Last week was hard.
While on a call, news of the Supreme Court’s ruling on Trump v. Casa Inc. dropped. As a non-attorney, my head began to swim as folks discussed the larger implications of injunctions being limited to individuals and jurisdictions.
As a naturalized citizen, my heart raced for the immigrant community.
When I say my heart raced, I mean I began catastrophizing. I won’t share where I arrived, but I’ll share that the destination left me with heart palpitations, anger, sadness, and confusion.
After another call, which felt insufferable, I went out into the garden.
Once there, I began to weed. Not as usual. Aggressively.
With my bare feet in the soil and fingers in the dirt, I pulled away from the earth the toxic weeds (I left the dandelions :)).
I pulled. I tossed.
I pulled. I tossed.
I lost track of time. Sweat gathered in my creases. I cried.
Then, I sat at the dining room table with my husband, and we talked about the idea of choosing joy. We discussed the inherent privilege in such an outlook. We discussed how that phrase doesn’t serve me and others; if anything, it angers me.
How can I tell pregnant mothers of certain immigrant statutes who worry about what will become of their children to choose joy?
How can I tell Haitians and other migrants who are in limbo to choose joy?
How can I tell Gazans to choose joy?
How can I tell people facing humanitarian crises in ICE hold to choose joy?
Instead, we landed on go small and local. Perhaps this idea is “choose joy” in costume, but it sits better with me, though I can’t speak for the folks already feeling the impact of Executive Orders and Supreme Court decisions.
When we say, Go small and local, we mean, How are things in your immediate environment?
While the cynic in me says, Girl, competitive authoritarianism — the small and local might always feel okay. The part of me who needs to live, who wants to live, says, You need something to stay well.
So here’s to going small and local, and by that I mean:
How’s the garden? What does it need today?
How are the cats? How can I help them thrive in a language they understand?
What’s in the sink? How many dishes can I wash before my next meeting?
Where’s the book I’m reading? How many pages can I get through in the next few minutes?
Where’s the love of my life? Is he free, and can I hug or kiss him?
Where’s my water glass? Can I refill it?
Where is my stationery? Can I write a letter to a friend?
These days, I try to keep my small and local off the phone. Tomorrow is a new day, and I pray it is brighter, more love filled, and that the chaos rests to make space for divine order.
Such a great reminder!