surprise you every time? Me too.

This isn't a way to say things are going well right now.

This isn't my way of convincing you or myself that there is no reason to worry.

What I was trying to tell myself, however, is that in the face of all that seems hopeless and BIG and SCARY, we are not helpless. I have power. So do you.

Power is using your privilege, however that manifests for you, to dismantle white supremacy.

Power is drinking enough water and eating food that feeds health and not disease.

Power is being your own friend.

Power is taking three deep breaths when you feel panicked.

Power is reaching out to someone for help when you feel helpless.

We aren't in control of everything. But we have the power to affect SO MUCH more than we realize.

Take care and use your power for good.


P.S.: Below are three organizations that I donated to recently in the continued fight for justice for the Black, Trans, and Indigenous communities, and wanted to share the links here in case you are able to offer some money as well, no matter how modest the amount.

Black Lives Matter Boston (or your local chapter): https://blacklivesmatterboston.org/
Massachussetts Transgender Emergency Fund: https://transgenderemergencyfund.org/
Native American Legal Defense Fund: https://www.narf.org/

George Floyd. Breanna Taylor. Ahmaud Arbery. And so many more. Precious human beings robbed of their one, precious life by racist violence.

It's hard to put the rage and heartbreak we are feeling into words. It feels near impossible for me to put my big feelings into anything resembling a coherent blog post right now, but the truth is, I couldn't wait another day to write this, regardless of how scattered it might be. Continuing to be silent while our brothers and sisters are murdered by police is akin to standing by and watching while a fire burns. Staying out of the arena while I figure out how to say what I feel, and worrying whether I am saying it "right" is simply allowing myself to hide behind my own perfectionism and fear in exchange for continuing to be complicit. I'm imperfect and I'm angry and I'm likely going to make a "mistake" when I talk about this.

So be it. The real mistake would be convincing myself that my feeling uncomfortable is more important than other human beings who feel (and are) physically at risk, every moment of every day, simply because of the color of their skin. 

It's time to speak up, to stand up, and acknowledge white supremacy. Will I say something awkward at some point? Offensive? Selfish? I can almost guarantee it. 

So be it. White folks like me standing up and talking about racisim and white supremacy is crucial to actively dismantling a system that oppressses people based on the color of their skin and I'd rather be an imperfect human being talking about racism that someone who isn't willing to open my mouth at all. That's not ok anymore.

Isn't this a site for conversations around creativity and our innate human right to express ourselves through art? Yes. And not being murdered by the police in your own bed, car, neighborhood, and community is essential to human and creative expression. Period. 

This week, I've cried, I've called, I've posted, signed petitions, and been glued to social media, watching the videos of the arrests, protests, continued police brutality against citizens, and commentary (and comments) unfurl. It feels like watching a house burn because there is a fire raging right now, and long after the flames were doused on the building in MN, the blaze of spirit remains. I've taken action this week and it doesn't feel like enough. 

This post isn't here to debate the urgency of dismantling the racist systems that literally kill black Americans and I'm not writing because I think I have the answers. I'm showing up because I believe that it's the only thing we can do in this moment, in this movement, and I invite us to share a conversation here in the comments about how we can acknowledge the collective pain we feel and take action on ending white supremacy once and for all.

What are you doing this week to educate yourself, to examine your own white privlege and the ways you have benefitted from a racist system? Here are five things that I've been doing these last few days, that while they aren't dousing the rage I feel, are helping to ground me and focus on what I can do in this moment. And though it feels awful to feel angry, would I really want to feel ok with all this going on? After all, ignorance is bliss, but at what cost?

1. This graphic (below) has helped me to realize and reflect on some of the ways that white supremacy masquerades in everyday life. It's not easy to see the ways you gained something based on someone else being oppressed; some are clear and others are covert. Seeing requires setting down your pride as well as questioning everything you believed about merit and who is deserving of success and happiness and what it means to enjoy security. It means looking at the way you were raised (what people told you regarding equality versus what you saw them model), the religion you subscribe to, your finances, the films you watch, the views you hold about certain cities and neighborhoods. It's so much easier to not examine these things. But we must. And I'll tell you, once you see, you can't unsee. 
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​2. Utilize these curated resources that already exist and that are PACKED with ideas for taking action in your own life. And don't forget, talking to people in your own life, including family and children (and thus in your sphere of influence) is crucial. 

