Today is the first day of the rest of our lives

…prompts full of fucking hope

Big sorting and my own call to action for myself under the 💖💖💖 the prompts for the week are under the 📚📚📚 (skip ahead (or skip completely) if you are currently triggered by optimism, hope and would like time to grieve, and sit in despair. I so understand. I love you.)

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When I was 7 years old my mother taught teenagers.

On the door to her classroom she had written.

TODAY IS THE FIRST DAY OF THE REST OF YOUR LIVES

Because when you’re a teenager, things are hard, and there are so many days when you don’t think you’re going to make it through.

Or at least…that’s how I felt.

Today my eldest child turned 16. All he wants for his birthday is quiet. So his brother promised to be quiet. Even though that’s not his skill set. I write him a quiet poem about how much I love him, gave him some candy, a model bookstore to build, and made sure that he got today to rest.

Today I drove my kids back into the city to be with their Dad, because his Dad died on Monday.

Today I was able to post the obituary of my former father in law. The man who welcomed my weirdness into their family, taught me about sustainable architecture and the importance of iron corrugated roofs, who made me sandwiches and sat with me when I was on holiday. Who held my first born like he was the most precious thing ever, his first grandchild, all those 16 years ago. He loved his grandchildren, and his children and his wife, and even when me and his wonderful son got divorced…he still had room for me in his life.

We moved back to the east coast so that my children’s father could spend more time here, helping his mom, caring for his Dad, fixing things and being with his family. He got a year and a half of extra time. That was so important to me, to us.

Today the election in the U.S. was decided.

And so many of my friends and the people I love are hurting. I checked in on my friends.

We lived in the United States, me and my family, for six years…through the re-election of Obama, and I was in the basement doing comedy that fateful night in 2016 when the hurt began.

We couldn’t vote. I had spent my years there helping to build an inclusive comedy space that wasn’t filled with hate, and I helped run the Seattle Moth storySLAM. I loved my creative community so much. It was there I learned another part of who I am.

But in 2018 we decided to come home, because we knew that whatever what rotting in the heart of American, it would leak over here, because hate spreads. It didn’t start in America. Hate has been lingering here too. It feeds on division. On fear. It is repelled by community, by us helping one another. So that’s what I tried to do. I built community spaces. I focused on connecting, listening to people, supporting the under-voiced.

Then Covid came. And I kept gathering people online. Then I had a stroke. I almost died. But I found a new space and I kept gathering people, whispering that we didn’t have to give up, that we had each other, we had art, we had music, we had story.

Then the space was bought, and I was pushed out. And we decided to move east to support my children’s father’s family.

And for a year I was quiet. I rested. I helped my friends with their beautiful space. I worked in a bookstore making magic and talking to people and listening to people.

And after a year of rest…I came back to the internet full of exhausted people who’d been fighting so hard.

…but I am re-energized. And I feel grateful for that year of quiet. Of doing small things. Because re-charging is a necessary part of making a difference. The powers that be WANT us to burn out. Because burnt out activists and community builders they can’t do as much. They are tired.

I have been tired. I know the exhaustion that comes from fighting and fighting and fighting. And feeling like the results are happening.

It nearly killed me. That life.

But I’m back.

And today a friend and I went to look at a building for my next community space, bookstore, and place of comfort, revolution and joy. It will be a small press too so we can get our voices into the world. It will be a place where we can gather so we remember that we are not alone, that we together are more capable of making change. It will be a place for rest. Yes. For rest. For recharging. For being reminded that you are loved and valuable just because you exist.

Today my friend messaged me. She asked me if I was grieving or if I was strategizing.

Strategizing I said.

I have spent the whole last year writing about grief because I knew this was coming. I knew my children’s grandfather was dying and I couldn’t talk about it.

I knew that a change was coming and I needed to be ready and recharged for when it arrived.

And I have spent this year writing letters and checking in on people I love one on one because I know that community makes all the difference.

And I’m ready to be a part of the beautiful sprouting fucking flowers that will survive and rise from this wreckage. Because they can’t steal our joy. They can’t make us stop caring, as much as they wished we would. They can’t make me stop supporting the future generations of humans who care so much. And they can’t stop me supporting the elders and the caregivers who need us right now.

I am here. I am listening. I love you. If you need virtual tea, a chat, and to be heard. Let me know. I will make time.

Heart,

Wake

(My kiddo at a year old, 15 years ago, in his favourite shirt and the words that are his core mission. QUESTION AUTHORITY)

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The prompts for this week:

1. Write the prompts (done!)

2. Find a quote that motivates you

3. Find a quote that comforts you

4. Share a song that makes your heart stronger

5. Tell me about a friend who inspires you

6. Paint a picture, colour something, write a poem…show me you’re making, whatever it is. I want to see it.

7. Go outside. Sit. Breathe. Observe. Write.

TODAY IS THE FIRST DAY OF THE REST OF YOUR LIVES

…and mine too