Baci Abroad Blog
My Seoulful Life: Quarantine Chronicles
“Smart people may rule the world, but reckless and stubborn people like me protect it," pronounced Hong Yoo Chan, a civil activist lawyer on my new favorite Netflix drama Vincenzo. If you hadn't already fallen in love with Yoo Chan at this point, the way he expresses his pertinacity for protecting the week will make your heart want to wrap around him.
The series so far is 20 episodes. I have just finished episode 13. I pushed play on episode one three ... or was it four?, days ago. I've earned a real A+ in Binging 101 here in quarantine.
On the eve of my release from the 14-day quarantine in my new apartment in Seoul, I've got a few reflections, as I normally do. Most of tonight's musings center around how to survive 14 days of solitude in a new country.
And here we go:
Binge, Baby, Binge
It might seem like with so much time on your hands, you should try out all the new recipes, write your next novel, or book of poems, or organize every file on your computer. Man-woman-human, if this is you, I salute you. It is not me. I have found that during my two quarantines (the first being in China) that I have about five hours a day when my brain is working with the flag at full staff. I don't know what happens all of the other hours exactly, but my eyes seem to glass over and my brain gets fuzzy. I think this is what happens to a person when they don't have much stimulation from the outside world.
Enter Netflix. Or HBO Max, or AmazonPrime, or whatever. All of them, really. I have mindfully binged my way through the past two weeks. I know that this won't be a habit that sticks, and so I have allowed myself to watch episode after episode of Kim's Convenience (which has been featured in the news recently) and Vincenzo with zero guilt.
The male lead in Vincenzo is so dishy, and the female lead is beautiful and brilliant. Binging has become synonymous with wellness the past 14 days, but so have a few other things.
Sweat, quarantinee, sweat
I do find that my mental health is stronger when I have routine, and so during quarantine, I have created some semblance of one. Each day began with HIIT and/or yoga. At the end of my chapter in China, my friend Kim introduced me to Heather Robertson, a Canadian fitness trainer who puts free videos on YouTube for equitable access. Her Tabata and HIIT workouts have torn up my muscles, but in the best way. I do not currently have any weights in my apartment, but as Jeana Anderson Cohen says, "If you have a body, you have a gym," and Robertson's videos prove it.
In addition to Robertson, I have adored staying present with the help of Maggie Umberger, my fitness friend from Chicago. Her website has an assortment of both workouts and yoga classes. I love all of her stuff, but I am especially enamored with her yoga because when Maggie leads a practice, she does so with kind reminders about micro-movements, with such lovely transitions between poses, and with purposeful sequencing. The highlight of the week was perhaps getting to tune in for one of her live virtual classes. Bringing her energy into my new apartment in real time was a marvel of technology today.
Foodie, find your apps
Another aspect of technology that I quite love is the ability to order groceries and meals from local restaurants with ease. My new school, Seoul Foreign, was so warm and welcoming as they asked for a list of groceries that each individual or family wanted in their apartment upon arrival. They also provided the first number of meals.
After this point, I allowed myself to order off of the Shuttle app once a day. It was indulgent. I regret nothing. I delighted in sipping on Earl Grey lattes, chowing on pizza, and noshing on Korean fried chicken for the first time.
I am privileged to be able to afford the luxury of the daily order. I am oh-so-thankful for this privilege as it kept my spirits higher most days.
Get a little learn on, Teacher
As noted above, the flag in my brain comes down before the sun sets when I am holed up in a small space, but I think mental stimulation is important during this time of confinement. This year I will be teaching the novel Human Acts by Korean author Han Kang. It's a rather dark and heavy, but beautifully written, book about recent Korean history. Further, her themes are timeless and I can begin to imagine some of the reflections I will have with my students about the tragedy or hope that we can bring to one another.
While I have been working to complete a 1,000-piece puzzle, I have been listening to Isabel Wilkerson's Caste. Wilkerson has a keen ability to connect racism in the States to Nazi Germany and the caste system of India, drawing astounding parallels between the three whilst offering historical and present example after another of how a caste system is alive and well within the borders of the United States.
I read mostly by day as both of these books were a lot to digest, but very important reads.
R-E-S-P-E-C-T your new host country
I knew before arriving that I would need to do a 14-day quarantine in Seoul. I understand the country's decision to mandate the quarantine for foreigners arriving. There has been a notable uptick in cases as Korea struggles to get the vaccine out as fast as they had hoped, and the Delta variant is coursing through Asia.
Quite different than the US, much of Asia monitors us to make sure we abide by the rules of quarantine. This does not bother me. A result of living in China for five years is that I have come to understand and appreciate a respect for the collective over the individual, at least in cases such as a global pandemic.
Unlike China, which had a bit more pomp and circumstance to the end of my quarantine, at noon tomorrow, I can simply delete the app and re-enter the outside world.
Those of us quarantining together apart were allowed to walk to our Covid testing site yesterday for our final PCR test. I appreciated getting a peak at my new neighborhood.
I can't wait to throw on my tennies and hit the trail along the river.
A tree with an IV. I'd like to learn more.
It is so definitely definitely definitely part of my plan to buy a Vespa. This is even my color. It'll really put the icing on the cake of #myseoulfullife.
Alright, friends and family, my eyes have blurred a few hundred words ago, and so I am going to close the computer for the night and push play on episode 14 of Vincenzo. I miss you, Minnesota. I miss you, China. I can't wait to properly meet you tomorrow, Seoul.
Love and light,
Jame
Twinkle Twinkle Little Lights Bookstore
In a small, independently owned bookstore near the fancy Hilton, classical music plays, twinkling as softly as the lights strewn from the exposed ceiling above me. An air conditioning unit whooshes quite loudly nearby, sounding like the wind at the top of the Andes mountains that I used to climb in Ecuador. Aside from these sounds, and the large trucks rushing down the street outside the door, the bookstore is quiet. Seated at eclectic desks, men and women work around me: reading, writing, and scrolling on their phones.
When I am in need of a feeling of home, of books, of good tea and coffee, of a centered space, I come to what I have coined Twinkle Twinkle Little Lights Bookstore. It is a place that folds you in, envelopes you in its sea of Ernest Hemingway, Michael Crichton, Bill Bryson, Tom Clancy, Jodi Picoult, Agatha Christie, and Jane Austen. It is the Just Right Goldilocks nook where when I walk in, any internal disorder I feel is somehow pacified by the external disorder of the messy bookshelves. I can read, and write, and think, and work in peace at Twinkle Twinkle Little Lights Bookstore.
