I've been meaning to write something for weeks, but I've been struggling lately. I try not to make my blog about comparing myself to others, or even about anyone who may read it, because I began this process as a spiritual practice, a way to reflect on my own relationship with gratitude over this past year. But lately, I've been reading a lot of blogs and news articles, ones that talk about what's going on in America, the injustices done to black men at the hands of white police, and the protesting that has followed.
Mostly, it's been difficult to write because I just feel very, very sad. I'm sad and angry that black men (and women) are less safe than white men (and women) in this country. I'm sad and angry that we have a broken criminal justice system. I'm sad and angry that white people feel so defensive about race generally, and about what has gone on in the news specifically. And I'm sad and angry at myself, at the ways that I am complicit in and benefit from racism, at the moments I look back and know I could have done more, said something different, said something at all. And that last part is something I'll continue to work through, because I think that part of owning up to my own privilege is about naming my shit, but not getting bogged up in it. Not making it about me.
Which, I'll admit, I've already sort of done, so bear with me. Or don't. Your call. The thing that has been holding me back from writing about gratitude, and my connectedness to gratitude, stems from this: how could I write about something so trivial as letters of thanks when there So Many Things more important to discuss? Why write so small when there are so many big things happening? Why bother with gratitude when there is so much brokenness in the world?
What helped me get back into my writing practice was that the people who I was writing to were my people. Like, my people people. These are friends who help me be my best and bravest self. They see me and love me, just as I am, but they also don't take any bullshit. They help me work through what needs work (hey there, white privilege!), and they hold me accountable to the things that I say I value. They help me to not be a hypocrite. Well, at least less of one.
And that, I am grateful as hell for.
So as I think about who I am in the midst of this world, there are many ways that I respond. Large and small. Through teaching and learning and listening and relationships. And through absolute gratitude for the people who make me brave.
