I Keep Reaching Out Because That Is What I Do
More Than Ever, I Need to Lean on the Magic of Connection
Almost fourteen hundred years ago, one of the first Chinese sages we know of offered this brief retort to those who pestered him for advice—“Not Two!” … Everything that divides and separates removes us from what is sacred, and so weakens our chances for joy… Once divided from the common beat of life, we are cut off from the abundance and strength of life, the way an organ cut out of the body dies. So, to find peace, to live in peace, we need to keep restoring our original Oneness.
- Mark Nepo in The Book of Awakening, p.25
Often my day starts out with high energy from my morning routine of journaling, yoga, shower, and breakfast. The energy level wanes down at the end of the day as I exhaust my mental and physical energy on schoolwork, housework, justice work, etc. I pass out by 9 or 10 while trying to read a book yet losing my focus in the middle of a paragraph. One day in January was the opposite. I had been attending a five-week-long workshop series based in South Korea, and it took place from 5:30 am to 7:30 am EST, an evening time there. Six of us wrote essays together, in repetition of writing for 10 minutes and reading it out loud to share. This process helped us minimize self-filtering and inspire one another in writing. At the beginning of the meeting, we went around and shared how we had been since our last get-together.
This particular meeting was the week when Trump was inaugurated into the US presidency for the second time and when I got my last installment of infusion therapy for ITP (My story about ITP). My semester had started, which kept me busier and more anxious than usual. As soon as I started reporting my current state, I started crying, not just a few teardrops, but long-drawn wails. I was startled by this sudden eruption of vocal tears and blurted out, “I am scared!” This moment showed how much I had been suppressing this feeling over the week while trying to conduct my daily duties as a teacher and adult with composure. Underneath it all, I was deeply scared.
What happened that day was sort of magical. I ended the day dancing to no music, shaking my booty, and punching the air triumphantly, all alone in my room, releasing happy hormones flowing through my body. I called it the magical power of connection. In addition to the cathartic experience of crying in a safe space of my writing group, I had small group meetings with my new ESL students to get to know one another. I learned that Ehsan likes to wear hoodies, and Luce likes to wear baseball caps. Some students were from Sudan, and some were from the Democratic Republic of Congo. Aaliyah used to be a teacher and Iman a lawyer in their home countries. We, including myself, shared fear of the new US president and his administration for their explicit hatred for immigrants, but we felt connected and safe in our classroom.
That evening, I facilitated an organizing meeting for a local activist group. We shared what issue we each had been working on and discussed topics that had come up anew that week. Each attendee picked up a new task to do until the next meeting. When I was about to wrap up, a few people raised their hands. I was surprised by their gestures because we were done with our agenda. One by one, they expressed their appreciation for my “leadership.” They thought my leading of the group kept the members active and got important work done. I was flattered but was more awe-struck. I always thought I was inadequate in activism work because I lacked experience compared to many others. I did not learn about activism growing up, and neither of my parents was politically involved. My mother rather discouraged me from going to protests or posting criticism of the government on social media, saying that it would bring me harm. I considered myself a latecomer to the activism scene, and with my already busy life, what I contributed never felt enough.
The testimonies of the meeting attendees rendered me a revelation. There was a space where I could fit into the puzzle and play a valuable role in activism work. My expertise in organizing a group of people, scheduling meetings, and facilitating conversations from years of teaching was useful with non-student groups as well. My skill sets combined with my passion for the cause of helping immigrants (me, my family, and my students included) could make a significant contribution.
Last year, in welcoming the New Year, I set my focus on health, writing, and art. This year I added a couple more including connection. As I processed hard feelings after the presidential election last November, I saw that people started organizing. Then I saw a source of hope: connection. I believed that the only way for me, for us, to survive the next four years or more would be by connecting more. Spending more time with loved ones and having more open conversations that we used to be hesitant to have. I used aggressive methods to decrease my screen time to divert it to in-person time with myself and others. I started a journal dedicated to documenting videos that I had watched that day. The goal was limiting the videos to one a day, but more often than not, days passed without any. I installed an app on my phone and blocked the websites that I habitually frequented for entertainment purposes: Instagram, YouTube, and App Store (because I keep downloading games).
I am still scared, but less so. There are life skills that I have attained through repeated practice such as focusing on the process and bearing vulnerability. And now more than ever, I need to trust the magic of connection. Like when I went to a grief circle and remarkably felt better after spending time with other grievers. The size of my grief did not decrease, but I didn’t feel alone anymore. Although others had different kinds of grief from mine, listening to them brought me comfort. And telling them about my grief made me feel connected. Being vulnerable with each other allowed us to form a deep connection in a short period of time. When I confided in people about losing my grandmother, they told me about their own losses. When I shared the story of my hysterectomy, they replied with the ones of themselves, their sisters, or aunts.
If things fall, we will reach for them. If things break, we will try to put them together. If loved ones cry, we will try to soothe them—because that is what we do. I have often reached out, and sometimes it feels like a mistake. Sometimes … I have been stung. But it doesn’t matter, because that is what I do. That is what we do. It is the reaching out that is more important than the sting.
- Mark Nepo in The Book of Awakening, p.21
I stand in front of my students each day and reach out. I stand up in meetings and show that I am ready to connect. I reach out to you through my letters. I keep reaching out because that is what I do.
Love,
Linda
More letters about immigrant experiences and activism work:
Thank you for sharing, Linda! I am glad you are able to find some connections with people in your writing group, your advocacy group, and your students. Making connections with other humans is so important, and I am glad that you are still in my orbit!