I have lived for five years in Shekou, a comfortable bubble of Shenzhen, and somehow it was only within the last few months that I discovered the little store. As an expat who has established a routine for a sense of safety and sanity, I have missed many little gems hidden in plain sight. It has been in co-teaching a 9th and 10th grade elective course at Shekou International School, alongside my friend and colleague Eddie Bruce, that I have stepped off my well-trodden daily paths to learn more about my host community.
In March, a small group of our Into the 'kou students learned of the bookstore and decided to interview the owner and learn more about his story.
As I watched my students engage with Yangcong, the owner, I appreciated his easy demeanor and his soft expressions. He seemed a bit self-conscious to be on camera, and there was a sweetness to this shyness.
As we were leaving the bookshop at the end of the interview, I smiled and did my best to use the little Mandarin I have acquired to say, "I will be back this weekend."
Over the following weeks, Yangcong, his loving partner Dong Dong, and I took to one another, and so it was that one day I received an invitation to join the two for lunch at the bookstore.
Prior to the lunch, we had shared few words. In lieu of them, we had shared smiles and warm and open vibrations. It was in this everyday space with Yangcong and Dong Dong, over a meal of vegetables, pork, and rice, that I felt a beautiful intimacy between us.
As we lunched, Dong Dong and I picked up conversation as Yangcong was keen to listen on. I learned that Yangcong opened the book store six years ago, hoping that he might invite more people to escape the lure of our devices and engage with the stories from near and far, written by contemporary and canonical, and well-known and lesser-
After running the store essentially on his own for several years, Yangcong's path crossed with Dong Dong's in what I want to believe was a moment of serendipity. At the time she was working a high-powered, stressful job, though one approved of by her family. As Dong Dong and I spoke about societal and familial pressures, she reflected, “For me, I can only stick to my pace." While she spoke in a soft and matter-of-fact tone, I could also appreciate that the decision to stick to her own pace was likely not an easy one.
As Dong Dong now helps to run the bookstore, she also finds bits of time to study ancient Chinese history and philosophy. "We think things have changed, but they haven't," she says, gazing at me momentarily, then turning her eyes towards the shelves of books to her left. I am not entirely certain of all of the reflections wrapped up for her in these words, but I imagine she finds both comfort and frustration in the way that overtime, much of human nature and culture is wont to stay the same.
In deciding to break with her original path, to follow her own heart, rather than the desires that her family had for her, Dong Dong notes that she lost one kind of freedom to gain another. She works every day as the responsibilities of the bookstore are divided between she and Yangcong, thus her free time has been diminished. At the same time, she has found more peace in her current life than in her former.
While Yangcong has been observing, and listening, and then slowly moving about to clear our dishes, he offers a few words now: “You may not have physical freedom, but you can always be free at heart.”
These words strike me in a particular way today as I have become increasingly restless in the face of Covid-era restricted travel. So I sit a bit longer with Yangcong's wisdom. I contemplate the freedom I have to love, to live vicariously through books, to laugh, to run, to connect with new souls, and to sip the fine green tea in front of me today.
Namaste, Yangong and Dong Dong. The light in me bows to and honors the light in both of you.
Sexy Drifting in Shanghai: A How-to Guide
Let's begin today with the term sexy drifter. This concept was first coined by Katie Venugopal (now Kathryn Hobbs). Before she met the love of her life, got married, had children, and became a sexy skater mom, she and her friend Amanda came up with the brilliant idea of being single forever and drifting from one exotic city to another wearing nothing but bikini tops and flowing skirts, meeting men for a flirt and fling, and then slipping onto their next catamaran to sail to the next adventure. This was the dream.
One day rather recently, Katie and I were talking about my most recent dating woes. As I began to reflect upon the many things my single life does afford me, though, sexy drifterhood drifted right into my mind's eye. "Really, how I have not been owning this?" I wondered to myself.
As this conversation was taking place mere weeks before my spring break was about to begin, I thought, to hell with men. I'm taking my hot bod to a sexy city and I'm going to be my own best date! I declared.
So, I packed a suitcase with cute clothes, a dozen shoes, my red lipstick, and I bought a one way ticket to Shanghai. And then I sexy drifted all around that sexy, sophisticated city. And this is how it went:
Step 1: Choosing the hotel
The most important consideration here: location, location, location. A hotel closest to some of the hottest eats in Shanghai is just where you want to be. Your best bets are hotels in The French Concession, Jing'an, or Xintiandi. Here, booking.com is your best friend. The second measure of the best place to nest for your sexy Shanghai stay is the size of the bathtub. After drifting by foot all over the city, you'll want to run that water, add your favorite essential oils, and soak away any soreness. Finally, as you are solo traveling, consider lodging where the hotel staff will see you and get to know you, at least enough to expect you to come home at night. In the midst of your drifting, you don't actually want to disappear in a foreign city, but if somehow you do, you'll want someone who's got your WeChat and has some tabs on your whereabouts so that they can assist the authorities, if need be.
The winning auberge for this trip: Miju House. While the room is just the tinniest bit musty, in short time it will be eau de must, which is the same as shopping at Tarjay rather than Target. The bed will having you feeling like Goldilocks with its just right duvet and perfect pillows and the huge bathtub will become an ocean of sorts in the evening. You will most certainly book this guesthouse again, especially as the woman at the small "front desk" is one of the kindest Shanghainese people ever. And she'll definitely be able to describe your face. If she were to need to. (Fact: many a sexy drifter has a wild and somewhat morbid imagination; it comes with the sexy territory.)
Step 2: Indulging yourself at restaurants (and shops) around the city
By the time you've become a sexy drifter, you are many, many moons beyond the time and space of "watching what you eat" in any diet-esque way. In this liberated space of listening to your body and not Weight Watchers, when she wants fresh bread, the large slice of chocolate cake, and the second glass of wine, you say, Yeah, babe, you got it. And when you're in Shanghai, know this: your body is gonna want a lot. As you've sagely chosen an inn nearby all the good eats, you'll be able to walk to Barbarian for a custom-made cocktail, to Tacolicious for the Street Heat Fried Chicken and Steak Asado tacos, and then to Tres Perros for late night tapas and the red, red wine.
As you're window shopping up and down Fumin Road (and then subsequently taking out your credit card to buy all the things in the windows), your SmartShanghai app will help guide you to Egg for an energizing peppermint latte, and then to incredible Tom Yum soup at the plant-based Duli. Before dinner at Mercato, sexy drifter whims lead you right to Spoiled Brat Jewelry where you'll find an incredible pair of earrings. The woman who crafted the earrings will remark that they have finally found their owner as soon as you try them on. Aaaand, you're sold.
