Seizing the Warmth of Sanity

I lived in London for a portion of my career. Told that the gray skies and rain were a real thing but highly exaggerated, I packed my bags and flew the furthest east I’d ever been. They lied. I moved in early fall and it rained and rained and rained. My neighbors had been told “a black woman from America” was coming and that I was safe and okay. Yeah, that happened. My townhouse walls were painted gray, the carpet was black, and the furniture black leather. Without the sun, the living room was a dungeon. This all combined with missing my family and friends, having limited transportation in that I’d not yet conquered driving my 5-speed Vauxhall car on the opposite side of the road yet, and the job which was replete with painful surprises. I entered an unavoidable bout of situational depression that I could not share with those who’d thought I’d won the lottery when I took the job

After a 7-week spell of it storming every-single-Monday, I stood on the blustery platform in Sanderstead thinking about how I was going to get out of the contract and take my cold ass home. The train was late again, I was forced to board a “smoker” where I had to fight to breathe on my 30-minute journey into the London Bridge station. As my resolve waned, spring sprung.

The intermittent rains continued but at least they had a purpose. Trees blossomed, my allergies appeared having silently made the trip with me, and there were more sunny days than not. I started to run several miles a day in the hills around my home, and the city began to reveal itself in ways before unseen. Although still often alone, I began to explore the guts of the city and region, randomly hopping on trains to different areas or maxing out my required travel to see and feel what I’d never seen or felt before. The season of my mood changed too. I was strengthened by the challenges — renewed.

Those days come back to me now as the rainy and cool days of Pittsburgh seem endless. Now, however, the air isn’t just sodden, it’s deadly. The tunnel of gray has returned as I’m pelted by the words of leaders trying to normalize unnecessary deaths. I am living in a country led mostly by white men of privilege who are prioritizing economics over life. Not economics over lifestyle — that has long been the playground of these capitalistic vultures — the splitting of the haves and have nots, the designating of the non-deserving poor and the elevation of the uber privileged rich — no, the odds here are actual life and death. They challenge us to move on. They attempt to tune our ears to accept the sound of ambulance sirens, the whir of ventilators, and the rhythm of funeral marches — creating a new coronavirus soundtrack for our lives

I await my physical and emotional spring yet again. But this time, I’m actively fighting for it. I cannot do much about the weather, but I can fight for the lives and wellbeing of the elderly and Black folks who are seen as collateral damage to callous leaders. Waiting on the virus to eat through the country like acid isn’t tenable. I am working with others to seize back the warmth of sanity through advocacy and education. Emotionally I am finding joy in walks with my daughter, Zoomed happy hours, facetime bedtime stories with my grandchildren. I’m seeking joy in the dark. I’m no longer a little girl plied by the American dream, blinded by an idea of justice that never was or believing in a government that never, ever embraced me — embraced us. Black folks always have had to have a backup plan. Time to work it.

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