When I wrote the intro to the Four Tenets over a year ago, it was just after I had witnessed the resurrection of the orange tree; and had seen green shoots where there had, for years, only been barren branches.
That was during a challenging time for me, my staff, and for the community of Lace on Race as well.
There were only three of us in Leadership then, and we were struggling. Struggling enough that we were afraid we would have to close our doors. In fact, even in the midst of producing content, and engaging with you all, we were mapping out a wind-down plan.
We fully expected to shutter by the end of the year.
We, the three of us, felt dry and depleted and barren. Not because we weren’t delivering good content; we were. Nor because we weren’t deeply committed to the (not yet articulated) North Star. It was hard to remember a time when we were fertile; harder still to imagine a time when we would be fertile again.
Then one day, abiding with the dearly loved (and so very missed) Tikka Rose, and while searching for the tennis ball, I found myself brought up short by what used to be sticks, but was now a feebly fertile orange tree. Green leaves; the beginnings of fruit.
I ran back into the house to tell Marlise and Claire, and, with words tumbling over themselves one after the other, let them know, and also allowed myself to deeply recognize, that whether or not we saw or felt it, something was indeed gestating just under the surface.
We did not fold.
Six months later, we found ourselves on lists that included Lace on Race as one of the best websites for racial justice in the country.
By that time, the tree was fully green and heavy laden. Gestation to sowing to reaping.
This essay, the introduction to the four tenets, was written when the tree was more promise than reality. When I had to strain to see with interior eyes what the tree could be. When I looked to mentors and friends for sustenance and hope so I could then turn and nurture the tree in whose promise I chose to believe.
It is not lost on me here that, even as I talk about the mentors and guides who have helped me stay the course, that this essay also speaks to betrayal.
We have suffered that as well in these few months.
How many there have been. What happened to us in February should not have been the surprise it was–but it was. So it often is in this work. Glib allies; cunning compatriots could have made for at best a sort of resignation; at worst a cynicism that is a fetid kind of root rot that would have imploded the tree from within.
But. For every Holly, there is a Jessie. For every Annie, a Leonie.
For every Chris, a Christina. It has been the voices of those who have chosen to stand beside me with relentless reliability, and also the voices of my mentors and guides, who have allowed me to be the woman who leads my team, and gives my utmost to all of you, both inside and outside of the Lace on Race community.
As we re-commit to nurturing our own trees, and committing to the orchard we have all, individually and collectively, nurtured and succored, we re-read this introduction. We remember the fulfillment of promise; the struggle to hold on to what has been gained, and the greater promise of the future.
As you read this intro, and as we delve into the now Six(!) Tenets one by one, let us be refreshed and renewed. Let us look to the West, where our tree stands watch over the sunset. Let us cleave. Let us remember.
And let us look ever forward.
There are four women I have the privilege of knowing who are everything to me. They are all very different women, but each of them touches me deeply. Each one of them carries knowledge and heart and wisdom and strength that I want inside of me.
They have names they were born with, beautiful names all, but for our purposes here, I will call them, for reasons you will see in this series, Mystic, Counselor, Teacher, and Home. (Most of them read Lace on Race. I know they will know which they are!) All of them possess all four attributes; all four roles in my life, but they also each have a singular talent that makes me want to tap into their spirits and just snuggle in and abide.
I have known them for a while now. I have observed not only how they commune with me, but how they connect with others. I have watched their eyes, I have listened to their words. I have seen them walk. Literally. I have seen them walk and walk and walk.
At our ages, and they are all a bit older than I; for us, at times walking does not come easily. I see the slight grimaces they try to hide. I know when their physical pain, and sometimes, yes, their emotional pain is our unwanted companion on our walks together–and still they choose to walk with me.
I see the hands. The hands. The hands. Washing crystal; underlining passages; making a point.
I see their utter delight when they see me, when they hear me. They think I am brilliant. They are wrong. But I glow knowing that they do. And I try my best, however futilely, to live up to their quiet sparkly confidence and faith in me.
It has taken me months to even to begin to surrender, fully surrender, to their love. I have had other women who were mentors and teachers. To a woman, each had betrayed trust, and had made it harder to trust my own discernment and to, yes, to be able to lean in—lean into relationship; lean into learning, lean into allowing myself to be changed by them. Months of trusting their intention, in their reliability, in their gentle, quiet, but relentless pursuit of me.