Step 3: Drifting into the art and culture scene
As a sexy drifter who moonlights as a bookworm, your first touchstone for arts and culture is choosing the right book to read while sipping lattes and wine throughout the trip. A superb choice is Kazuo Ishiguro's When We Were Orphans, set in both London and Shanghai during the 1920s, 30s, and 40s; you'll find the detective-ish novel adds further allure to the city. While reading at breakfast one morning, sitting at a cafe on a busy boulevard, you'll feel all the feels as you read, "That's where she's gone now. Off to find true love. Perhaps she'll find it too. Out there, on the South China Sea, who knows? Perhaps she'll meet a traveller, in a port, in a hotel, who knows? She's become a romantic, you see?"
A rather romantic spot in Shanghai is Tsutaya Books in Columbia Circle, a historical expat compound.
From the arched entrance to the walls of books up to the cocktail lounge on the third floor, whether drifting alone or with a new companion, this bookstore has some very sexy literary vibes, especially when you enter under the waxing moonlight.
This cocktail I chose because of its description. The Grapefruit Gimlet is "reminiscent of the glamorous woman at the bar." Shameless, the entire trip.
On another night, you must drift along The Bund. The architecture is a marvel, and the lights that cast changing motifs onto the buildings are magnificent. Evenings on The Bund are bustling, and between the crowds and cityscape you get an incredible sense of how Shanghai simply pulses with life.
There is so much of China embodied in this photo. I find it all quite beautiful.
It's worth rising at an early hour to watch the day dawn on The Bund as well. A much quieter scene, you'll see ships beginning to drift about and runners enjoying the peace of a space that has calmed in the night.
The skyscrapers surpass the surrounding clouds at this early morning hour.
Later in the morning or early afternoon, the Jing'an Sculpture Park is the perfect place to plant yourself on a bench and read your book, surrounded by flowering trees, manicured lawns, and an altogether aesthetically pleasing array of sculptures by many different artists.
Love Love Love. This is how NieNie always signed her cards and emails; love, love, love is here.
This woman, she was made for this city and this trip and this day.
I offered to take a photo for these women. Instead they pulled me in! Loved it.
When you are ready for a break from the Shanghai sun, walk into the Propaganda Poster Art Centre. While a rather small and obscure museum, it offers as much culture and history as a university course. You'll find posters dating from the beginning to end of the 20th century, you'll learn about the rise and fall of Mao, how women rose to prominence in advertising, and how capitalism is portrayed in propaganda.
Step 4: Connecting with friends, and making new ones
Any trip is, of course, enriched by spending time with special souls; the known and the new.
Meeting for breakfast, navigating public transportation, dining on fine Italian fare, and dancing along The Bund are fabulous ways to be in the moment with your own people.
Hyon Jeong and her 6th grade son, Alex. We met this summer on a yoga trip, and we became fast friends.
I met Jenn in Hong Kong a few years back. She was a friend of a friend, and now she's my friend!
And then there are new friends you can make, if only for a handful of moments, that will have a felt impact on your heart. Keeping a smile on your face, an open spirit, and showing an appreciation for another's joy can lead to profound interactions. You'll walk away with a deeper sense of the way human connection knows no bounds of culture, age, or race.
The beauty here, in the movement and spirit of a morning routine.
A 67-year-old Shanghainese woman and a 38-year-old American woman find they are quick kindred spirits.
Step 5: Extending your stay
It felt super sexy to buy a one way ticket, but you didn't actually do it. Because someone inside the Sexy Drifter in you also lives Reason. So, you originally booked a 4 night, 5 day trip, reasoning that it would be a good idea to return to your home city with a couple of days to rest up in your own apartment before the reality of work begins anew.
But.
When you fall, for someone, or some city, you fall hard. You're all in. And so you're going to STAY LONGER. Trip.com does not do you wrong as adjusting your departure date does not break the bank. That task will be left to Madame Mao's Dowry where you'll find organic cotton cuddle duds for your unborn baby niece that will cost you your own firstborn. But, it'll be worth it in the short term because Baby Greta will be here so soon and you are not immune to the millennial's love of instant(ish) gratification.
Staying over the weekend will also afford you more time to simply sit at tiny parks in the midst of the hustle and bustle, devour more tapas, this time at Pirata, and finish the book you started on Day 1. After all, who could depart a city before the story is finished?
From a sweet, peaceful park situated in the middle of the city.
The Wrap-Up
I have found my relationships with people and with cities to be quite similar. There are those that you might be quite content to pass along or pass through quite quickly, those that, over time, become quite significant for you, and those that draw you in right away. Shanghai, for me, was the latter. It is everything I had imagined, and more. As my Taiji boxing friend said through a WeChat translator, "Shanghai is warm, safe and inclusive. Passion, friendly."
If Shanghai is your just-right-Goldilocks city, you will feel sexy, sophisticated, bold, while also grounded. In the end, sexy drifters can become a great many things. Like Katie, a sexy skater mom, or like others, sexy single moms, sexy book moms, or forever sexy bohemians.
Someday, I am sure my sexy drifterhood will drift into a new beautiful identity and space. For now, I will soon be sexy drifting to a city near you.
Enchantingly Ever After, a Christmas in Lijiang
Sipping cat-shit coffee at a cozy, eclectic coffee shop off of a stone street in Ancient Town Lijiang was arguably a defining moment of my Christmas trip this year. Usually, Christmas-time means enjoying champagne with Gram or making Mom and Dad spiced turmeric lattes. #2020 though, right? Instead, there I was imbibing the fruits of a wild cat's butt.
Really, perhaps Lijiang more than anywhere else in the world can make sipping cat-shit coffee enchanting. At the time that I was sipping, I avoided thinking about how the Civet, a beady-eyed Indonesian wild "cat" had eaten the coffee beans, fermented them in her belly, and then graciously pooped them out to be made into the grounds for the coffee in my dainty cup.
Rather than this imagery, I was engrossed in the adventure of author and seeker Kate Harris as she snuck through a Chinese checkpoint into a forbidden part of the Tibetan Plateau as I read her memoir Lands of Lost Borders: Out of Bounds on the Silk Road.
The book, the cat-shit coffee, anything really, becomes especially enchanting when this is your view.
