[006] "Something That You Just Couldn't See Before"
Nov. v1: On showing up through crises, noticing discomfort, and finding what lays beyond "this safety of the mind."
Hello, Tired Ones,
Another week, another sign of life, another reason that showing up’s still worth it.
In my work as a writer and designer for culture change, I come across important stories about progress that’s actually working for people.
These are stories that refuse the false choice: sweet indulgence, or the bitter pill.
They help us to remember: before there was bureaucratic care, or self-care, there was simply care.
So come on in, sit down. For the next few minutes at least, there’s no rush. It’s a new week, after all.
PS—You may have noticed this didn’t arrive on the usual Sunday morning. I’ve realized the extra day will help me finish, so I’m going to try bumping it forward. Please hit reply and share your preferences on this any time.
November's care workers: You, showing up through crises
“but sometimes, in an unguarded moment of sun, I remember…”
Sourcing notes: via Loren Gu on Unsplash.
—
There's not a lot I can say about this week yet. Once again, we see white supremacist ideas and anti-Black policies in the mainstream, near and far. This backlash against dignity isn’t new, of course, nor is it feeble.
Meanwhile, there is dignity.
Toronto's sun is spring-warm, for one last stretch before winter. May you find somewhere beneath it to remember and be unguarded.
A song, for pairing
"Port Na bPúcaí" (“The Fairy Song”) by Muireann Nic Amhlaoibh and Billy Mag Fhloinn, from the album Thar Toinn / Seaborne (2020).
A husband and wife duo perform a haunting version of a song that’s native to The Blasket Islands in County Kerry, Ireland. The husband Billy also holds a PhD in Irish folklore, and apparently, “A fisherman heard this music on the wind one night and played it on his fiddle.” (A speaker who knows him told me that people now believe it was whale song that the fisherman heard, amplified from the ocean via the frame of his boat.) Listen to more.
Sourcing notes: via Billy Mag Fhloinn’s website.
A healthy idea, to chew on
"Ziwe May Destroy Hamilton: Welcome to the Age of Discomfort," by hosts Wesley Morris and Jenna Wortham. For Still Processing, a podcast by the New York Times. July 23, 2020.
On the different forms of discomfort brought on by art this summer, and how to move through the destabilization they cause:
[A comparison of the musical Hamilton, which you probably know, with Michaela Cole's HBO series I May Destroy You, which you may not. The latter portrays a group of friends as they reckon in different ways with recent experiences of sexual assault and rape. However, the excerpt that follows doesn't speak to that content directly.]
Wesley Morris:
[The characters in Hamilton] aren’t just any old white men, right? These are men whose statues are in the middle of being defaced, torn down, debated about whether they should have ever gone up in the first place. Like, what are we honoring when we honor these men? [...] And I think not only do we get to watch and celebrate this thing [in Hamilton] that on many levels is fun, I think we also have to sit in the discomfort...Jenna Wortham:
Yes, yes.WM:
And the discomfort of being made to see something that you just couldn’t see before, not necessarily because you didn’t want to see it, but because the time wasn’t right for you to see it, or no one had sufficiently forced you to look at what you were enjoying so much.But if we’re talking about reckonings and topplings, I think there is a deeper part of that which entails us as people who listen, and read, and watch, and visit, and attend, and write to think about our relationship to some of these problems, too. I mean, I’m down for discomfort. I’m down to not feel stable. Because we shouldn’t be right now. That’s not what this moment is actually about. […]
I’m an American. I live with discomfort all the time.
JW:
Mm.WM:
I’m aware, for instance, that when I wake up in the morning, I have awoken on somebody else’s land.JW:
Yes, in fact, the land of the Canarsie and the Munsee Lenape. [...]WM:
... I’m also aware that I am a traceable descendant of enslaved people. And that leads into a pretty natural awareness of all kinds of other things. Like, who is making my food? Who is growing the food? Who is slaughtering the animals that I’m going to eat as a non-vegeterian, you know? I just go through life assuming that there is discomfort out there, and that it’s built into all aspects of living in the 21st century. And I’m comfortable with that discomfort.And not the sort of discomfort that a person like Robin DiAngelo is trying to get people to feel. Robin DiAngelo is, of course, the author of the best-selling–again book, “White Fragility.” I just find that project nauseating. It’s like she is telling white people, “Don’t talk, shut up. Things are too racist for you to speak, and you are the source of the racism. And you can’t say anything about racism, either, because Black people will not like you. They will not be able to handle it.” I don’t like her pitching white people into that place of discomfort, because what she is offering as discomfort for her white readership is really work for me and you.
JW:
Absolutely.WM:
Right? Also, I’m not getting a paycheck to do that work that she’s setting me up to do. I don’t know about you. [...]I’m here for a little discomfort. I’m used to feeling uncomfortable. I’m used to having discomfort induced in me. [...]
The power of [Michaela Coel's series I May Destroy You] is that it is not about making anybody feel good or feel comfortable. It’s about destabilizing us enough so that we can sit with what we couldn’t previously see, or what we had denied, to sit with the actual discomfort of, if not our behavior, then the behavior around us, our choices around us that we just sort of — just kind of ignored. It’s destabilizing. And I appreciate, admire, and would love more of that destabilization. Because it’s about changing things and shaking them up.
