May I keep my feet on the ground.
May I keep my attention on what is real — the laugh lines growing deeper around my eyes, my pencil, my children, the texts from my friends with Outkast tracks and dinner plans, my exhaustion, my mug of coffee.
May I honor the power and slowness of generational work. This is for my grandmothers. This is for my mother. This will not shift in an election cycle or even a century. It’s not on time, but it’s in time.
May I reach for curiosity where I now feel disdain.
May I reach for tenderness where I now feel brittle.
May I see, not just those who didn’t vote with me, but those that did. Those that voted for a Black woman born in Oakland and a proposition that would have given California children a fairer fight at getting a great education. Hi beautiful people. Thank you for showing up.
May I drink enough water.
May I know I don’t know enough. About this election. About who people trust. About how the Internet works. About shattered hearts.
May I remember how much it matters. And how much it doesn’t. How much I can affect. And how little control I actually have.
May I fight like hell until my last breath for a country worthy of my daughters. Of your sons. Of all of our children. Of us, too.
This isn’t it. We can do so much better. We will.
As Meghana & Chetan Junnuru wrote: May tomorrow be awake. And may this day be the hem of tomorrow, a horizon of wakefulness we learn not to avert our eyes from.
Yes. Thank you 🙏🏼