I remembered a pastor who ‘didn’t want to get sucked in’; said at a low point, and leaving me adrift after Robert’s first suicide attempts seventeen years ago.
I remember a mentor I helped by putting her on my phone plan so she could share a discount, who ‘forgot’ to pay, and then told me to ‘grow up’. We lost connection. This was the week after Robert attempted suicide for the last time.
I remember a woman who entreated me to lead, only to side with the dominant culture I was summoned to name and confront. I would later find it was a re-enactment of sorts, of what she felt had happened to her years ago.
I think of the young woman I let into my home, only to have two bounced checks and my desk raided, with my mortgage money gone.
And this. The same pastor who didn’t want to be ‘sucked in’ by me, which led to a contraction where I became a veritable hermit for almost a decade, had a husband who wrote a letter telling me that I was a fraud. That I was not welcome to commune, that I was toxic and would never change. I was a pathogen. I never spoke to his wife about it, not in almost twenty years. I do not want to know if she knew that he came to my house and left that letter. I do not want to know if she agreed with the contents. What I do know is that a part of me became crystallized into a frigid stone, that took almost twenty years to melt.
I tell you these tales of betrayal and loss and risk because I want you to know I have been there. I know how difficult it can be to truly Lean In, with a lifetime of disappointment and betrayal and half portions. I know what it is like to place eggs in baskets only to have them dashed into rocks. I know how hard it is to fully lean into the new. I know how hard it is to trust in the people with whom you have chosen to walk. I know how hard to risk. Even in the service of convictions–often especially in the service of convictions. I get it. I get it.
People think I enjoy risk. I do not. Every failure shouts louder than the times when risk paid off–that’s true of all of us; we remember the negative way more than we remember the positive. It is the negative that gets looped into our heads, that makes us flinch and clench. Risk-averse is my middle name. But some things are more compelling than my fear. I want that to be true for you too.
How hard it can also be to choose to Plant Roots, to make the deliberate choice to stay long enough for concepts and convictions to truly take hold. How hard it can be to envision the work just beneath the soil. It takes nurture to plant roots, along with the discipline of watering and weeding. It is hard to imagine resting under a tree when it is only a sapling. It is hard to imagine shade and succor from the tree when your back is aching to keep it upright, using wire and sticks to shore it up till it can stand upright on its own.
It takes that discipline and vision to Grow Up. Earlier in this talk, I mentioned the mentor who told me to ‘Grow Up!’ when I dared to confront her on her abandoned commitment. That retort, rooted as it was in the defensive and the cynical, is not what we are talking about here. And that difference, truly growing up and into who you are, rather than the immature hot house of the world’s version that makes for sour fruit indeed, will be crucial to your, to our, walk.
Growing Out is the entire point, yes? Choosing to plant, nurturing growth, divesting of whatever it is that could hinder or stunt that growth, sticking around in determination and anticipation, watching the green buds grow orange, and then sharing the fruit and spreading still more seeds–ach.
This is how we do. This is who we are.
We talk a lot about walking at Lace on Race. It has been a potent metaphor for the work we do here singly and together. Now though, another metaphor: that of the orange tree. That orange tree, planted in each us.
When we consider our own individual orange trees, this orchard we have co-created in Lumpy Crossings, how do we imagine it looks like? How did it look before you began your walk? Did you even acknowledge it? Was your conviction about racial justice and or relational ethics which make durable justice possible dormant deep inside hard frozen ground? Was it like my own orange tree, above ground but sickly, or did you feel the stirrings of green straining for air and light and water? When you first felt those stirrings did you run for the watering can and the compost? Or did you turn to other things and allow the green beginnings to turn crumble and fall?
I have been in all of those places. I have seen results when I focused attention to my interior tree. I have kept away from the West Side, because of other, what I felt were more pressing concerns. I have missed the fragrance I myself derailed and discounted when it was trying its best to envelop me.
I have picked an orange and allowed its juice to run down my hands in the peeling, dribble from my chin as I savored, and then neatly packed the rinds and seeds away, not sharing the good fruit, keeping my insights and learning to myself. I myself grew strong, but what about others who also could use an orange slice with their tea?