Whether you're up for drinking the most expensive poop coffee (I can hear my nieces across the ocean having so much fun with this), or whether you're up for the an oat milk latte, Elegant Time Coffee is a must-visit when in Lijiang.
Lijiang, essentially "small-town China" with it's 1.2 million residents, does boast beyond its coffee. Each part of the town that we tromped into proved to be picturesque, each meal sublime, and each person we encountered so, so kind.
We were first welcomed to town by a driver courtesy of one of the former Shekou International School parents who found out we were traveling to Yunnan Province. Fleta paid for us to have the driver for the entirety of the trip, and we are endlessly grateful to her for making our trip that much easier.
When we were dropped off at the gate to the Ancient Town, we were met by our guesthouse staff who had come to put our luggage in a trolley cart and walk with us to our holiday abode. The Lijiang Gui Yuan Tian Ju Guesthouse felt like home the moment we unpacked for our weeklong stay.
Brad, Alli, Charles, and I all taught in Quito together. Brad currently teaches in Beijing with his partner Gavin.
It was wild and cool to get to rendezvous for this trip.
We sat down with our hosts for Pu'er tea, which is native to the region, as they offered us suggestions of where to eat.
At the end of our first lunch, Charles mentioned that he tries not to feel like a Butterball on the first day of vacation. By some magical elements of Lijiang, we all managed to fit into our pants by the end of the trip.
Perhaps it was the walking.
At the end of each day, we would all check our step count and state the numbers with pride in our voices.
Here are most of the places we walked around in this most lovely part of China ...
we walked all around ancient town
Well, we walked, except when we sat. Models gotta model, you know.
photo credit: Charles Denson
We weren't the only models in town, either. Some may argue we weren't even the cutest.
I was delighted to find that a river runs through the part of town where we stayed. You know the feeling you get when you want to squeeze a baby's cheeks so hard because they are so damn cute? That's kind of how I feel about Lijiang because it's so damn quaint.
We walked for miles and miles and got lost and found and turned around and were delighted by it all.
In my holiday cheer, I thought it'd be fun to sing to the cats, but this is how they felt about the way I carry a tune ... or don't.
It really was around every corner, in every shop, that we found the animals were the proprietors of the stores. Or, at least, they were good at luring customers in. I hope they get a good cut of all of the sales.
photo credit Alli Denson
And what's a woman to do when she finds that perfect boutique? Buy the new coat! For many years I have prided myself on being a more conservative (read reasonable) spender than my sisters. China has proved I got that Baci shopping gene as bad as any of them. My Gram used to go to her AEM (Arthur M Marquart) when she needed to "withdraw" money. I'm trying to figure out where my nearest cash machine is now, too.
We could have stayed within the ancient town for all the moments, but there was more to see in Lijiang, so
we hiked to a reservoir
Like father, like daughter; my heart belongs to the mountains.
My company and the mountains did lift my spirits out of their sadness at spending my only Christmas away from home. We had a delightful dinner with a wonderful group of friends on the 25th, which meant
we walked around the Christmas buffet at the Hyatt
Christmas in Minnesota will forever have my heart, and this family abroad is beautiful too.
The chocolate truffles got me so good this evening. After I'd enjoyed foie gras, dumplings, sushi, red red wine, the company, the view, the whole of it, really, I did an extra lap around the dessert table hoping to carefully pocket a few truffles to go, but, alas, they had all been eaten. In the end, I simply saved room for more dumplings the next day when
we walked to a reflection lake
The happy hikers here: Charles, Gavin, Brad, Alli, and yours truly.
Mom and Pop shops are the way to eat the best local food.
This sweet little spot that serves the most divine dumplings deserves a Michelin star, and the homemade food was just what we needed to fuel the hike.
When we did enter the park, we were serenaded by lyrical music. I think most any foreigner who is traveling of their own volition anywhere will share my sentiment that seeing and feeling the spirit of new people is one of the most beautiful parts of exploring new places.
After the bright light that this man was, we were hit by more beauty.
Behind the sparkling water and pagoda is Snow Mountain.
We indeed tried to walk around Snow Mountain, too, but of all the days we spent in Lijiang -- 7, in total -- our Snow Mountain day was apparently the one the Goddess of Travel decided to play with humor. There was a lot lost in translation, there was the wind that shut down a ski lift, but then there was also the beauty of the Blue Moon Valley below.
and so of course we walked around the valley
This was about the point where I had burned my Snickers off and I wanted to eat someone's arm and Gavin and Brad were bravely trying to still get on the ski-lift before it was shut down but they couldn't. But there was a great deal to smile for -- the two friends beside me and that turquoise lake.
Just, this.
By this point our legs had served us so well, we thought, why not log some more steps. And so we did when
we walked around another old town, baishazhen
Those friends, those mountains, and those old streets with stories to tell.
While in Yunnan Province, we wanted to hike Tiger Leaping Gorge. Alli and I have hiked many of the Andes Mountains in Ecuador, and it felt our time was due for another big trek. Tiger Leaping Gorge, though is currently seasonly closed. After speaking with an inn keeper near the gorge, we contemplated hiking on the sly, but eventually thought better of it, largely because why tempt 2020 further?
Instead, we opted for a night in Shangri-La, a 4-hour drive from Lijiang.
we skipped, we walked, we meandered around shangri-la
And by this, I do not mean a fancy hotel or a mythical place like author James Hilton created in his 1933 novel Lost Horizon. Shangri-la, or Xianggelila, does indeed exist at the seat of the Tibetan Autonomous Prefecture. For us, it was as lovely and magical as one might imagine with its sweet guesthouses
We stayed at the Shangri-La E-outfitting Boutique Hotel situated beautifully within the Old Town.
Tibetan hot pot
Photo credit: Gavin C
Those dumpling bows above are folded around yak meat, the plate-du-jour all day every day in Yunnan Province. We were all fans. Big fans.
cookie-baking cafes and warm Yunnan coffee at The Compass Cafe we ordered 17 cookies and 4 other desserts.
live music pumping reggae bar, The Den.
Charles played foosball, beat everyone in the bar, and that was enough to make fast friends of the owners.
and monastery
We walked many, many steps within the monastery. It is overwhelming in its vibration and its beauty.
As we were packing up to leave Shangri-la, I was taken by this rose outside of the guesthouse door. It felt like a reminder of the great beauty in stillness, in simplicity, and in nature.
Seven days after we had rendezvoused at our guesthouse in Lijiang, Brad, Alli, Charles, and I reluctantly packed up to return back to Shenzhen. It certainly is a good life back here in our big city, and there were also so many magical moments that we were able to share in Lijiang, and I will be peach rice wine toasting to that for decades to come.
