Trying Times

Like most of us, I’ve been sunk into a morass of despair at the recent deaths of black men and women at the hands of those with guns and badges. I’ve done what I can to support change (writing to the Virginia State Bar fell on deaf ears), and will continue to do so. In the midst of this cleaning-out of society’s ills and injustice, I’ve found solace in tackling a clear-out of my own. I don’t mean this to sound glib - it seems to be the only way I can handle the unrest in my own soul without going over the edge and into the deep. No closet or drawer is safe from my trash can. Even books - heaven forbid - are on the chopping block.

Tossing the excess from my life is going to take time - I realize that. In the meanwhile, I’m labeling old photos so my children will know the names of their images, and soon, I’ll write my memories of those folks. Some pictures I swear I’ve never seen before, but I know who is in them. Relatives I knew as white-haired and bent live as young people, smiling into the future, in these photos. It’s like revisiting old friends and hearing about their lives before you met. I’ve even dug up old, unpublished manuscripts. They too, feel like old friends I’ve forgotten.

This project will take time. Like changing society, when you have the collective will, it will happen. Change in the right direction can’t be stopped, whether it’s decluttering a drawer or ensuring black lives matter. I know they’re not equivalents - but my small changes and efforts towards both are the best I can do right now. I’m ready, however, for the big stuff. Bring it on.