Hope

There are days when I feel the need to escape the world I created. My home and family, the place and people who would not exist without me, had me hiding in the bathroom these past few months just for some quality “alone” time. I love the people who I’ve been locked down with since March, and I love my house almost as much. But there are days when a person needs time by herself. 

On one of those days I wandered out into the empty streets of Cambridge to contemplate how we got here and why. By chance on that day, I had a reverential encounter with President Obama. I passed a local gallery displaying photos from the official White House photographer of a time that seems so long ago. There was one photograph of President Obama that struck my heart and made me pause and look at the image of his arm outstretched, entwined with a giant rainbow as if blown from his fingertips with magic. It’s an image of hope.

It reminded me that my purpose right now is not to give up or give into the despair, but to fight hard for the next generation. We need to fix this shit, even if we didn’t make it. That’s what women, mothers and caregivers, have always done. 

I’ve committed to love. That’s my power. Love, kindness, goodness and hope don’t always trump fear, hatred, anger and despair. But if I’m choosing to live in a moment to fight for the future, my moment must be grounded in love. 

As we are fiercely reconciling with the intentional segregation of our country while we watch those who believe America belongs to those with light skin support a man who they hope will disrupt the path toward liberal democracy, I find hope.  I hope the next generation of American women will step up and into the spaces of power to influence law and policy to reverse what segregationist hope will stay solidly in place. 

The irony of the segregationist, the anti-women vote of those who wanted to disrupt the system because of their fear of human-centric laws and policies, is that this disruption they prayed for may be the opening to a world they feared most. I want to  thank you white supremacist for your fear, you got exactly what you wanted. 

But I think this disruption, although not wished for, holds historic value. It has created a space large and wide enough for the rest of us to walk through to fix the future with human-centric laws and policies. 

As a mom I know how we feel the urge to protect innocence, but at times like this it’s more important to prepare. White children must see the injustices of intentional segregation to understand why the world looks as it does.  It’s important to see what is happening and why, in order to have the tools to change what appears intractable. And I know this is not the first time of great hope for transformation, but what’s different this time is that we have an army of well-educated non-white female-humans who can question the powerful. 

We’re in this together, and to create powerful systematic-change I am joining a national cry to see people who have been invisible because, as a mom,  I know how to create new worlds.

When I turned from the photo of President Obama on my walk to escape what I had created, I had tears rolling down my face as I sauntered home with hope. America is our home, and although we are bruised and beaten, I believe we are finally ready for a new path on our march for a more perfect union.  I don’t know how we communicate without words, but sometimes people appear like angels to rescue us. Thank you President Obama for giving me hope.