I miss you already, crew. (Charles, you have a beautiful face. I am sorry my one-handed photo skills failed to show it in its full glory.)
As I have been developing a deep nostalgia for our trip, I have returned to The Lands of Lost Borders, which I finished on the plane ride back to Shenzhen. I connected to so many of Harris's words.
While we were not pedaling our way across the Silk Road, I think we all viscerally understand what Harris means when she writes, "Your sole responsibility on Earth, as long as your legs last each day, is to breathe, pedal, breathe—and look around.”
And so a final toast to looking around in this New Year. Looking around at the ordinary to see the extraordinary, looking around to see how we can be of service to someone else, to consider how we might bring greater equity to the spaces we inhabit. Looking around to see where we can take new chances, cherish moments with those we love and those who love us back and live in gratitude for what we have in this very moment.
All my love,
Jamie
Inner Mongolia: the Beauty in Desolation
I am writing from Beijing tonight, sitting in the small courtyard of my hotel, the Cote Cour, watching the fish in the coy pond in front of me, lazily sipping green tea. The hotel is located in one of the city's hutongs, or traditional courtyard residences in the midst of a network of tiny alleys. My current temporary abode is quite the contrast to the space I inhabited just a few days ago.
This year, for the mid-autumn festival, I decided to follow my Beijing yoga teacher to Inner Mongolia for five days of practice, surrounded by a vast, windy landscape.
To reach Inner Mongolia, I flew into Beijing, on a flight that was delayed by many hours, thus I arrived at 2:30 am, spent a couple of hours at Zhao's apartment, and boarded a van to drive six more hours to our yoga residence. The further outside Beijing that we drove, the more blue the sky, and the more desolate our surroundings became.
Pulling up to our ranch, the landscape looked like this:
When I first began posting photos on social media, my friend, Andy, saw where I was and asked if I had ever read Haruki Murakami's The Wind Up Bird Chronicles. I wrinkled my nose and responded, "I find Murakami writes riddles I just don't understand." But Andy persisted and told me more about the book, intriguing me enough to download a copy. I would soon find myself utterly involved with the characters in the book, and the way Murakami wrote of Mongolia.
In the first days of the yoga retreat, I found myself unsettled. Parts of the hotel were quite industrial, with exposed cement ceilings and cold floors. I felt like I was in a scene from The Shining. And I disliked it. I hate scary movies. And now, it seemed, I had traveled far and paid well to be part of one. Additionally, as I gazed out the window at the space beyond, there was nothing for the eye to grip onto.
Murakami got this.
"Sometimes, when one is moving silently through such an utterly desolate landspace, an overwhelming hallucination can make one feel that oneself, as an individual human being, is slowly coming unraveled. The surrounding space is so vast that is becomes increasingly difficult to keep a balanced grip on one's being."
The Wind Up Bird Chronicles, Haruki Murakami
The unsettled feelings that I had began to have physical manifestations. As soon as I had arrived at the hotel, I began having trouble sleeping, waking in the morning drenched in sweat, as I had finally fallen asleep at some midnight hour with a light on because I was too afraid to sleep in the dark. I mean, what the f? I live alone, I often travel alone, and yet I was spooked by this place.
I was determined, though, to get beyond the grand discomfort of it all. I did not want to simply wish my time away in Inner Mongolia, and miss the lessons the land had to offer. And so, I set to exploring further.
Pictured here are my new friend Guy and I taking a slow run after lunch.
The wind went howling through brittle branches. Leeeetttt goooooo, it seemed to bay. Chilled, I continued to listen. S u r r r e n d e e e r r r, it beseeched me.
slowly
slowly
slowly
I felt an opening ... into the vastness, into my yoga asanas, into myself.
And I continued to read.
"The point is, not to resist the flow. You go up when you're supposed to go up and down when you're supposed to go down. When you're supposed to go up, find the highest tower and climb to the top. When you're supposed to go down, find the deepest well and go to the bottom. When there no flow, stay still."
Wind Up Bird Chronicles, Haruki Murakami
Okay. Okeeeey, Murakami, I thought. I hear you. Or I think I hear you, because I think I get you, at least a little bit, but you still have do write these Murakamisms that are like wtf are you even saying, tho? But, yes, I'll flow or go high or low or whatever this landscape is asking of me.
And it did become true, that through the hours, I felt it -- the wonder, the awe that comes, paradoxically, with land so beautifully desolate.
On our last full day, after many hours of yoga practice, my body was saying get out and run. So I did.
As I made my way around the lake, I saw camels, which I did originally called llamas in a text to Mom and Dad because my brain is still in South America sometimes.
I also saw the following, which could be a scene right out of Wind Up Bird, which was cool. And unnerving. For real, Murakami, you're going to manifest in my reality? C'mon, though, man. Save me the chills, pleeaaaaase.
There's one thing to do to feel rooted after taking in such strange sights: An Inversion in the Wild.
On this last full day, on this long run, I began to regret that the trip was coming to an end. I supposed I had noted before, but I was here noting again, perhaps in a new way that if we are open to surrendering ourselves to our present reality, there is this capacity for incredible adaptation. While one day the wind and vast landscape felt unsettling to me, after some time, both became elements of my environment that I felt I could sit with for eternity.
The next day, on our final morning in Inner Mongolia, after a strong yoga practice, I stretched out onto the deck over the water.
I thought of my book, once again, for the final time on this trip.
"The sun would rise from the eastern horizon, cut its way across the empty sky, and sink below the western horizon. This was the only perceptible change in our surroundings. And in the movement of the sun, I felt something I hardly know how to name: some huge, cosmic love."
The Wind Up Bird Chronicles, Haruki Murakami
Lying under a bright sun that was settled into a blanket of blue, I felt ... the incredible lightness of being, and I thought, poetry, it seems, is something I'm destined to find everywhere.
Tonight, as my green tea has turned to a glass of red wine, I'm toasting Namaste to the divine souls that I met on this trip.
About last night: I had a date with Spontaneity
Raise your hand if you are a creature of habit? (I have a hunch that the first hand to go up is that of Hannah Julien, my freshman year roomie and bestie, the one and only consumer of a nightly vanilla-pudding-with-sliced-banana snack.)
I am also a routined woman. Routines make me feel that I can control parts of my day, they make me feel safe, and they, probably like you, also help with my productivity. Some of my routines, like eating chocolate before breakfast and after dinner, are also delicious.
