As most of the U.S. knows, here in the Southeast we had received quite a bit of snow in the last two weeks. This is not as rare as seeing a white crow but it is certainly not a normal occurance for us. I am grateful to live in a little odd-ball city that is, for some reason, well equipped to handle the inclement weather of winter. BUT! that still means that ideas that are pretty standard to those of Northern altitudes like knowing to clean your car off or shoveling the snow from the sidewalks and driveways asap are practices that Southerners aren’t as rehearsed. I am grateful to my Northern parents for at least providing me with the understanding even if I have rarely had to use it.
But I digress.
Last week, I spent a great bit of energy being angry about the minor danger (in comparison to other dangers happening in my country) of not having my apartment complex be proactive about having a plan for the accumulated ice we received last weekend. They delayed seeing to the problem and…well…ice is ice and it is dangerous (pun intended). Yesterday, was a Sunday and the day after the snowfall finished. I didn’t want to wait to be angry, also I knew that powdery snow was easier to remove than slates of ice. So, I marched down to my neighbor’s to borrow her shovel and started at the sidewalks of my main pass. After all, I am able bodied, understand the importance of the work, and had the time to do it.
As I was shoveling last night and today, I considered the state of our current world. Children, women, and men are being dragged from their homes, cars, and schools held at gunpoint. They are being held in containment camps. They are being treated as less than human. And because I do not live in one of those hotbeds of activity, like Minnesota or Ohio, it is easy to feel helpless to move the needle.
But what if that is not the way to consider it.
The people in Minnesota and Ohio, Texas and Arizona are not my neighbors and while this does not mean I should not care about them (before anyone gets it twisted), there are plenty of people around me who could be in danger. I find them, their families, their cultures, and their languages beautiful, whether foreign or domestic. I want to protect them. All of them. But I cannot be there to protect them, I cannot call them “neighbor,” if I don’t know them…if they don’t know me. We cannot look out for each other if we do not build true communities. We cannot say, “I am here for you, but only if people with guns are standing at your door.” We need to build trust. We need to build communication. We need to build relationships. This is how we educate ourselves. This is how we are able to be in the right place at the right time to be of service when it is actually needed.
I know we are all out of practice in this, too, in the modern age. We already stood alone, each in our own little burrows, and then COVID came to wipe away any last dregs of in-person connection we had. It even went so far as to teach us to fear in-person connections. The beautiful part is that the need for connection and community is written in our very beings. This is how we learn and grow and evolve and thrive. This is also how we will overcome the great evil that is dragging our fellow human into the streets and holding them without due process. We are greater than “they.” We always have been. We have just forgotten that our numbers are great and we are strong.
Let’s remember.
tldr: If you are overwhelmed with the ugly of the world that you cannot control, go learn your neighbors’ names. Make connections so that when the fight comes to your doorstep, you know who you are fighting for and how to be of best service.
Eating My Way Through It 