Sometimes, We Lose

the question is what we do with it

Today, I had one of those big life events to attend to– one of those events that, if you’re a single mom, can make or break the future of your family.

It had a lot of weight and fear attached to it, a lot of concern, and more than six months of preparation.

To cut to the chase, the event did not go as planned, nor as I thought it would, nor as any of those alongside me thought it would.

It did not go as planned despite grave injustice that had preceded it, and the fact that this event itself would now become a part of the same long-running narrative of how systems fail us and let us down and deny us safety and security and equity and justice. 

When it was over, I sat in the hallway of a government building and sobbed, out loud and in public and face-to-face with strangers, with no care for who saw me, because sometimes that is what injustice will do to you– and also because I will always be a New Yorker no matter where I live, and we cry in public because there’s nowhere to hide.

A funny thing happened earlier in the morning, though, when the outcome of this event was anything but certain, and my heart was racing in my chest as I prepared to leave my house.

I’d been awake since 2 a.m. My anxiety works like that. And then at 5:30 a.m., after I’d already exercised and showered and fed the dogs, I went into my dresser, into a drawer that I rarely open, to look for a hair clip that I’d misplaced that I wanted to wear today.

There, in that drawer, the hair clip was nowhere to be found, but something else was there: a torn page from a notebook.

It was dated 9/23/2020, with the words Warren - Pressley - Barkan written across the top.

And there, actually, is where this story begins.

---

---

Back in the fall of 2020, when we were preparing for one of the most consequential elections of American democracy, and as a part of the voter mobilization efforts that I was involved in nationally and locally, I was invited to attend an online event hosted by Ady Barkan, the great healthcare activist who has ALS.

Speaking at the event with Ady were Elizabeth Warren and Ayanna Pressley.

I had forgotten, until yesterday, that I had even attended this event, let alone taken notes through the ethers as they spoke to our small group over Zoom.

As I picked up this torn page, though, I remembered crying through the event– about how much was at stake, how much had been lost already, and at the prospect of how much we still had left to lose.

This morning, I picked up that torn paper out of the dresser drawer, and because I know a sign when I see it, I kept reading.

Among the words that I transcribed from the event are these.

First, Elizabeth Warren.

She said to us: “Refuse to be silenced.”

She said to us: “Call out what is wrong.”

Citing Ruth Bader Ginsburg, she said “No matter how hard the battles, she never gave up.”

She said “trying to appeal to conscience isn’t going to go anywhere,” but that “just because it’s hard doesn’t mean we give up.”

I turned the torn page over.

She said “don’t underestimate your power.”

She said “don’t let this slide by.”

And then, there was Ayanna Pressley, who referenced the murder of Breonna Taylor.

Ayanna said to us: “We cede nothing, no rights, no ground.”

She said to us: we must have “courage in the face of great adversity.”

She said to us: we must “steady ourselves.”

And at the top of the first page, there is one line, not attributed to anyone, in my notes.

It references the “solace in the struggle.”

It tells me, all of us, to take solace in the struggle.

Why? Because the struggle is just, and it is righteous, and it is ours.

---

---

I carried this torn piece of paper in my handbag today, from the moment I left my house, to the moment where I entered that windowless room, to the moment where I lost, and through the sobbing in the hallway, and back into the car, and back home again.

I carried it with me into Zoom calls with loved ones thereafter, and out onto the kitchen counter, and with me when I picked up my children from school and told them how much I loved them, and that Mommy was a little sad today about something but I’d be ok, and that, as we’ve been singing for weeks now about our little triad of a family, in the words of that song Happy: “can’t nothing bring us down.”

And then I carried that torn paper back again into my office, where it sits right now, in front of me, as I write this to all of you.

Sometimes, we lose.

And yet:

We must refuse to be silenced. We must call out what is wrong. Just because it is hard doesn’t mean we give up. Don’t underestimate your power. Don’t let this slide by. We cede nothing: no rights, no ground. We demonstrate courage in the face of great adversity, and we steady ourselves. 

There is solace in the struggle.

There is solace in the struggle.

Even through tears. Even when we lose.

It is with great gratitude for all those who carry on in the face of loss and harm and challenge, for all those who came before and for the generations of the future who are counting on us daily, that I am here to remind you that you, too, are a part of the solution.

And so am I.

And so am I.

And so am I.

We carry on.