In the midst of Covid, many ... most? of our routines have been interrupted, though here in China we have largely returned to Life as We Knew(ish) It, so I am back to many of my routines with school and the gym and eating at my favorite restaurants. Yesterday, though, I got done with work and thought to hell with my Monday routine, which generally consists of mentally gearing up for Tuesday by making my food for the next day, fine-tuning lesson plans, and reading at my apartment.
There's a very cool part of Shenzhen called OCT-Loft, and after a bit of a pep talk from my soulie Ceci, I decided to make my own variation of her suggestion that I go out and find some salsa dancing ... by myself. Salsa dancing often involves wine, in my experience, and so I decided to take part of the plan she devised -- one that she felt would challenge my boundaries a bit -- and just go find a nice glass of wine.
I hopped in a taxi straight from school as dropping by home to change would have meant a longing look from my couch. After the 30-minute ride, I stepped into the artsy OCT Loft and took a few steps in the direction of a whiskey bar I knew of, glancing to my right to see Mo Wine written on an awning. Well, thank you very much, Serendipity, I thought as I walked towards the sign.
I walked into the small establishment to find a rather fancy but still cozy space. Fine wines lined the walls, a few leather chairs were pulled up to tables, and three stools stood by the window.
I ordered a glass of La Valentina Bellovedere and sat down at one of the tall stools with my iPad to finish reading Samantha Power's The Education of an Idealist. I sat sipping my wine, reading Power's conclusion about her time as UN Ambassador, and taking a moment to practice my selfie skills.
As I was finishing up the memoir, I glanced behind me to see that a table had been set.
The shy bones in my body have, in my 30s, become more emboldened, and I quickly set about inquiring what was taking place and could I please be part of it. Richard said that I was just in luck, he could set one more chair for wine tasting that would take place in another two hours.
While on many evenings I would have taken note of the fact that Mo Wine offered wine tastings, packed up to head home for dinner and crawl into bed by 9 pm, last night, I thought Woman, you are going to keep living your best spontaneous life tonight. This is your 37th year around the sun and let's remember 37 is your favorite number and let's forget 2020 is effing with some serious shit and let's drink more wine.
And so I stayed.
While I waited for the wine tasting to start, I opened up Jackie, Ethel, and Joan: The Women of Camelot by J. Randy Taraborrelli, ordered garlic fries, and started sipping the Prosecco Richard served me, a pre-wine tasting treat.
Just a bit before 8 pm, other wine tasters began to sidle into the bar and take their seats at the table. I was feeling particularly giddy to have happened upon Mo Wine on just this night and my anticipation increased as I watched a photographer take photos of our sommelier and the wine he would be serving us.
After giving us the history of the Seña and Chadwick vineyards, our Frenchman offered us glasses of five different wines to try.
I spent the next two hours feeling intoxicated, but not because I was tipsy. I learned that truly fine wine will simply leave you feeling fabulous rather than boozed. What was really intoxicating to me was that I was surrounded by strangers and making new friends of them, I was the the only foreigner aside from our Frenchman, and I was sticking my nose in glass after glass of the most aromatic wines.
My favorite sound of the evening was the frequent clicking of glasses.
Tonight, after school, I went a more traditional route and dined with my friends Craig and Ann on The Strip, the area right outside of school full of bars and restaurants and massage parlors. It was, of course, also lovely. Dates with them always are.
But I can't wait for my next date with Spontaneity. We agreed to see each other again.
Chinese Hospitality in Qingdao
The Tea Houseby j.n.baci
wearing a tamed top bun --dark glasses perched upon her nose,perfect lips painted soft pink --a mother lounges on the creamy couchshe leans over the tea tableand takes her daughter's phone;her mouth breaks into a smileat what the screen revealsmen's soft voices speakover the dark red lacquered table,while the clink of tiny porcelain teacupschime in the Qingdao air"every passing moment is the passing of life;every moment of life is life itself"she reads her bookas she sips the carmelized-amber liquorand lets the pu'er tea languish on her tongue,cradling the cup between her fingertipsbreathing in the scene,gazing out the window;her eyes cannot decipherthe meaning of the characterson the building across the roadbut she appreciates the shadowsthat green leaves caston the fine lines of words unknownwhat a wonder it has been, she thinks,to feel welcomed by her many hosts --the server at a tea house,the waiter at a restaurant,the manager at a hotel --locals who have worked to decipherher gestures and singularMandarin wordsso that they may offer herthe comfort of hospitalityin the form of fine teasand seafood still in the shellgratitude fills the world inside of herthat this unfamiliar placehas opened up spaceto her:the foreigner,the traveler,the seeker
Where I am typing right now, a busy Starbucks back in Shenzhen, is quite a different scene from the tranquil tea house I sat at in Qingdao, another seaside city in China. Today I am yearning for the cooler climate and slower pace of this "smaller city," thus, post-trip nostalgia has already set in.
While I have been residing in China for four years now, I have explored little of my host country as I have chosen to either return to Minnesota or travel abroad for vacations. That which a couple of months ago felt so upsetting -- a forced stay in China for the summer -- has opened up space to explore the culture and expansive space of this country more deeply; while I miss home, I am grateful to feel fully like a Shenzhener and a true resident of China now.
The trip to Qingdao was precipitated on the following: This fall, at a gala that auctions items to raise money for women and girls in China, I bid on and won a night at the Shangri-La in Qingdao. As I picked up my voucher, I giggled because I did not even know where this city (of some 9 million residents) was located, or why one would visit.
I did not yet even really know what I was celebrating in terms of a city. Mostly, at this point, I was celebrating that I am as good as any of the Bacichx at spending money.
With time on my hands this summer, I finally booked the Shangri-La -- originally for three nights -- with Alli and Charles, and we packed our bags and got on the plane, blindly, as none of us took time to look up any information about the city before we arrived. (We had, though, heard from friends here and there that Qingdao is known for its seafood, and having been friends in fitness and food for 7-years, this felt promising to the three of us -- or at least Charles and me. Alli does not like seafood but she is ever the good sport and will find something on the menu.)
After an early morning 3-hour flight, we landed in Qingdao and taxied to the Shangri-La. Upon check-in, I took out my voucher. The woman at the desk looked at me apologetically as she pointed out that the voucher is not good for July or August. Missing this itty bitty detail is mmmm, maybe a little bit on-brand for me. I made sad attempts to barter the point saying, "I understand that most years this is probably high season, but right now not as many people are traveling, so could you make an exception?" Losing a debate? Also on-brand. But, I shrugged my shoulders and we paid the mere $72 a night for each of our rooms, and promptly found our way to lunch.