And I have shared. Finally, I have been full enough and certain and confident in both the tree and my ability to steward it, that I could share.
I have invited others to pick from my tree themselves. I have watched them grate the zest into muffins; have watched them squeeze the last drops. I have watched them boil the rinds with cinnamon and nutmeg and anise and cardamom; all their own spices to make their own creations, so whole houses were filled with fragrance.
I have gone back and watered and pruned and weeded and composted to keep my tree strong. And I have thrown the seeds, wildly, some might say profligately, all over the place. Some didn’t stick, oh, but with so many of you, they went right to your heart, to your soul, and another tree was born.
It is time to nurture our orchard.
Join in our Bistro discussion below
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This as I consider my walk with LoR and regret not engaging in the Bistro as often as I have in the past. This as I speak out more often and more clearly about this space at a community meeting on social activism. This as I mourn a dissolving marriage. This as I commit to keep walking and walking.
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I appreciate all the both/and’s you speak to here…the holding of public and private lives and conversations, the areas ‘to do better’ with the areas ‘doing better’. It reminds me how in a orchard all 4 seasons are needed for different reasons, and in different ways, as each layer of the trunk is created telling important growth stories of the journey along the way.
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Rebecca, your response is meaningful. I sighed tonight realizing that 4,000 of 24,000 prisoners that were released during COVID for humanitarian reasons to server out their sentences at home may end up being sent back to prison. Then, I did some research, found the ACLU list and sent my message to the president. A small act, but an act none the less. I did not see that weed growing until today, but I did see it and I did not let it keep growing. You are right. Seasons, seeing, continued weeding.
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Such a great on-point example of taking robust action in the moment it happens. others like you sharing those types of examples always helps me open my eyes wider, pay more attention, and respond more robustly. I’m also sick hearing that about folks being reincarcerated…that’s not ok.
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I appreciate this example of being reflexive by taking action and doing it as soon as you find out, Rhonda.
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@rebecca Thank you for the addition of the varied purposes of the seasons. That though some seasons may not be what we want, they serve their purpose as part of the whole. That must shore up our relentless reliability in anti racism work. To know that winter is coming, that this work will not always be easy, that we will slip on ice and our toes and nose and fingers will freeze and we’ll fumble, to know that in advance so we prepare and are ready to not miss a step.
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That’s such a good point about how all four seasons are needed for different reasons. Too often, I try to do everything all at once and then can’t do any of it well. It’s better to follow the seasons and have them shift over time than burn out. Like Lace says, we want to be slow-cookers rather than woks.
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You saw the weed. That is noteworthy. And you course corrected; that is courageous.
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I have the same feelings and can identify. This season has been challenging but it has been for everyone. I need to recommit – no matter what season it is.
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So good re-reading the four tenets, it was like for the first time. “Risk-averse is my middle name.” Yep, yep, that’s me alright, wanting to see the blueprints, the fruits rather than tending and investing in that sapling that will soon enough create them. Focusing on outcomes is what makes genetically modified fruit. How do I imagine my own individual orange tree? An adolescent tree, up here in Everson, WA, trunk standing straight, but wobbly, lost a few leaves to some deer and some leaves parched from lack of watering/tending, but stubborn as hell and determined to continue growing thicker. Before walking here, it was a tree with a little ‘t’, one that tried to fit in the crowd and not stand out, that tired too easily. I saw it, but wasn’t sure what to do about it, needed instruction, correction, guidance. The exact thing I’ve found here so I know how to better tend it…the soil that works, how to not over/under water, the daily tending, pulling the weeds, and also giving room and space to grow. I’m so glad LoR didn’t fold that year or two ago. It’s, exactly what’s helped me lean in, dig deep, plant roots, grow in, grow up, grow out.
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Yeah, me, too, Rebecca. So glad this organization did not fold. My life would not be the same without it and I know that much harm that I could have done to brown and black people has been mitigated by what I have learned here.
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I like your picture of your stubborn little tree. I think my tree is similar.
