Feed Your Flames

On how we get through what is ahead

Note: I’m not trying to spread conspiracy theories; I’m trying to make a point.

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When my neighbor asks me how I am feeling about the election, I tell her I am shocked but not surprised, I had been bracing for this, even as I hoped and worked toward something better.

“I am surprised by how the numbers are breaking,” I tell her. “I thought the results would look better. It just feels wrong.”

“Well, of course it was rigged,” says my neighbor, who was not born in the US. “They do it in my country all the time.”

Another neighbor, a Black man, says the numbers don’t add up. “There are twelve million votes missing,” he tells me. He says we need to demand a recount.

I’m not trying to spread conspiracy theories here, I tell you this for an important reason:

If this doesn’t feel like the country you know, don’t let it be. Love the version of the US you know, tend that community, feed those flames.

***

This weekend my neighbor and I hosted a get-together for our block. I had done something similar four years ago. When the Biden victory was finally announced as official, on a Saturday, I went door to door, inviting people I barely knew to a bonfire. We burned a wooden pallet in our back field and neighbors met each other—many for the first time—and, even in the height of pandemic lockdown, we could be together and celebrate.

This time around it’s different and we’re all sad and sobered. Some people didn’t want to come. I suggested it might be better to be sad together than sad alone.

I baked big pans of peach cobbler and apple crisp, the fruit from our backyard trees, I remembered the summer night I stayed up late slicing peaches for the freezer, not knowing I was preparing for this moment.

And the neighbors came—and we were different colors with different heritages and different sexual orientations. We were old and young (two new babies!), with roots that span the globe, and when the neighbor who is Greek walked in she heard another neighbor speaking Greek.

“That’s my language!” She exclaimed. “Why are you speaking Greek?”

And that neighbor—whose roots are actually Norwegian—laughed in delight and said, “Because we can!”

I’m not going to tell you that this country is some multicultural utopia. Far from it. One of my neighbors knows the name of the slaver who owned his family members not so long ago; many have stories of discrimination; our entire neighborhood had covenant laws that forbid the sale of houses to anyone but white families. But we rarely talk about that.

This is a massive problem—because it is, in large part, our refusal and inability to come to terms with the genocide and slavery this country is built upon that brings us to this present moment (more about that in the months to come).

For now I want to say this: if the results of this election make you feel like this is not your country in any way—in your Blackness or your brownness or your queerness or your disabled, neurodivergent, or femaleness—I would humbly suggest you reject that idea.

After all, who knows if the numbers are even real?

[See what I did there? 😉]

Of course, there are lessons to be learned—there will be months and years of  analysis and self-evaluation. I hope there is. We have a lot to deconstruct, when it comes to the US, a lot to understand and change. But if you are looking around feeling like this is a country that doesn’t want you, I would say it is a country that needs you—far more than it knows.  

So, how do we go forward?

Some people will immerse themselves in the news (I’ve done that before, hello 2016). Others will turn away completely (I’ve been tempted to do that, but never have). Some are, quite rightly, focused on protecting those who are closest to them and most vulnerable.

These days I am walking a cautious middle path—I refuse to give my energy to gnashing of teeth over details of new political appointments and potential horrors; I do not want to rake through the coals for either hope or despair.

(I like NPR’s five-minute hourly news update, on their website and ap; just enough without overwhelm. I often follow non-US news sources.) 

Instead, I want to protect, I want to gather close, I want to build something new.

And I want us all to take care of ourselves, first and foremost. Nothing works without that piece in place. It’s taken me decades—literal decades—to figure that out. (I have an entire other newsletter devoted to that topic, if you want to see).

So, take some time and think of what you want to do, what fills you up, and how you can help.

But start with what fills you up. Right now that feels so precious to me—to be very deliberate and careful about keeping our flames lit, regardless of what lies ahead.

Here is what I would tell you:

Run toward the things that you love—run toward it with fierceness, run toward it with focus—and it honestly does not matter if it is pottery making or policy work. In these years to come, keep feeding the fire, the flame of what makes you feel alive.

We are in a time of great upheaval, and the best advice—the very best advice I can give you—is to tend your flame, to feed what you love. Do it for yourself, but also do it for your community, do it for the world.

That is how we get free.

Thanks for being here,

—Tara

Note: I realize it sounds as though I am speaking only to Democratic voters; I’m not.

If the worst of what has been promised comes to pass, it will harm all of us. I see no victory in this election and I want everyone to be safe and have their needs met.
(For the record, I’m always interested in talking to those who believe differently than I do; I just refuse to shout or be shouted at).

And a practical offering:
For the past two years I've appreciated attending the online presentation called Rethinking Thanksgiving. It's put on by a number of organizations—indigenous, anti-racist, environmental. The theme this year is: Dismantling Colonial Myths, Uplifting Indigenous Rights and Honoring Mother Earth.

The event is this Saturday (Nov 17^th) and it's free to attend (they ask for a voluntary donation at the end to support the presenting organizations). I have been deeply moved each time I've participated and had my perspective expanded.

I firmly believe that part of why we are in this painful place right now--politically, culturally, environmentally--is because we haven't begun to deal with our history of harm (not just the US, all colonial powers). Taking two hours to listen and consider seems like the smallest of first steps. (In prior years there has been a replay made available, but I can’t promise that).

I have another newsletter. It’s totally different—about fostering joy and self care and pleasure and delight—because those of us grappling with hard stuff need to balance it out with fun. You can check it out. And if you sign up for a paid subscription here, shoot me a note and I’ll gift you a complimentary subscription to enJOY. This is all about balance: work and play, dark and light

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