february: intention
monthly theme: [imagination]
I cannot believe we’re here. The final month of this project. I know in the first month I wrote about how saying, “I can’t believe this thing that I’m witnessing is actually happening right in front of me,” can be less than ideal when trying to process new and shocking experiences. I know I’ve also mentioned how before March 2020, none of us had any memories or helpful files in our brain to understand, contexttualize, and form a healthy reaction to what the fuck was/is happening. And for the last 2 years, there’s just been an unrelenting barage of decisions and events that have been so un-process-able that it made us go, “this can’t be fucking real…”
When I started this project, I imagined that we’d have the pandemic underwraps by the time I was finishing up with these essays, no longer having to worry about catching Covid-19. I imagined we'd be able to spend some time processing what HAD happened, instead of processing and trying to survive what is still happening. Of course, the immunocompromised part of me, that now only exists as a memory and not a lived experience, knew that if everyone didn’t play it as safe as me and my disabled friends, we’d be dealing with this shit indefinitely. But I still didn’t want to believe it…
So here we are, starting our 3rd year of a deadly pandemic with 2 years of experience and no hazard pay, no extra vacation time, or health insurance benefits to boot. We’ve had less government support as the numbers of infections have grown to heights previously unseen. None of us know what day it is or how to keep each other afloat. Somehow, we find hope or strength or meaning or enough spite to inspire us to carry on each day, but it shouldn’t have to be like this.
We all know we deserve better, safer, and faster aid in times of such crises, but we’re shown and told over and over again that what we’re expecting is “impossible.” We’ve even begun policing each other’s imaginations again. Those of us who hope we’ll all learn and come out of the pandemic changed, collectively vowing never to allow this inhumanity to happen again are told we don’t have the resources or people don’t have the empathy for that.
We’re at a critical point here. We have been for about 2 years. To be overworked and underpaid in such a time of collective grief keeps our heads down, able only to focus on what’s directly in front of us–bills, food, work, kids, etc. Now last month, this wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. Survival at this point in time is radical. And if that’s true, then hope and imagination must be utterly transcendental at this point.
I’m not gonna lie, growing up and learning what has happened historically, I always imagined myself front and center on the side of peace, love, unity, and respect. I was on the cutting edge of main character syndrome at age 6, seemingly destined to change the world or die trying. I didn’t think there was any other way–the quote about “those who’re crazy enough to believe they can change the world are the ones who do,” rang so true to me.
20 years later and I believe things aren’t so easy or straightforward. Collective change is messy, complicated, and brokered on the individual, daily decisions we make. Everyone has their lane and sometimes that lane will make no fucking sense to rubber neckers going at a different pace. The heroic story of someONE who can use their control for “good” instead of “evil,” seems to be a psy-op to distract us from the help and care that can be given inside our homes and down the block. If our daily decisions aren’t equitable and progressive, then nothing we vote, strike, or protest for will be either.
My childlike imagination just might be the only thing that has kept me alive this whole time. I truly believe that the change I want to see in this world is possible and people do look at me like I’m crazy when I exclaim this with my whole chest. Hope is all that’s been getting me through. Sure, friends and family help, but without hope, our interactions can lack any semblance of meaning. Hope keeps daily tasks worthwhile. Hope allows for things to unfold on their own time while I take control of what I can in this present moment.
But imagination isn’t just about hope. We can hope for an outcome that is easily accessible to us, one that we’ve seen before; however, it takes much more effort to completely destroy and reconstruct our understanding of what’s even possible for our society. To imagine new outcomes that haven’t come out yet.
There was a twinkle of hope at the beginning of all of this as we watched all systems fail us because the government thought sacrificing the health and safety of their citizens would improve the economy (which doesn’t make any sense to me–the economy won’t work or be useful if we’re all dead!?). The hope was that, surely, everything would have to change, lest humanity as we know it be destroyed. And somehow, our maladaptive systems persisted…
Maybe it was a lack of imagination. People in power were unable to comprehend the world being so completely rattled and turned upside down. Instead of breaking down the walls of precedence in unprecedented times, they wielded the phrase against its true meaning to carry on safely clutching their pearls. It’s no wonder so many radical ideas were flying through the air over the summer. We were all at home, imagining a more equitable future with our humanity as the driving force behind all decision-making processes.
We might not have agreed on the phrasing of our chants or the structure of our future government, but for once, there seemed to be some unity in the belief that things cannot stay the same. It was a summer of imagination. And it seems we’ve had those dreams systematically crushed out of us post haste. I think that shows how powerful–how dangerous to the status quo–imagination can truly be.
Imagination seems like the only logistical ending to a project like Year of Healing. My intention is to give us a framework that helps us look back on all that we’ve gone through together these past 2 years and to turn this data into something completely new–a future we’ve yet to see. I do believe it’s possible, and it might be good to set intentions this week about allowing your imagination to do it’s darndest, running free.
We’ve witnessed unimaginable and unbelievable tragedies and triumphs these past 2 years. I think it’s about time we started expanding our definition of what we can do and what our government can get done to ensure and provide all of humanity with a better, longer, and healthier time on this planet. And if someone tells you that’s unrealistic and impossible, you can tell them all of the unrealistic and seemingly impossible things we’ve witnessed these past 2 years.