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Before I began my walk, my orange tree wasn’t exactly dormant, but it certainly wasn’t growing and thriving. I think my heart was fertile and ready to embrace racial justice and relational ethics; my mind and gut were behind. There were stirrings of green, straining for light and water, but I didn’t pay enough attention to them or have a durable root system to nurture my tree and support growth. I did not have discipline. So no, definitely did not run for the compost. Instead I distracted myself with other things, I think in an effort to numb the niggling dissonance inside telling me I was called to do and be more. It’s easy to shove that dissonance down as a solo actor… not so much when you’re part of a whole community, a whole grove of orange trees at varying stages of growth. This community of new people doing new things in new ways is everything. So excited for us to revisit the tenets and integrate these new ones together.
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Yes! Community brings accountability. We Walk further together. So happy to be walking with you, Jessie.
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I like your extension of the metaphor into that of a not-quite-dormant tree. Before Lace on Race, I was a well-read racist. I can visualize this as being a showy tree that produces lots of twigs and leaves, but doesn’t set fruit and, like you said, doesn’t have good roots.
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OMG, this is a perfect term, Christina: “well-read racist.” I am working on converting my knowledge of what behaviors are less damaging into actual new behaviors.
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It’s Lace’s term! I’m pretty sure it’s in the Vox article.
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Yes, “risk-averse is my middle name too. I really hear this. People always call me brave and courageous but then again, there are people who think I’m brave and taking a risk just by walking in the building. But that’s normal for me, that’s not a risk. What is a risk for me is confrontation, speaking out, taking on something if I am uncertain how things will unfold. That’s tough for me. I have a hard time getting past my Type A anxiety of living in uncertainty and risk. That continues to be a risk for me.
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I appreciate your personalization: that the risks are different for each of us, and therefore we each have very particular skill sets to learn and develop.
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I’m still in the process of trying to turn from rocky soil into a decent ground. It does feel like every time I’ve absorbed a new nutrient/idea/teaching about my own behavior, I discover a new one to work on. My monitor bristles with sticky-note reminders! So I’m still a seedling, stunted a few times but still reaching for the sun and trying to be part of a solid forest.
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Valerie, I completely resonate with how you are feeling here. One of the benefits I have gotten from a consistent walk is getting used to that constant feeling of discomfort as I turn over a new rock and see a new place where I need/want/am committed to rooting out my embedded white supremacy. I am telling you that twice in just the last two days I caught myself saying something in white circles that were – well – the nice term is ‘microagression’. The word I would use is ‘gross’. I felt uncomfortable, but I caught ’em and called myself out and in!
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Yes, definitely a constant pebble in the shoe. It’s so easy to let that feeling of discomfort make me back away from self-confrontation. Recently I learned about the way in which supervisors police the style of written language used by staff. As an inveterate editor, I at first bristled, and wanted to say “but we support faculty, we have to use a certain style when we deal with them.” But then realized how much I do this when it is not necessary. It’s always defensive first, then self-correcting. Two steps forward, one back…
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Congratulations on the one step forward. It counts!
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Valerie, I’m glad the self correcting follows your defensiveness! I still get that bubbling up of defensiveness, and that feeling itself is a cue to pay attention and get curious why it’s there. It’s also a cue to take myself and my justifications out of it as much as I can and think about how I’ve impacted another instead.
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I definitely get a niggling feeling when I realize I’ve acted in a harmful way and those signals help me correct my behavior. As I focus on being intentional each day and implementing the tools I’ve learned to be a safer person I notice that I can catch harmful thoughts before they play out effectively preventing harm before I inflict it. I’m Growing In.
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One thing that I have noticed is that when I view new nuggets of learning as separate things to work on, I start to almost format them as a checklist and start crossing them off. Something really clicked for me one day when I understood them way several of my ingrained habits were all dehumanizing in different ways, or were doing the exact opposite of facilitating and growing connection. Then it seemed each time I learned a new nugget or heard something differently for the first time, I was able to put it in place sort of like a puzzle piece and start to put together the ways that each of my habits were severing instead of growing connection with others around me.
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That’s a beautiful way to put it. I’m going to try to think about it in this way.
