That first step is a doozie

In high school I had a teacher named Mr. Yantzi. He was a little man with a big smile and when he explained something, he was really good at giving us the full picture. The whole story. He had a gift for tracing humanity’s journey from one moment in history to another, articulating all the changes and connections and impacts along the way, “X happened, which led to Y, which led to Z…” 

He’d document it on the chalk board as he went, frantically capturing each pivotal moment on a timeline as I stared, completely enthralled. My eyes fixed to the front of the room like a kid at story time, lost in an imaginary world, making sense of things. Except it wasn’t an imaginary world. It was our world. Our history. 

Mr. Yantzi was my kinda teacher.

I’m a big picture girl. That’s where I like to start, it’s how my brain works. It’s driven many a boss and many a boyfriend totally insane. They’re like, “Do you want a coffee?” I’m like, “Back up, I need more information.”

Sometimes, though, it comes in super handy. For instance, when you’re trying to make sense of big, overwhelming things in the world. The following is what I see when I zoom out a little.

If I were to describe the experience of being a human being in this world, I’d say that generally speaking it feels pretty stressful. There are calm and joyful moments, but a lot of the time our minds are busy with anxiety, fear, defensiveness, self-centeredness, ambition and it’s all rather uncomfortable. Fortunately, at the core of who we are, underneath all of that busy-ness, the best parts of us are still intact, calling us back. Like a beacon or a radio station playing only your favourite music. 

But our minds scramble the signal. We get distracted, we get turned around, and we get pulled away from ourselves and our sense of connection to each other. Over time, we forget there ever was a signal. All we hear is static.

Listening to the static is the key to feeling more connected.

That static is the part of us that knows who we are and why we’re here. It’s connected to something much bigger than us – to humanity. It’s calm, it’s smart as hell, and it’s talented. It’s that connection that you see in people who just seem to shine. People who are confident and self-assured. People who seem to know what they want and what they’re good at. People who make you think, “Ugh. I wish I had talent/confidence like that.”

Those people have managed to unscramble the signal. The rest of us? We’re either still learning to listen for the static or we’ve turned our radios off altogether like, “That’s enough of that noise.”

That’s when we start to feel disconnected. When we feel lonely. When we question why we’re here and our place in the world. When we feel sad and hurt and frustrated. But listening to that static just makes it worse, it’s overwhelming, so we deal. We find happiness where we can. You find joy where we can. 

But we have a nagging feeling that there’s something we’re missing.  

Here’s the thing about static: it’s annoying, it hurts our ears, but it means there’s a signal there. There’s music.

Zooming back in now, what I’m hearing black and indigenous people of colour asking white people to do if we truly want to help (to listen, to do the work of dismantling white supremacy, to take action) requires that we turn on our radios, endure the static, and keep tuning our dials. That we plug back in and turn our minds to our connection to humanity as a whole.

Yeah, ok. But what exactly does that look like? 

When I worked as an executive assistant, I tended to get a lot of random questions. Those, Hey, do you happen to know…? questions. A lot of the time I did, in fact, happen to know the answer (humble brag) but when I didn’t, I wouldn’t say not my problem or I’m too tired to think about it or la la la, can’t hear you and ignore them altogether. I’d swivel around in my chair and ask one simple question: 

Did you Google it? 

That, right there, is essentially my strategy. That’s what it looks like to tune my dial. When I come up against something and I feel stuck (depressed, frustrated, defensive, uncertain, confused), instead of turning off and tuning out, I investigate. I get curious. I research. I question what I think I know and dig deeper. 

At least, that’s what I try to do. It’s not easy for two reasons: one, it’s a lot of work, and two, tuning out is a habit and like any habit, we’re not always aware we’re doing it (more about that in Part 4 of this series).

When I started reading more about white supremacy and racism, it was painful to admit that I’d been tuning it out. It was equally painful to ask myself how it was possible that I’d tuned it out for so long.

I can’t change that, but I can make sure it doesn’t happen again. I can use this moment to ask myself whether I’m tuning out other important issues in my community, or in my relationships, or in myself.

Then instead of deciding there’s nothing I can do, I can keep searching until I identify one action, then another, then another. Instead of tuning out because I don’t know the answer, I can go looking for the answer. Instead of deciding that I’m right, I can notice when I feel defensive and stop proving my point long enough to consider someone else’s. 

Staying curious is staying hopeful. Looking for answers is opening to possibilities. 

It’s only when we question what we think we know that we have any chance of learning something, shifting our perspective, or changing things.

Sure, we might still disagree, but at least we’ll be communicating on the same frequency.

C.

PS. My dad is the one who taught me to dive in and figure out how things worked. He was always rolling up his sleeves and creating things with me, and I’m very grateful to him for that. Happy Fathers Day to all the fathers and father figures out there. 

Next week: Part 2 - Learning to apologize (Am I safe here?)