While it was not our first lunch, our most notable one did include a tableful of seafood -- Qingdao certainly lived up to its reputation.
Once, when I was many, many years younger, and trying to barter with my dad about getting my own room, I "ate" a smoked oyster. I believe I spit most of it out. I suppose this was one time that I finagled a way to get what I wanted, but then he said he would have given me my own room regardless. And by own room, I mean Mom and Dad turned part of the downstairs living space into an open-air bedroom. And I was rather thankful, and then regretful because I missed talking with Linds as we fell asleep.
I digress, and return to the ways I have refined (those, like my oldest niece Natalie may debate my use of the word refined here) my palate over the years. Case in point, the shellfish I consumed on this day in Qingdao:
This clam is so much prettier than that smoked oyster. Photo credit: Alli Denson
Walking into the seafood restaurant hungry (or hangry if you are a Jamie or a Charles and God bless Alli), we struggled for a long minute to figure out what most of the raw seafood on display was and how to order an appropriate amount. After the use of phone translators, speaking English slowly -- as if the owners would then learn our language in a mere moment -- and many gesticulations, we were on the verge of giving up and trying another restaurant. Low blood sugar will hinder one's ability to problem-solve or have patience. But, just at this moment of greatest defeat, a woman who also worked at the restaurant stepped in with enough English to let us know that we could simply order a bamboo steamer full of mixed seafood and try samples of many new shelled sea creatures.
Photo credit: Charles Denson
We ate most of this. We were really full.
How many times have I breathed an incredible sigh of gratitude when I have been saved by someone stepping in to help with more English than I have Chinese even though we are in China? So many times. So, so many times.
We enjoyed the ocean air of the Yellow Sea on our first day.
Alli and me at the pier. Photo credit:
As we continued to venture around the city, we continued to encounter so much goodwill from our short or longer-term hosts, and often at just the right moment.
On our third day in Qingdao, as we were in the process of navigating different modes of transportation and buying tickets to enter the park surrounding Mt. Lao, a woman who worked at the (vastly Chinese) tourist center stepped in to support our cause. In part thanks to her, we were able to enjoy the following day:
Photo credit: Charles Denson
Life lived in translation is often entertaining. I do not post this photo to make fun of the translation at all. I find the translations often endearing, and I am humbled by anyone who can write in both Chinese characters and use a Roman alphabet.
There are several temples along the paths on Laoshan.
This guy was guarding the entrance to one of the temples. As we descended the mountain, we took in this view for a bit.
Photo credit: Charles Denson
The following morning, enjoying the delicious buffet at the Shangri-La, our newfound friend Wallance, one of the managers of hospitality, said that he had comped our breakfast. After Charles went back to the room, Wallance did tell Alli and me that Charles was the reason he, Wallance, was most inspired to take care of the cost. Despite the lovely ladies beside Charles on the trip, he was the one with the most admirers. The compliments that Alli and I received ... well, they were mostly from Charles. We didn't complain; we just kept eating the free food.
Wallance, we love you, fine friend.
And then we kept walking, all around lovely spaces. One of those spaces was the German quarter. Some 100 years ago, Germany had control of Qingdao. At least this is what we were told on the trip at some point; I still have not done my research on the city. Whenever it was that the Germans occupied Qingdao, they influenced the city through architecture. In the German quarter, a Catholic church rises high on the top of a hill and is surrounded by a plaza. People-watching in this square was fabulous.
So, so many brides and grooms every day of the week are being photographed at the plaza surrounding the church.
Take a few moments. Just take in the whole scene. We loved this space.
After three days of exploring together, the Denson's flew home to Shenzhen, and I decided to rebook my flight and stay another night at the Shangri-La.
Just a bit deliciously dizzy on half a glass of red Italian wine from Milano’s, biting into a piece of pan-fried sea bass with coarse black salt, I reflected about how on-brand (I'll tire of this phrase soon) for me to extend my stay in various places. I was supposed to be two years abroad, and it's turned to 7 and counting. I was supposed to go to Thailand for 7 days in February and it turned into 23. I was supposed to stay for 3 nights in Qingdao and it turned into 4.
Evident in all of these extensions is the great privilege that is so much of my life. Also evident, as one of my 11th graders stated at the end of this past school year, is the way that "nothing is certain until it's certain."
And so as my seemingly certain 3-day holiday out of Shenzhen turned to 4 days, I sat at a tea shop and sipped pu'er tea.
I sipped some more, read, listened to the people around me, listened to the soft water running in the little man-made stream in the center of the tea house, and just allowed myself to be.
While in Qingdao, I was reading Lisa See's The Tea Girl of Hummingbird Lane. The story offers some interesting history on pu'er tea, and of course, now I am low-key (read: I drink it every day now) obsessed with it.
As I went to pay for my $47 (that is indeed in US dollars) cup of pu'er tea, a tall Chinese man wearing lounge pants and a t-shirt began to converse with me in as much English as I have Chinese. After he named California and New York after asking where I was from, I tried to explain that I am from a state in the middle of the two. Minn-e-sot-a I repeated several times. Ahhhh he said as he pulled up a photo of Kevin Garnet. I laughed and thought, it's a big-small world, isn't it?
As I was asking about my bill for the cup of tea, the man insisted on paying for my extravagance. He expected nothing in return and simply waved happily as I walked out of the tea house, saying, Welcome to China with a big grin on his face.
And now I'm here, in Shenzhen, thinking about this kind man, and all of the spaces we were welcomed into in Qingdao, and I'm thinking about humanity and goodness and life as I am always The Contemplative.
Plans are always subject to change. Sometimes we change them, sometimes they change on us. Tonight, I am feeling particularly grateful that in the times that whoever's choosing the change of plans has been, the world has continued to offer hospitality to me in many ways.
And the Universe continues to call me to reflect on how I can pay hospitality, in its many forms, forward.
Black Lives Matter
I went to Anoka High School where, I think, in a school of 3,000 9th - 12th graders, there were maybe 10 black students. I also remember there was a group called The All American Boys. I remember believing that this was a bad group, formed on the notion of white supremacy. Beyond this thought, I do not remember engaging in dialogue on the subject of race at this time in my life.
