"precarity feels like a world I live in now..."

11 March 2022: 

"I don't think I understood like precarity, like the being delicate, having my life built, be built on things that are so contingent and it could betaken away. And that maybe precarity is not something we can never really get over. Maybe it's something we have to learn how to live beautifully inside. I did not have that, you know, [laughing] because my life had been relatively durable before and predictable. And I think precarity feels like a world I live in now. And what I love about it is that now I can see it everywhere. And it helps me kind of abandoned some of the vanity of individualism, and be like, “'Oh my gosh, like we all belong to each other because we have to.'” --Kate Bower, in an episode of This is Love

This morning on my walk, I finally listened to this episode of This is Love that I have been putting off listening to because it hits so close to home. I am so deeply worried about my friend and feel so helpless to do anything to help her. And I don't even know how to ask in ways that won't add to her burden. I feel like all I keep saying is, "I am so sorry. This sucks and is so unfair." Was kind of relieved to see that Bower says it's what she wants to hear on her toughest days. 

It's also on my mind that today--the Friday before Spring Break--marks two years since we sent our students home and didn't see them again that semester. 

What have I learned since then? I look over that post from two years ago and think about where I am now and it's not that I see many radically new takes. Rather, everything is deeper and more poignant, the good and the bad. The sadness and anger and hopeless is much deeper. So, too, though, are the wells of joy and love and hope. I tried to articulate that a bit in this post. I think it's why so many posts in the past two years have been about gratitude and surprising, uplifting joy. It's a way to push back against the darkness.

But the darkness pushes back. And I worry and feel so sad about my friend. And so many others. And so much.

And, this morning as my walk was winding down, I stopped and sat on a bench out back of Knutti, listening to the last ten minutes of the episode, letting sunlight shine on me and crying a bit, thinking about what a gift and responsibility love is--both giving and receiving. Everything--everything--seems so fragile. And therefore precious when we find and hold it. So we keep watch and honor it.

I need to wrap this up and make sure my eyes aren't too red because in about 15 minutes, I have to go into my ENGL 204 class and finish our discussion of "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock." My goodness, what a poem for this day and this precise mood. And then I'll send them off, wishing them a restful break, eager for some respite myself, but also excited to see them come back.