I’ve always wanted to join a protest.
About ten years ago, I was in DC for a conference. I didn’t go even though my hotel was steps from its rally point. Twenty years of rallies, protests, and marches in Chicago — not those either.
Last year, I moved to DC and I thought, I’m going to the first opportunity that comes up. The closest I got, I honked my horn at protestors and their signs.
Today is another opportunity. I have to go to the Post Office. My excuses were gone.
Or were they?
Practice: Outward or Inward
I’ve always wondered about people who don’t ask questions.
Someone says the capital of New York is New York.
Another time: Did you fix it? Sure. Why was it wrong? I don’t know.
Is this trust or a lack of critical thinking?
~~~
I question everything.
My google search history: can you touch the net in basketball? What song has The Bowery in it? That salary calculation looks wrong. Did you confirm it is right?
Can I turn it off? Do I even want to?
I can say yes to myself. Or can I?
I keep going on these podcasts and telling women to say yes to themselves. But I’m not even practicing what I preach.
The last few days I’ve been free falling. I’m trying to launch The Geography of Connection project but to do that, I need an audience — but I’ve lost a few subscribers this past week. Which I know shouldn’t matter. But it does. To do the project right, I need money. And right now that money is tied to a job I want to leave. But I can’t justify walking away because I’m not even sure what I’m thinking is interesting or even worse, that I’m just wrong. The cycle keeps going. So right now I’m so deep in it, I can’t make a single decision.
Practice: Simultaneity
It is 3:38 a.m.
I am woken by the cat meowing. Her hyperthyroidism makes her restless.
I know the feeling.
I wish I could blame it on a disease.
~~~
It is 3:38 a.m.
I am woken by the cat meowing.
Then she lays next to me, purring.
I know the feeling.
Last night, I had a dream that I boxed up all my heels, dresses, and work clothes and took them for donation.
Today, I mapped a plan for a 90-day Structured Exploratory Residency in West Africa.
Practice: Response
Her voice was measured as she shared her thoughts.
A voice on the phone agreed with the woman beside her.
~~~
She pushed her chair back
and folded her arms across her chest.
It’s 1:08 AM.
I just had an aha moment.
My brain wants to unravel it.
My body wants to sleep.
When my nervous system is on high alert, I write.
When the pressure lifts, I scroll. Watch TV. Read.
I find a spot in the airport lounge.
Unknown faces follow me from Zoom.
They share. I don’t.
New city. Same woman.
Budget meetings. Flight confirmations.
In a conference room. On a plane.
Then there’s stillness.
The laptop is closed. The suitcase is still in the closet.
I stare out the window.
Geography is not just where we go. It’s the roles we inhabit. The rooms we sit in. The distance between who we are and who we’re expected to be.
This is the geography I’m mapping.
I took sick leave.
I’m still capable of deciding what I can handle.
I want to belong somewhere that trusts me.
I watched a movie where someone fought for love.
I cried.
He didn’t fight for me.
I told myself it was love.
Somehow I got on bad Hallmark today.
The kind that insists happily ever after always includes love.
As if that’s the only ending worth telling.
Happy Valentine’s Day
On the train, a woman asked me about her stop.
“I think it’s the next one,” I said.
I’ve only been here a few months.
Still, she asked me.
I wrote a piece today. It stayed with me.
Later, at the train station, I reached into my purse.