Paper thin

Previously posted on TinyLetter

Buckle up. This one is long.

I’m sitting across from the wisest, dearest friend in my life. When I met her at 23-years-old, I found myself standing in her living room, arms before me as she loaded up blankets on blankets for a trek across our Chicago neighborhood. It was to be my first move-in-the-park experience. It was also my first Nicole Scott experience. In Nicole fashion, she was mum on how far we would walk. It felt like 5 miles but I’m sure the number of blankets and snacks I was balancing made the journey feel stretched. It was probably more like 2 miles.

We found ourselves as we normally do: across from one another with too much food before us, and our stomachs and hearts ready to feast. After nearly a decade of friendship, she is the one I can lay it down in front of without fear of judgment. She is curious and kind. And funny. Really freaking funny. In this spirit of curiosity, I found myself asking aloud to her and, really, myself how I can balance between the worlds of using my voice for what I perceive as “good” and also letting the path of what I perceive as “bad” remain open. It is the dichotomy and the dualism I fight nearly every moment of my life. This is even more so heightened in the tumultuous world I am so loud in.

This is on the heels after I found myself minus three extremely loved friends. Friends that I could easily text and feel at ease with. This sadness and disappointment have sat unsteadily in my heart for a few weeks, rocking between all the waves that seem to overtake me at times. I think ever since my mom got sick with COVID, the reality of it all hit much closer than anticipated. There is this part of me that feels the inevitability of it all. My cousin-in-law, an Infectious Disease physician, noted that 100% of the US population will be exposed to Delta by years’ end. Not exactly stats that make anyone feel cozy. 

For a long time, it was the knowledge that kept me afloat. Like, if I knew it all, I was OK. And then it hit the heart with my mom and I was surprised by its force. Anxiety Camp was set up faster than I could say, “Hey, wait! Let me call my therapist!” Which led me to where I am today, really…

Where I feel like I’m in this little boat out to sea, hoping to bring some kind of awareness via red flare or jumping out and splashing wildly (see: my Instagram public breakdown moment). And then I get tired… I get so tired from carrying this weight that is not mine to carry. I feel guilt for drawing lines in the proverbial sand and choosing dualism in an atmosphere that almost feels tangibly charged. My heart, mind, soul, and spirit are tired. I know much of this is due to the fact that I have not fully dealt with what happened with my mom. She is suffering from post-traumatic stress following her hospitalization, and I find myself walking with her through that. It’s been … a lot.
¨C11C In talking with Nicole through this, she tells me about something she has been thinking about: the tree of knowledge. Most of us are familiar with the beginning of Genesis – the temptation to know and the fallout following the knowing. Nicole has been measuring what this means for us in today’s day and age. The information and misinformation with no filter; becoming inundated by simply logging on to see what people have been up to. There’s no longer a simple innocence in knowing. Yet, there’s also a duty to act. That’s the part I have always felt wired for, and this is much to my demise as it is to my feeling/knowing of doing good in this world.¨C12C ¨C13C Nicole and I left it at … we don’t know. We do know two opposing forces can exist at once. She reminded me that social media shows just a portion and never the full. And that innocence isn’t necessarily bliss.¨C14C  

I will end with lyrics from a Thrice song I listened to on repeat yesterday as I took a much-needed run:

The blue light spills like oceans/ We smile and let it in/ It cures us of our questions/ Like hoods on peregrine/ Knowledge locked in a tower/ Barons will hold the key/ But if knowledge is power/ Know this is tyranny

All we’re asking for is what’s ours/ You think they’re selling you truth/ Truth is, they’re selling you out/ The black ink fuels our notions/ That all the facts are in/ It cures us of our questions/ Like hoods on peregrine

And if we keep buying in/ The line between lies and truth/ Will wear paper-thin

Namaste, truly
b