• This Google Doc is absolutely PACKED with ideas, books, resources for racial justice
• 75 Things White People Can Do For Racial Justice 
• Rachel Ricketts Antiracism Resources
• A recent post on Cup of Jo blog, and the comments are incredible and informative

3. Be proactive about learning from people who have experienced racism because of the color of their skin. Believe them when they say they are hurting. And? Don't expect them to take their personal time and energy to tell me exactly how I can help. For me, this has meant not burdening the people of color in my life with direct messages of "I'm so sorry this is happening, can you tell me how I can help?" but trying to take the onus of research and action steps on myself. For me, this has meant purchasing some books on becoming anti-racist and books that examine a non-white perspectives of oppression. After all, become aware is the first step. So far, I've got So You Want to Talk About Race by Ijeoma Oluo en route via my local bookstore (PLEASE buy local whenever you can via this handy dandy site that helps you locate a small bookshop near you to purchase from), and on Audible, I've queued up Teaching to Transgress by Bell Hooks and How to be an Antiracist by Ibram X. Kendi. I've got so much to learn.

4. Asking where I have power in my own life and how I can bring anti-rascist work for these areas. I am so grateful to be a teacher and specifically, I teach teachers at the graduate level how to work with students in classrooms in a variety of settings. Goodness knows I'm an imperfect professor, and I still find myself stuck in my own biases and perspectives and have to actively work through how I am approaching pedagogy and curriculum.  This week I'm using my rage as a way to recommit to making my classroom a place where I'm actively antiracist and don't fall back on a white centric view in my courses.  For me, this has meant reviewing my curriculum for my documentary theatre class and making sure that I am being even more inclusive with the reading list my students get each semester. In doing so, I made the decision to include a new play by Larissa FastHorse,  a Native American playwright, and Trans Scripts by Paul Lucas, a documentary play by  that tells the stories of trans women onstage. It's small, but it's a start.  You have power. Use it where you can.

5. Recommit to or start following non-white activists, artists, and thought leaders.  As white people who benefit from the racist system, we must actively work to change that system AND at the same time, we must allow people of color to lead and allow their voices to be heard above ours. Shaun King (who has a brilliant hotline set up to demand justice for George Floyd), Layla Saad, Brittany Packnett, Rachel Cargle, and Shaka Senghor, are just a few to start with. I've been floored at the number of new to me activists and artists of all kinds that I've discovered just this morning writing this blog post, people that aren't profiled in mainstream media and who are doing important, beautiful work. Seek them out. You won't be sorry. Do research of your own and find countless human beings who have been speaking about these injustices for much longer than we as white folks have been aware or cared to listen. Oh, and I also recommend Standing Up for Racial Justice, which is a national network of folks that gather and mobilize to dismantle white supremacy and build just communities. I've been to meetings in the past and you can look up a chapter near you.

6. Put your money where your mouth is. Donate to Minnesota Freedom Fund, which helps to post bail for protestors in MN, and google other options for your local area. If you are in or near NY, Brooklyn Bail Fund is another great prg doing this work. Donate to your local Black Lives Matter chapter. Offer to provide food and water for an upcoming protest. Seek out local organizations that support arts, education, health equity, and othr efforts for your black neighbors and community members and make a donation. Pay non-white artists, writers, and activists for the materials they share on white supremacy instead of simply expecting them for free. 

So, what other resources do you suggest during this time? I would love to hear, in the comments, or on social media. As Lin-Manuel Miranda says, "This is not a moment, it's the movement." This is a marathon, not a sprint, and we need to continue to take good care of ourselves and each other at this time. Fight, rage, speak out. Drink water, sit in stillness for five minutes, cuddle with your pet, sing loudly to your favorite song. We need us, and the only way to make sure we can still continue caring and working for change is to take care.

Let us stand
and speak
and kneel
and march
and write
and donate
and read
and teach
and preach
and pray
and scream
and cry
and imagine
and dream
and create
​and build
and organize
and educate
and rejoice for hard won victories
and care for ourselves and one another
together.

Let us not forget that though revolution is raw and painful, the point is to fight for a world where we can create instead of cry.  What if the end goal of the fight for justice is joy?