Making space

My heart is breaking into a million pieces.

One week ago, my family was dealt a tremendous loss. My cousin Petey was the best. So loving and very loved. Hilarious and fun. Compassionate. Earnest. Protective. He was so full of life that he sparkled.

I learned in May that he had been diagnosed with cancer. Four months later, he was gone. He was only 40.

My grief is heavy, and feeling the pain of those closest to him and witnessing the outpouring of love, shock, and support from his friends and family compounds it a thousand times over.

I miss him terribly.

And then I wake up to the anguish of a community mourning the unexpected loss of a real-life superhero to cancer.

And then there’s my own cancer.

And the pandemic.

And Black people getting shot in the back. And in bed. And in cars. And on the street.

And so much fear and hate and staggering hypocrisy.

But also my baby niece was born.

And my own child overflows with health and happiness.

And my marriage is solid after coming close to collapse.

And there’s a movement for justice that is happening and will not be stopped.

And the sun shines and the birds sing and the flowers bloom.

How are we supposed to hold space for all of this? It takes my breath away. I feel raw and exposed, by turns giddy and depressed. I cry often, simply from the overwhelming crush of what it is to be alive right now.

I also feel strangely free, untethered from the limitations of my physical body and cut loose from certainty of what’s good and what’s bad. My rigid expectations of how life is supposed to go are fading. I am unconcerned with other people’s judgments and no longer interested in making many of my own.

I have so much inside of me. Every one of us does. Oceans of pain, joy, suffering, hope, frustration, creativity, darkness, humor, fear, LOVE. Our experiences are unique, but we share in our humanity, in our capacity for big emotions, for resilience, for growth, for curiosity, for transformation. For giving and receiving help. For connection. For empathy.

We have the ability to see each other–and to see ourselves in one another.

I’m done being afraid of who I am. Done pretending to be small. I’m done with being “fine.” I just don’t think I have room for it any more.

I’ve decided that I’m going to let my ocean spill out in waves–the pain, the joy, the suffering, the hope, the frustration, the creativity, the darkness, the humor, the fear, the love. The struggles and the triumphs. The humanity, all of it. Because it’s what’s real in a world of mirages.

I’m going to let my humanity shine, and I promise to honor yours, too. Maybe it’s the way forward–to see and be seen as we are, as human beings who are doing the best we can to navigate the waves of our oceans.

My heart is breaking. But in breaking, it is also expanding.

I am making space for it all.