A Meditation on Home and Love

I'm in the home stretch of my trip to India, enjoying the last few hours before I head home. And yes, home is New York and the United States, even and especially now. After all, it's where my family of creation is, where most of my friends live, and where I have built deep and lasting relationships with colleagues over nearly four decades. I miss my people, the tribe I have cultivated over the years. Without them/you, I am an aimless soul. With my community, I am stronger, more joyous, ready to face anything.

As happy as I am to return home, I'll confess that I'm also lost. Unsure about how many and which precautions I should take to protect myself and my loved ones. Unclear about what effect my guidance and support will have on the most vulnerable, including immigrants and trans and nonbinary folks. And uncertain about what my larger role needs to be at this moment (Like Anne Lamott, though, for now it's "left foot, right foot, breathe.")

I know that many of you feel this way, so I'm naming it out loud. I remind myself that this is a marathon, not a sprint. And I can begin running when I'm ready. For now, it's okay to refuel, assess the terrain, start when it's our time. (I have never run a race in my life, so excuse the lame references).

We're not 100 days in yet, and still bruised from the first term and the pandemic. There is time, and there isn't. Some things I feel a sense of urgency about are protecting my data and communication, being equipped and ready to help the most vulnerable around me and making sure my voice is heard, in the streets and in the offices of elected officials. Some things I know will take time to figure out include what my professional role is in this new phase of building a multiracial democracy and how best to preserve my energy for the long road ahead.

What we cannot afford is to lose hope or do nothing. Hope is the fuel that will keep our fire burning. It has always been on us, and so it is today.

With love,

Sayu