This side of paradise

“This is what we have to do: we have to keep fighting. And we have to keep making room for the joy and the kindness, when they happen. Not just to reinvigorate us, but because these things remind us that the world we are fighting for is not imaginary — we can see it all around us, still, in the birds of paradise and the acts of kindness and the words we say to make change. ”

I've been pretty numb today. The weather in North Carolina has been gray all week, with an oppressive "almost about to rain" feeling that has kept me on edge. It feels symbolic.

I went to pick up lunch at my favorite comfort food spot today after a morning of doom scrolling and trying to concentrate on my email inbox. I was packed in a tight parking spot, my view obstructed by several big trucks. It sounds silly, but I'm a pretty nervous driver, so the thought of getting safely back onto the street without hitting a truck or denting my car was weighing on me as I was waiting for my food. I was already worrying about it. After digesting all of the cruelty of yesterday, I just didn't have the energy to maneuver out of a complicated parking space.

When I was about to leave, a man gently tapped on my window and said, "Do you want me to watch your car as you pull out?" I felt myself exhale a breath that I didn't know I was holding. It was like he read my mind! I sat there, amazed that somebody was helping. Somebody was looking out for me. It was a simple act of kindness, but after the last few weeks - first Irvine Taiwanese Presbyterian Church and then Buffalo and now Uvalde - it felt monumental.

A few years ago I would have sighed with relief. I would have thought, "oh gosh, we are blowing this all out of proportion. People are actually good." This small act of kindness would have erased all the bad things I'd digested that day.

I guess I don't see things as either/or anymore, but I look for ways to hold onto two different realities.

Small acts of kindness cannot solve the structural inequalities (racism, ableism, poverty, etc) and oppression that we need so badly to dismantle. And in many ways, they can serve to distract from these structural issues and oppression. When we are reinvigorated by a small act of kindness, we still can't afford to forget how much work we still have left to do, work that can't be solved by being simply kind, work that instead consists of seeing our reality for what it is and dismantling centuries of systems that don't serve us.

But small acts of kindness do matter. Because of this small act of kindness, I was fortified to come home and donate to Sandy Hook Promise. It gave me a little room to breathe. It gave me some of my energy back so I could keep fighting for a better world.

It's hard to live in a world where something kind can happen the same day as a tragedy. It's hard to know how to make sense of it all, to hold both realities in our heads: that so many people are good, that we have more in common than we think we do, that so many of us want the same things - and yet, there is still so much that needs to change.

I don't have any answers, but I don't want you to be afraid to look at the pain and to face it. We all must face it and feel it if we want anything to change.

Last night, just after I heard news of the shooting, I was supposed to teach a class on writing the personal essay. I took a moment at the beginning of class to acknowledge the horrible tragedies of the past few weeks. I fumbled with the words, but I said: "All I can tell you is that your words matter. Words are powerful. Tell your story. Your story can change minds." I think last night I said that so many times because I was trying to convince myself. Today I think I do believe it.

At the same time, I don't know about you, but I am tired of writing and calling my senators and donating to organizations and speaking up. This global pandemic that's disconnected us all and that has kept us in our homes for so many years has made it harder to remember how beautiful the world can be, and how full of wonder it can be. How kind we can sometimes be to each other.

Last month I went on a vacation to California. I had the opportunity to rest and explore, which always reminds me of all the wonder in the world. I couldn't stop looking at the flowers, in particular, the bird of paradise. This flower looks like a bird. I don't know how else to say it! It looks like it might just come to life and fly away. Just looking at it made me happy. I felt like it held all the mysteries of the world, of how such a thing could come to exist. This is how beautiful and how full of mystery the world can be, all at once.

How can such a tragedy happen on the same planet where over thousands, maybe millions of years, a flower has evolved to be shaped like a bird? What are we supposed to do with that? What are we supposed to do with any of this, this heaviness and this beauty? The world, as it stands, requires a level of change that seems incomprehensible.

This is what we have to do: we have to keep fighting. And we have to keep making room for the joy and the kindness, when they happen. Not just to reinvigorate us, but because these things remind us that the world we are fighting for is not imaginary -- we can see it all around us, still, in the birds of paradise and the acts of kindness and the words we say to make change.

This world could be so wonderful. This world is so full of wonder. I'm so tired of writing and calling and voting, but let's keep fighting for this world. Let's look out for each other. Let's remember what an act of kindness can do. Let's rise to the occasion.

Allison

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