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I am so excited to revisit the tenants and to explore the 2 new ones. There have been too many times I tended only to my tree and did not contribute to the health of the orchard and still, the women in this community kept a watchful eye to make sure my tree did not wither and die when I was withdrawn. This is the perfect day to recommit to this community up front and not just behind the scenes. It is not the reponsibility of the community to prompt and prod me although I am forever grateful for the support. I own the work and the committment, no one else…..it is on me to hold as I have been held and to continue walking forward after any stumbles. The North Star has always been firmly in my sight because of the strong roots I have planted with LoR and the community here. Work can not be done soley in isolation. I have teetered from responsible distance to withrdaw which is a losing strategy so I am Leaning back in and ready to Dig Deep. I truly believe that community is key. I commit to contributing to and nourishing the orchard.
Before LoR, I think I thought my tree would thrive on it’s own without constant work and attention. I expected it to bear an abundance of fruit simply because it existed. I know now that is not true and there is so much to learn and unlearn. There is much to tear apart and rebuild. Tending to the orchard is not a passive experience, it is taking action every single day. I know now that it is not about the fruit I reap but the fruit I share.
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Clare- So much of what you said resonated with me here. I, too, have not been as much of a steady presence in the Cafe. There have been times where I have withdrawn, not tended to my tree as attentively, yet the women in this community continued to lovingly sustain my tree, and I am humbled by this. It is not something I feel I deserve, yet it “warms and galvanizes me” as Lace would say. I am inspired and recommitted “to hold as I have been held”, “to continue moving forward even when I stumble” – yes! I, too, once thought my tree would blossom and bear fruit just because I spoke it into being. It is only when I started truly engaging, that I came to the painful, uncomfortable realization that my tree was barely a sapling – and only then, when I realized how much my tree had yet to grow, and where it needed to be pruned, did the real growth begin. I also want to challenge myself not to become so self-focused on my own tree, that I do not engage the daily practice of sustaining the orchard. It is all part of the work. It’s hard, and beautiful. Maybe together we can Lean In to our potential to grow up (our own tree) sustain the orchard, and Grow Out.
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Thank you Kelsi. I look forward to continuing to walk together. I really appreciate your thoughtful comments .
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@Clare you said “I expected it to bear an abundance of fruit simply because it existed” and this resonates with me so much in thinking “I’m a good person” and that my thoughts and intentions provide actual nutrients; also in the way inaction is harmful. I’m glad to be walking with you.
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More meaningful imagery! There are many references to trees, nurturing them, and eating the fruit they produce in my sacred texts. Planting and nurturing a tree is an act of faith. It takes years to get any fruit. Years of dedication. Even trees bearing good fruit can get old and sick. Then you have to find treatments, or graft in new branches to get better fruit.
The work of anti-racism, relational ethics, and treating addictions, are long-term processes. They require me to have faith in unseen outcomes before I will engage in the work. The thing that keeps me engaged, even when outcomes might be in doubt, is community. We practice and practice and get feedback in real time on how we are caring for our trees. Then we have our lunch break and enjoy each other’s company while we re-charge.
The week of Lace’s birthday is such a time-communing together, to strengthen each other for the work ahead. Happy Birthday, Lace!
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Hi Vicki! I like what you shared here. The work of antiracism takes time – years and years, and perhaps a lifetime! It is not a button or a checklist – it is a lengthy, deep process of cultivating change little by little, within and around us. Sometimes we will plant seeds and may never see the tangible fruits, but we plant them anyway out of faith. Sometimes we may begin to see the fruits, and with that, feel our hope grow. But more often than not, this work requires faith to sustain us, as you said. Faith, community, and hope. We keep walking and sustain one another.
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‘It takes years to get any fruit…years of dedication.’ Yes! We recently planted an apple tree in the neighborhood park in memory of a neighbor that passed. One element of nurturing I learned from the very kind and gracious arborist who was assisting novice me with the purchase was about cross pollination and how the apple tree won’t bear fruit unless other trees are present in a certain vicinity where the bees can cross pollinate them. That lead to talking to neighbors to seeing who had trees around that bloom at similar times. Way more involved than I’d imagined! Then a day after I planted it a neighbor told me the deer were very much enjoying it’s luscious leaves and then I learned all about safe deer repellant sprays. But that’s just the thing with this work…it takes community (cross pollination!), and ongoing learning (eg: how to ask for accountability with kind candor) to make it work. At first that frustrated me, re: the tree and regarding this work (want to be an expert right off of course!), but it’s that struggle that makes the work morrow deep.
