It is the day after Thanksgiving, 2020. As usual I am in bed, having moved to a slightly larger notepad, a small notebook really. It is ¾ filled with meeting notes. I sometimes think I avoid a dedicated journal because then I would have to say, “I write. I am a writer.” (4 years later I am more comfortable with this being a part of who I am) It is the eve of the lunar eclipse and I am, as always, musing.
What might be possible if we all stopped trying and simply were?
What might be possible if the default response to an ask was “maybe, it depends”, instead of yes or no?
What might be possible if what was sought/valued was the question(s) and not the answer(s)?
What might be possible if Black people were allowed to thrive as opposed to fighting daily for our survival?
What might be possible if love was understood as boundless and complete— a gift as much for the giver as the receiver?
What might be possible if we sought/valued multiplicities and the in-betweens, as opposed to singular certainty?
The spaces where possibilities exist is what I choose.