I didn’t mean to alarm people with my Facebook statuses; I
just wanted to share. But perhaps there’s something in the genre of Facebook
status writing (and Instagram selfies, apparently) that is not well-suited to
the kind of self-expression I’m trying to achieve. I try to invite you into
these thoughts and feelings that I’m having, but in a brief status – that
you’re reading while scrolling – I can’t show you the whole thing. I can’t show
you what it means to me and how I’m holding the experience. Moving
to New York has been daunting and exhausting and downright lonely, for
sure. But I’m okay with those feelings. I’m having the feelings, but I’m okay.
It was going to be hard. Things can be generally good (new job! new friends!)
but not always easy. There’s complexity in change and loss and risk. And also,
it has been exhilarating and inspiring to experience this city, to connect with
people, and to navigate the job that brought
me here in the first place.
Meanwhile the world is crumbling
and crashing
in on itself more
and more each month. And I’m engaging with that in new ways, too, as I
delve into the world of HIV-prevention
with LGBT youth, particularly trying to make the work we’re doing inclusive
and affirming
for young people who are transgender
or gender nonconforming. I’ve been doing a lot of reflecting on my
role in all that, and what it means for
me to be me while doing that work. And I’ve also been yearning for ways to
re-engage in other kinds of work I’ve done in the past: sex
education, curriculum
development, sexual
assault prevention, with public
schools and college
campuses and youth
development programs. And blogging!
So at least I’m getting back into that – hoping that this makes more sense than
a few lines on Facebook.
If 2014 was the year in which my life tore
apart at the seams, then 2015 was the year in which I started weaving
it back together. I’m weaving something newly livable, something softly
familiar yet utterly surprising, at times terrifying and at times glowing with
beauty, something to hold onto within an overwhelming whirlwind of opportunity
and pain and possibility. In taking the risk of being more connected to my own truths,
I’m finding more and more access to authenticity,
and I’m finding within that authenticity a kind of vulnerability
that feels both scary and strong, and that allows for real closeness with
people who care.
I’m discovering that people care about me as deeply as I care about them. I
deeply, passionately care about them (you). And I can act on those feelings,
although there’s risk
in that, too. I’m becoming more attuned to the differences between danger and
risk, between terror and courage. I’m becoming more attuned to my own needs,
including my need for joy. Past numbness
is now thawing. I’m trying to weave something that will keep me warm, so I can
keep sharing warmth with the world.
In 2015:
·
I defended my dissertation and got my PhD.
·
I packed up the apartment I’d lived in for five
years.
·
I started my post-doc.
·
I found and set up a new apartment in
Harlem.
·
I turned 30, and I went alone to an awesome Pride
dance party in Brooklyn.
·
I made an OKCupid profile (and used it).
·
I analyzed data, conducted focus groups and
interviews, wrote papers, and planned for grants I want to write.
·
I nourished new friendships, exploring new ways
of connecting and showing up for each other.
·
I reshaped existing friendships, adjusting to so
many changes to find ways to continue to show up and be close.
·
I made time for my own thawing and reflecting,
nourishing myself and finding out that I can really show up for myself, too.
One thing I learned this year, especially this fall, is that
I cannot repair the world in isolation. My self
care and my connection
with community are what allow me to invest in my work as an activist,
to build relationships that will facilitate and propel change in
my own life and in the systems in which I work. I can't do it alone. I can
barely do anything alone. Isolation is the opposite of social justice. We need
each other, to build together the
world we need, the world as we
want it to be. We need each other radically and holistically, not just for call-outs
and accountability,
but for hope and healing and joy and wonder. We need each other so we can hold
complexity together and make space for all that we're feeling. This is hard to
do in a big city where it takes a lot of effort and coordination to just physically
put ourselves in the same place. But it's something I'm really committed to. Showing
up, to talk
and feel
and sing
and dance.
To care
and question.
So hard but so needed.
I will keep seeking community, I will keep hosting events at
my place, and I will even keep going to Brooklyn to see what people are
building there. Let me know your other ideas, hopes, dreams, visions, suggestions,
etc. I’m in it with you!
You. Thank
you to everyone who has been a part of my village this year. Family
of origin and family
of choice. Best friends, old friends, new friends, people who weren’t yet
my friends but welcomed me with warmth anyway. You are the reason I can do
anything, you are the reason I could write my dissertation and finish school
and get a job and move to New York. You are the reason I could start a new job
and take on new projects and set up a new life. You are the reason I have hope
for myself, and you are the reason I have hope for the world.
Sending you warmth this winter, with so much hope and so many
wishes for care and love and justice in the coming year.