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I love this anecdote, Rebecca. We are so much stronger and better together. And I totally share that want to be an expert right off. Community helps keep that in check too– being interdependent. Knowing and accepting I don’t have all the answers and need to lean on others as no one person has all the answers either.
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One of the three hardest words for me used to be, ‘I Don’t Know’.
I would do just about anything to avoid having to utter those words, up to and including lying about what I did know.
Just like admitting my white supremacy was the first step towards dismantling it, so it is with ‘I Don’t Know’.
The moment I acknowledge my unknowing, the more I can begin to know.
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I’m thinking about the image of that spindly orange tree. I enjoy gardening, and it amazes me how quickly plants can wither when neglected. Especially in chemical-free gardening and during difficult conditions, even when I feel like I’ve watered and weeded “enough” for my plants to continue thriving, in no time at all leaves can wither and droop, insects can feast, and weeds can pop up and choke out not just my orange tree, but others. On the flip side of this, I’ve been amazed at some of the comebacks I’ve seen plants after being on their last leg (or spindly stem, as it were). Those comebacks took a long time, discipline, curiosity, and steady reliability. And there was no finish point. Even after a full recovery, a plant can and will wither when neglected, no matter how healthy it was. So it is with my praxis. It can weaken and wither so much more easily and quickly than it’s built up, and its health yesterday doesn’t protect it from being overtaken today or tomorrow.
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Yes, nurturing our orange tree is “an unending task” (shout out to The Good Place!); I must be constantly working on my praxis or my ethos will spoil.
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The image of regrowing really strikes me, as I keep watching my tomato plants fruit, seemingly die, and then have more grow where the others died back. I think there’s a lesson to be learned in cultivating soil so it allows those unintended seeds to plant themselves, even when we don’t realize that they’re there.
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The seeds you’ve thrown did go right to my heart and soul, Lace, and I want to nurture my tree as you nurture yours in the orchard. I feel the way that Lace’s mentors are so excited to see her and beam with confidence in her in the way Lace looks to community members and invites us to the orchard- I don’t know if that’s leaning in or just love, maybe it’s both, but I feel it and I want to reflect it back and out.
I picture my orange tree as a sapling among trees of all different sizes in the orchard including lots of space that’s ready to prepare for planting more trees. Before I started walking I didn’t have a tree at all but crusted under a thick layer of white supremacy I had soil that was ready to be worked. I think I’ve had to plant roots to fully lean in and I have to keep doing both over and over in the recommitment. Growing up feels like the hardest step right now because trying to put it all together inside and outside of me to be the person I want to be feels like propping the tree up with whatever I can find as Lace described in the post. Sharing through growing out sounds like courage and confidence and I love that Lace pushes us to grow out through the guidelines of LoR and her encouragement no matter what stage our tree is.
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Your orange tree has certainly grown into something impressive. It’s really cool to think of how many seeds you have spread. Even if they didn’t take root and grow in the orchard next to your tree, maybe they were carried for a while in the wind or on a bird and eventually took root and started to grow. Although you can’t see it personally, it’s nice to know the impact you had is out there somewhere. My personal orange tree is still very feeble and needs a lot of nurturing. Sometimes I forget to water it regularly, sometimes it gets choked out by other plants and weeds, but it always comes back and it keeps trying to thrive!
Your essay was beautiful! I’m glad you have those women in your life.
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The risk of true eye to eye relationship is what is standing out to me as we revisit the tenets. And what opening myself to that risk means not just for me but for the whole orchard. While sometimes I struggle in visual metaphors, the orange tree has been one that has supported and pushed me along in LoR and my broader anti racism work. I think of @emily ’s comments about guerrilla gardening and spreading my seeds everywhere I can. I think if @Christina in her literal garden giving it daily maintenance. I think of @laceonrace sitting in the shade of this orange tree that she has nurtured. I think of all of us bearing fruit. The risk, though, is real. To lean in in order to plant roots, we must be vulnerable. To have and learn from mentors, we must be truly seen. A year ago I still struggled to understand what a sustaining community was but I have been blessed by the women in leadership, by their hesed hearts of support and challenging. There is no other place I’d rather plant and grow myself. I’m honored to be a part of this orchard.
