Christchurch and climate marches

Today, I broke down.

The barriers I had erected the past few days to keep the emotions at bay broke when I heard the news about the shooting in New Zealand. In New Zealand. Not some far away place in the States. Home. A part of me considers New Zealand to be home. And that kind of thing is not supposed to happen there. Because for all its flaws, mass shootings are not on that list - were not on that list.

And so I mourn. There is so much pain, so much sadness welled up in my chest I don’t know how it can ever all be released. Pain at the events in New Zealand. Pain at the connections in my life that are not as I would like them to be. Pain that it has come to the point where we rely on children striking to make climate change 'a thing'. Pain that it might all be too little, too late. Pain at the hatred, the violence in our world. Pain at the misunderstandings, the miscommunication, the powerlessness people feel that leads to this. Pain, pain, pain. And somewhere, mixed into one of the layers of pain, is anger. Anger that believes that people don’t take responsibility for their actions. That believes people are waiting for others to solve their shit. That believes that we all need to do our bit and we all have the power to change things. – And with that, helplessness sets in. How can I make people see? How can I make them wake up? How can I catapult them into different mindsets, with different approaches?

I can’t. Or can I? I can’t change other people, but I can choose how I interact with myself and the world. And there’s the crux of the matter. Determination sets in. By being the best version of me, by leading a life based on compassion, honesty, and allowing myself to show vulnerability - I am the change. By not shutting down. By not erecting barriers – inside or outside of me.

And there’s the pain again. Pain at how I’ve failed at this in the past. But this time, with a glimmer of hope. Recognising that it’s a continuous journey. Recognising that I’m one of many on this path to radical authenticity.
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A bit of pain lingers. The lessons have been harvested, a part of me has transformed with it. I stay with the pain, cradle it in my arms. For now, it slumbers, exhausted. I know it shall awake again, crying, in the future. It’s still there. And that’s okay, for every cry is a plea to learn, to reconnect, to care. But for now, it sleeps.