I have a really awkwardly located bike burn from a combination of wet shorts and a hard seat. I eat a lot of pulled pork burritos (no spice, no dairy). I read and reblog articles about gender issues in pop culture on tumblr. You can no longer count the number of freckles on my elbows as a result of afternoons in parks. I find it easier to talk to people who are close enough to touch, and I’ve been using more “I feel” statements… much to my own embarrassment.
You’ll notice that none of this has to do with social justice.
My life was previously a whirlwind of planning, organizing, and coordinating people for money, all for the purpose of eradicating poverty (because you know, “SMART” goals) and today it exists in very singular specific details with no SMART intention in the least.
I was let go just over a month ago. For a while there I could tell you the number of days it had been, but time is much more fluid now and the sharpness of hurt and anger have softened to more of a dull ache. These are potentially indicators that I’m moving on, however the reality is that it is the others, previously my colleagues, who work in social justice who have moved on. Their work hasn’t stopped, their purpose remains the same, and their lives remain stable with income and community.
As I get more and more wrapped up in the minutiae of my every day, I’ve lost touch with the forward motion that is being a part of a social justice organization. I’m not “in it” right now, and with my termination comes the feeling that part of my identity has been stripped from me. Who would have known that this was something to keep up with? That you have to actively work to be a part of this movement each and every day or else you lose touch, and you get left behind?
It’s strange to think of joining a new community of equally as passionate planners, organizers, and coordinators. Strange to think that I have to seek that out, and discover for myself a new way of being “in it”. I question now if its worth running to catch up, or taking some time to enjoy a much slower pace. I don’t know what is going to make me happy, but I do know that there is happiness for me in the details of the day to day. There are worse things to do than apply lotion, eat burritos, read articles, sit in the sun, and talk about my feelings (though I’m still hesitant on that last one) and soon enough there will be even better things to do.