And so I don’t know, like where — what do we do with this discomfort, right? We can’t sit in it forever the way the white fragilicist would want us to.
JW:
OK, but that white fragilicist—which, I love that phrase, why not? These are issues that we have spent centuries mired in, and we’ve only spent about half that time with the freedom to actually start to process it or do anything with it. I mean, it is not an understatement to say that most people right now are really concerned with the basic tenants of survival. And so even having the luxury to start to grapple with what is so uncomfortable in these spaces, and within our own communities and the way we focus on some things and avert our eyes from others… I mean, these are not easy issues. And the process to face them is not going to be easy, either.My therapist is really an advocate of trying to think through why some things feel intolerable, why some things feel insurmountable. And when you avoid something, that is a huge red flag that you need to pay attention to it. And so I think being able to tolerate the discomfort, even noticing it is actually the first step to changing it.
A way forward, to take a breath
Something That You Just Couldn't See Before—To tolerate, to notice, to move forward through instability.
"Whichever way this goes, waves of grief are rolling," says Rachel Elizabeth Cargle, in the caption of a recent IG post:
Rachel launched a therapy fund in 2018 "to support Black women and girls" so they can "process the deep grief and anxiety that this election season has brought." Meanwhile, she curates a monthly syllabus and learning community called The Great Unlearn, which is available to all on a PWYC basis. This month, she's focusing on the Land Back movement, with guidance from UofT Professor of Indigenous Studies, Eve Tuck.
In Canada, one solidarity fund for marginalized healers has been so inundated with donations that they are now referring donors to other, community-led funds across the country. But the need is still great. Here in Toronto, their list includes the Black and Indigenous Community Care Solidarity Fund, Black Healing TO, and Scarborough Mutual Aid. (Here’s one idea they offered that my partner and I are going to start next weekend: get a head start on spring cleaning by selling some old furniture and clothes, then pass along the proceeds.)
Elsewhere, the American election has provided a smokescreen for international atrocities that are hitting people you may know in the diaspora. Like the ongoing and targeted attacks by Turkey and Azerbaijan against Armenian civilians living in their Indigenous territory of Artsakh (Nagorno-Karabakh). There are many ways you can use your voice as a Canadian to support a motion currently before Canada’s Senate that condemns the genocide and recognizes an independent Artsakh. For example, you could follow and share developments from Armenian media, since Western journalists haven’t demonstrated much understanding of the context surrounding Azerbaijani-Turkish aggression. Finally, if you know any Armenians, please check in on them, and keep at it. What they're going through is unspeakable, but there are so many simple ways to show you care:
However you walk in the world, when things become too destabilizing, there are supports to help you process them. Even reading this may push you into overwhelm—but you don't have to stay there. Beyond standard self-care goodness, there are many groups helping anyone to access professional support, like:
— The Medical Clinic for Person-Centred Psychotherapy, which provides free psychotherapy (!) with a referral from your doctor,
— Family Services Toronto, which is available for drop-in, same-day counselling sessions by phone, including for couples, and
— The Healing Collective, which offers referrals to waitlist-free therapy across Ontario.
Something that you just couldn't see before.
Sourcing notes: via @sophielucidojohnson (Instagram)
A poem, to cleanse the palate
The New Religion by Chris Abani, from his collection Hands Washing Water (2006).
It begins:
The body is a nation I have not known.
On stepping out from "this safety of the mind," and what the poet finds there, inside his own skin:
... but sometimes, in an
unguarded moment of sun, I remember
the cowdung-scent of my childhood skin
thick with dirt and sweat and the
screaming grass. But this distance I keep
is not divine, for what was Christ if not
God’s desire to smell his own armpit? And when I
see him, I know he will smile,
fingers glued to his nose, and say, “Next time
I will send you down as a dog
to taste this pure hunger.
Sourcing notes: via the podcast Poetry Unbound.
Something sweet, for the road
And now, a very happy baby—staying woke.
Sourcing notes: via @chloechristine5 (TikTok).
A question, til next time
On Tuesday morning, the big election day, I asked, "What are you listening to, watching, or reading today, to get your mind in the right place?" Here's some of what I heard back:
Colin in Vancouver has been listening to the gentle classical of Balmohrea—"although, for today, with the rain and the desire for change out here in Vancouver, I think it calls for some Tribe Called Red.
For Paula in San Antonio, the day needed for something more upbeat: "Well, I have a previously scheduled therapy appointment today, and dreading it so much, I went back to bed for half an hour. I'm back... to open up Spotify and listen to my 'What storm?' playlist, which I made for just this kind of day. It starts with Stevie Wonder."
Nadha in Toronto was "hoping to make something nourishing for dinner,” but wasn’t “yet quite sure what that'll be." (As it happens, she made chicken kanji in the slow cooker, and reportedly, it was "actually quite comforting!")
Astute readers will notice I double-dipped on emails this week. And that experimental second question got quite a bit more interest. So for today, it's a simple straw poll to get your take:
Are you opposed to the idea of receiving a second email per week from me? It would (a) be sent Wednesday morning and (b) involve a practical question like this one, linking to the discussion thread.
Follow the big blue button to let me know!
That's all for this week.
Remember: Drink when you're thirsty, nap when you can.
Kind regards,
Chris Connolly
Manager, Personalized Care
(Acting Director, Standardized Care)
Humane Resources Division
The Dept. of Emotional Labour
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