We Are Our Own Sun.

Issue 018: Toni's answer to herself as she contemplates "So? What now?"

Waves (A24)

We've reached the end of November, and I'd like to say I had some eureka moment in the process of overcoming my bump in the road; this period of diminished interest in just about everything that's wholly sucked me dry, but I'm still finding my feet. The initial shock (but also the nearly comical concurrent lack thereof) after the 5th of the month has worn off, and the collective standstill seems to have turned into a general lusterless energy, understandably so. On the 6th, I went to NYC for an event, and one of the busiest and constantly noisiest of places known for its chaotic charm was grey, muggy, and quiet as I walked its streets on that Wednesday. To say the least, seeing somewhere so lively be stripped of its personality so drastically in such little time was offputting. And yet, the world kept spinning.

I'm not here to criticize anyone's emotions this month, whether it's disappointment or indifference, and the same goes for how everyone has been coping. I, myself, let my hands off the wheel a bit, and I don't feel as in control as I'd like. I don't care for the think pieces, the ambush of "gotchas," or any other diversion from how I and others can move forward. I remain unfazed by otiose fearmongering as I know my reality and how everything can and will change. The hairs on the back of my neck no longer stand up when I think of my future. I'm gonna thug it out like I always do. I've never failed myself, and I won't start now.

I have a terrible habit of assigning too little value to my efforts and not recognizing the good I do for myself when I'm down. As I type this, even though I know I'm experiencing a constant internal battle that affects how I can function to the best of my ability, I can also recognize how my self-preservation is working regardless of the standards for what's productive at this time.

Here are some things that have managed to make me feel light throughout a consistently heavy time:

I bought myself a pill organizer that holds smaller colored cases for every day of the week. I already managed to ingest my doses responsibly without missing days, but I took it a step further to soothe the worries about still forgetting, and a visibly empty case means I've done well. I don't know, I find that neat.

I'm dancing again. My rather tumultuous relationship with dance, which began to mend through a previous piece, continues progressing into a present lifeline. I attend adult ballet classes weekly. Despite my natural reluctance to do this, I'll admit that the doctors and the plaguy wellness gurus were right: exercise does wonders. For some time in my day, I’m absolved of all hurt—my inner child dances with me, the sweetest duet where we become stronger together. When my classmates and I all thank the instructor afterward and say goodnight to each other, sweaty and hustling to put on layers to face the cold that awaits outside the building, there's a relaxed sense of community that expands the room we share to train and exists when we're all just people getting on our lives. It's a subtle thing, just politeness truly, that replays in my mind with thankfulness.

On that Wednesday that I mentioned at the start of this, I went to an album signing for a Black queer artist that I really admire. Until the very second we walked up to each other, I felt like I was holding my breath. You usually get a minute maximum in these situations to mingle, and I'm sure that's exactly the amount of time I had, but it felt like much longer. Time slowed, although it was rapid for everyone around me. Here's a person who exists within my bubble as a Black gay woman, and despite never meeting, I was exceptionally comfortable, even shocked at how seen I felt. To thank her for her creating and to be thanked for supporting her sums up the best experience I could've had, and not only did I get this, but an additional affirmation, "I do this for y'all."

I had a moment of bravery and combated my fear and discomfort with gore in films to tune into the grossest movie of the year (and my life, truly): The Substance. Not gonna get into an analysis or my thoughts and rating, but I'm here to share how impressed I am with myself for avoiding physical illness and the non-completion of such a boldly brutal movie. I'm stronger than I thought, and it's funny how much this has boosted my confidence. One of my least favorite things is having to pass on a film, but now I feel like I can take on anything, really. The Substance leaves nothing to the imagination, and I suppose that was the kind of exposure therapy necessary to help me overcome. I still got nauseous in the last 15 minutes, but that'll be our little secret.

I was able to go to the Edges of Ailey exhibit, celebrating the life and legacy of Alvin Ailey at the Whitney Museum. As someone who has learned about Ailey's work and influence, I found great peace in gaining more knowledge and sharing praise for the icon with other guests. Ailey is a true titan in Black history and the dance world, and to stand back and see the observance of such on a large scale was moving. Astoundingly moving and beautiful. I hope to visit once more before its conclusion.

On a Friday night, I roller-skated with Durand Bernarr. Need I say more? A dance party, performance, and his infectious, fun-loving spirit paired with the freeness that comes with a good skating session is precisely what I needed. When you find the groove, it feels like floating, and I wish I could embody that sensation, always. A taste once in a while still suffices.

I've been seeing friends more than I usually do. It's nice to hug, it's nice to have a belly laugh, and it's nice to feel close to people. More now than ever, we should all be getting closer. This feeling of closeness is what will keep us going. I have a strong urge to maintain this momentum, to continue showing my face, and to move in pairs, move in groups. All we have is each other. The idea of relying on others and needing people no longer breeds aversion. I'm comforted by my will to cling to others and strengthen connections. I hope this becomes more innate, and I'm ready to be more open and welcome people into my life.

When a pick-me-up was urgent, all these experiences have breathed life into me in small increments. Even the moments with not-so-happy emotions played the same role: November has been an angry month, and if I'm being honest, it's the most I've let myself feel out my rage in a while. "Angry Black Woman" me all you want; my fury has been therapeutic. I got a lot to be mad about. This is what makes the answer to a question about what comes next so complex, as my immediate solution without conscious thought is to remain present and feel everything out. What else can I do?

I wondered why I shouldn't let myself fall deeper into the abyss and nosedive into continued disheartenment. I've felt like I should simply give in and let life be over because it seems like it already is; it's too hard, too unpredictable, and unsettlingly everchanging. I can still experience good things, achieve goals, and find my tribe to feel support as I encounter the known and unknown. The world is most definitely collapsing, and while it may feel suitable to reach a halt and forfeit our destinies, it's in our best interest to resist.

There's still so much unearthed good, although it doesn't feel or look apparent. There's still plenty to be excited about. It's not unthinkable. I'm grateful for this, and I'm still navigating how to effectively keep this concept within and trust it. That's what I'm most focused on now, and that keeps my world spinning without debilitating numbness. Continue practicing grace, gentleness, and retreating to yourself. We're all going to get through this.

Extending blessings to all today, I wish you peace, whether alone or surrounded by people. Remember: Fuck Thanksgiving! Observe Native American Heritage, express gratitude, and stay well.