I have a cousin, not by blood, but by heart, who is black. Her name is Analuisa. She lived the school years with my aunt and uncle from the time I was in third grade until I was in college, save for the year Ana was not granted a visa to return from Ecuador, where she had returned to her family for the summer. Still, we did not talk about her blackness or my whiteness. Some time ago, I would have thought this was "a good sign." I would have thought this meant there was no real difference in our experiences based on race that would lead us to bring up such topics.
I can now call this notion, that we could live the same in this world with different skins, ignorance.
After high school, I went to Gustavus Adolphus College. Gustavus was smaller than my high school, and again, filled with white faces. I ran track at Gustavus, and I ran workouts alongside Jerry Washington and Ryan Hoag. These were the only two black peers in my social sphere.
I moved to Denver, Colorado, after I had finished my student teaching at 23 years old. I taught at Aurora Central High School. At this time, for the first time in my life, I was a minority. A minority who still had the majority of the privilege. That year, my students taught me 1000 times more than I taught them. They continue to teach me as I see the paths they pave for themselves through our connection on social media. I still reflect back to moments with my students at Central, those moments when I just couldn't understand why I wasn't being heard. Why I wasn't getting through to them. Why they wouldn't just listen to me.
To be heard. To be seen. To be known. It is what we all desire and seek as humans. But listening, seeing, and knowing is not always what we offer others.
Some years ago I was in a vehicle with someone who was criticizing the Black Lives Matters movement. Who hasn't heard someone else say "All lives matter" at this point? And yes, of course, all lives matter. The movement never arose out of any intent to say black lives matter over white lives or blue lives or any other lives. It arose because black lives are lost, be it the loss of the breath or the loss of freedom as black men are put behind bars at disproportionate rates to any other race in the US, at the hands of structural racism. every. damn. day.
Black lives matter.
When I was living in Ecuador, some 9 years after I taught in Colorado, many years after I was wondering why the heck I couldn't make the difference I wanted to with my students at Aurora Central, I read Ta-Nehisi Coates' Between the World and Me.
I read and reread:
"But all our phrasing—race relations, racial chasm, racial justice, racial profiling, white privilege, even white supremacy—serves to obscure that racism is a visceral experience, that it dislodges brains, blocks airways, rips muscle, extracts organs, cracks bones, breaks teeth. You must never look away from this. You must always remember that the sociology, the history, the economics, the graphs, the charts, the regressions all land, with great violence, upon the body.”
And still, I could not really understand why Coates kept talking about the black body like it was so different from any other body.
And then I brought up the book to one of my best friends, Charles. Charles is black. He did not owe me a conversation to help me understand Coates. It is not his job, or any other non-white person's job, to educate any of the white folks about what it is to live in their non-white bodies. But over cigars, Charles did engage with me. Over the course of that afternoon, I finally began to grasp what Coates said again and again to his son through the words of his book: you must protect your black body because society will not. The families of Michael Brown, Trayvon Martin, Sandra Bland, Philando Castile, Tamir Rice, Jordan Davis, Atatiana Jefferson, The Charleston Nine, Breona Taylor, Ahmaud Arbery have lost their son, daughter, sister, brother, and friend to the lack of protection that society offers the black body.
Black bodies matter.
When I was in high school, I learned about things like the Underground Railroad, and the Jim Crow Laws, and Martin Luther King, Jr., and the Civil Rights Movement. I learned about these people and events through text books written, largely, through a white lens. I did not learn about Malcom X, or the true power of the underground railroad, or The New Jim Crow, or much at all about black inventors and innovators.
Someday, when I have children, I will fill the family library with The Undefeated, Little Leaders, Henry's Freedom Box: A True Story From the Underground Railroad, Heart and Soul: The Story of America and African Americans, What Color is My World? The Lost History of African-American Inventors, and The Watson's Go to Birmingham -- 1963.
Black history matters.
In the last couple of years, one of my favorite authors has become Nigerian writer Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie. I watch her TedTalk entitled The Danger of a Single Story each year with my students. She opens up the talk by recounting her life as a young writer:
I was also an early writer, and when I began to write, at about the age of seven, stories in pencil with crayon illustrations that my poor mother was obligated to read, I wrote exactly the kinds of stories I was reading: All my characters were white and blue-eyed, they played in the snow, they ate apples, and they talked a lot about the weather, how lovely it was that the sun had come out. "
The audience chuckles, along with Adichie, at this anecdote. Adichie, though, is using the story to illustrate the significance of seeing yourself represented in the texts and world around you. Adichie has made me reflect and consider which books I have in my classroom, which books I choose to include in my curriculum, and which books I recommend to my students.
At the end of her TedTalk, she concludes:
"Stories matter. Many stories matter. Stories have been used to dispossess and to malign, but stories can also be used to empower and to humanize. Stories can break the dignity of a people, but stories can also repair that broken dignity."
I think this is an important time to consider the books on our nightstands, on our bookshelves, and in our hands. Are you reading books that represent a multiplicity of perspectives and backgrounds?
As a bookworm, in addition to the books from Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie and Ta-Nehisi Coates, I love, savor, delight in, and learn from the works of Roxane Gay, Jesmyn Ward, Nayyirah Waheed, and Trevor Noah.
On my next read list: Me and White Supremacy, Post Traumatic Slave Syndrome, and Stamped: Racism, Anti-racism, and You.
Because it is my own job to educate myself on what it is to walk through this world with what is defined as black skin, and what it is to "do the work" to understand my own privilege, I follow many important Instagram accounts: Austin Channing Brown, The Conscious Kid, Shifting the Culture, Rachel Ricketts, thelovelandfoundation, Layla F Saad, Jason Reynolds, and Color of Change, to begin.
Black voices matter.
For the past months, in the midst of this pandemic, around the world we have been wishing to re-establish "normal" life again, wondering when or if that day will ever arrive. In an opinion piece for the New York Times, Roxane Gay writes,
"Eventually, doctors will find a coronavirus vaccine, but black people will continue to wait, despite the futility of hope, for a cure for racism. We will live with the knowledge that a hashtag is not a vaccine for white supremacy. We live with the knowledge that, still, no one is coming to save us. The rest of the world yearns to get back to normal. For black people, normal is the very thing from which we yearn to be free."
In so many ways, we do not need to re-establish the old normal. We need a new normal. We need a new normal where there is justice for all, without hypocrisy. We need a new normal where white folks are examining their contributions to the current, racist status quo. We need a new normal where we engage in collective healing.
I think one of the most important questions to be asking ourselves right now is " Does the way that I vote, the things that I say, the actions that I take show that I believe that Black Lives Matter?"