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On this reading, I’m drawn to the relationships between individual and collective growth – the need for discipline and work and faith in order to nurture one’s own tree, alongside appreciation for mentorship from other people and the opportunity to share with others in turn. The orchard depends on having individual trees. Pivoting to race, working individually and collectively can encompass all kinds of dynamics to be acknowledged and thoughtfully navigated, e.g. how white people can talk to other white people about race without behaving as an unasked-for spokesperson for Black or brown people. Sharing what I learn about racial equity more often/in different ways is one area for me to individually work on.
The part about faith in the future tree and the promise of what may come (if work is done in the present) is also motivating.
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As an at-home mother, it was frequently driven home to me that our culture values immediate production results, and not the long term. Alongside this, it demands constant and repetitive production without respite. While both of these strategies exist in the natural world — species reproducing as quickly as possible; honeybees going out and back, out and back, unceasingly — they are not the only strategies for growth. We shouldn’t have to “strain to see with interior eyes“; this skill should instead be nurtured in us as we grow, and be a strong resource we regularly tap into as adults. We should be able to appreciate, even embrace, a slow and lengthy unfolding. I’m looking forward to diving into the now–six tenets!
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This is beautiful.
Yes, both commitment and betrayal are part of life, and it is hard to cherish the one and not grow bitter and cold over the other–I have been there too. It is especially painful when the betrayal comes from a close friend, a family member, or–perhaps worst–a spouse or other “significant other.” And it must be especially hard when one is a BIPOC and thought the betrayer was someone who had one’s back.
The fact that you have turned the pain into understanding and a commitment to trust all of us is a very big deal. I promise to do my best to never cause you and this community pain, let alone betrayal.
Thank you Lace.
As a humorous note, I too love oranges as a snack! I now see them and the trees that bear them as an analogy to growth and love.
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This was very illuminating. I have a hard time trusting and I’m really invested in trying to acknowledge that but open myself up to new adventures (people, places, ideas – all of it). I’m extremely “risk adverse” also.
I see my orange tree as requiring my attention. I, too, have been guilty of planting something and then forgetting it exists. Especially in the last 18 months. There have been so many other areas to focus on. Prioritizing my focus and walking.
I look forward to reading the six tenants!
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Such a great reminder to take the time and put in the work to grow strong roots so that even when we experience times of difficulty, the roots are there to allow the tree to grow back the first chance it has. Being relentlessly reliable both serves the North star immediately and helps to develop those strong roots. Relationships also develop strong roots. And, as Lace says, relational ethics develops strong roots too.
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Yes! The relentless reliability is like developing a muscle. It makes your reactions be more generous rather than cynical, more giving rather than hoarding, more trusting rather than bitter.
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Your description of the betrayals and frustration really resonated with me. I haven’t had that level of betrayal as an adult, but a lot of bad experiences with friends (especially as a kid) have led me to feel that way at various times. Perhaps never as much when it comes to social change. I know I often long to sink into cynicism or bitterness or even apathy. “Why do I have to feel so much?!” I wonder sometimes.
<font face=”inherit”>But I also know that it’s privileged that I even get to think such thoughts – if I was regularly hurt by racism and white supremacy in the </font>ways that Black people are<font face=”inherit”>, that thought wouldn’t even be possible. In a way, it’s also a privilege to think that I can get by on my own, distrusting people. Choosing to reject community out of fear and bitterness is its own kind of privilege. </font>
<font face=”inherit”>It’s only by turning back towards that </font>North<font face=”inherit”> Star that I can remind myself of how essential community is. How essential trust is to </font>this work. How my work quickly becomes more harmful than helpful if I try to do it alone.
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Hm, not sure what happened with the weird fonts above. I realized reading the other responses that I forgot to describe my orange tree. I had been thinking about social and racial justice for some time before coming to Lace on Race, so I think it was small but growing slowly. This community has helped me water and compost it, helping it grow at a steady and sustainable rate and make it stronger rather than burning out.
Christin Spoolstra.
Clare Steward.
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