If I Can’t Dance…
Resist, persist, build, move, dance.
It is Election Day in the U.S. and it feels like a referendum on our existence. I am dashing off this post to relocate my focus and to pinpoint what matters to me. Maybe to you, also.
My friend Kevin Slavin recently wrote a passage to show how he is “feeling on a day where rockets and missiles are flying across borders in one part of the world, and the most extraordinary lies and disinformation are moving through networks closer to home. And [it is] a moment where all of us must brace for impact, without airbag, seatbelt or a seatback card procedure to refer to. Just impact.”
That resonated. We’ve been receiving day upon day of impact. We’ve been witnessing it on our phones and our screens. We’ve been in community with people suffering it, under rockets and missiles, being denied reproductive medical care, being pushed back over borders, or losing their homes under floods and storms. We have blood on our hands. The persisent ugliness, the gray cast of our political world, is a pall on our collective existence.
This morning, though, after weeks of being simultaneously skittish and paralyzed — it is as uncomfortable as it sounds — I woke up feeling inexplicably, preternaturally calm. I felt light.
Perhaps it’s because of resignation, or certainty, or hope, or just the sense of satisfaction from having done what I could to support my convictions and my communities.
But it’s certainly this: No matter who wins, no matter what happens in today’s aftermath, no matter where the world’s trajectory is heading, the work of liberation and transformation doesn’t begin or end with elections. Real change will emerge from the communities we build, the stories we change, and the power we share. Our connections, dialogue, solidarity, and mutual care and love can construct a shared humanity. We have to continue to believe that.
And so the work persists. As do we.
I went for a walk in the East Village and saw a sign at the entrance to Club Cumming, a place that spreads intentional joyful community, saying “Resist. Persist. Keep Dancing.” I had just told someone I was looking forward to some retreat time soon, to be able to stop moving politically for a while and move musically instead. The sign was speaking to me.
Today, I’ve been seeing notes from favorite writers reminding us to breathe, and to take care of ourselves and each other. Advocates are circulating posts about voter protection and defense. A friend sent around a poem to remind me of my ferocity and hers. It’s been beautiful.
To all of these, I add my reminder, the one I saw at Club Cumming: Dance. Dance because transformation needs our joy. Dance because no matter what happens today, we will continue tomorrow.
