How often do we truly feel seen by others? A part of a community that will hold us in the good times and the bad? I have been reflecting on how rare that feeling has been for me - of true love and acceptance from a community.
Today - this weekend - a lot of us are spending time thinking back to our lives and where we were when the Twin Towers fell. It's hard to believe that it was ten years ago, many of us say. It seems like we were gathered in the streets staring up at the sky, mouths agape, just yesterday. And then again, it seems that it has taken ten years to come to grips with what happened.
For the last couple of weeks I have been grieving. Fuzzy passed away on August 1st. He was my grandfather, but more than that, one of my closest childhood friends, my greatest critic and supporter rolled into one, my favorite grouchy senior.
In my years of diversity work, I am pretty sure about one thing. The people who are "good" at talking about race issues are those who have practiced.
As a participant in discussions about race, I have heard certain white individuals (not all) lament, "I just don't know how to talk about this stuff." And then I have heard some people of color (not all) in turn, say, "I am tired of talking about this stuff every day."
At the present time, I cannot do a headstand in my yoga practice.Whenever I remove bobby pin and ponytail holder and place the top of my head on the smooth wooden floor of the dimly lit classroom, forearms bracing, it feels like the weight of my body will surely accordion my neck like a used up coke can, causing my head to also combust. I'm pretty sure this will happen. I try to do the pose, but can't seem to achieve it. And so, I have heard many an exasperated teachers' sighs.