The Rising

This week has brought a shift.

Two days ago, my children went back to school..and for the first time in over 3 months, I have had time to breathe, to reflect and to write.

And over the course of breathing through longer training runs, I can't seem to get this song out of my heart.  I'm sure you know it.  "The Rising" by Bruce Springsteen performed by Sting at the Kennedy Center Honors ceremony.

I first heard Springsteen sing it in January 2009 at Obama's inauguration.  On the steps of the Lincoln Memorial, on a cold winter day, he played his guitar, while an extraordinary choir bounded "Dream a Life" behind him.

The second time was when I traveled to Chicago to run a half marathon.  It was the night before the race and through the windows of the condo, I could hear him performing at Wrigley Field.  The entire crowd was on fire.  He was a force.  And they were lit up in every way.

A ball of nerves, worried about managing the L and a bus at o' dark thirty, ensuring that I stayed hydrated and fueled and of course, freaking about the random creaks in the bedroom of someone else's abode, I was a crazy lady.  So for me, on that night, it was the perfect song.

That was five years ago...and now, my children are growing. 

I have two years left before my oldest goes to high school and the "real" time for family movies, games of Clue, hanging by the pool, making pizza, telling stupid jokes and hours at home (other than sleeping or eating) are dwindling.

So, the other night at dinner when I spent a significant amount of time talking about Anne Frank and the definition of White Supremacy and how the name Neo-Nazi emerged and the president's response to the destruction and death in Charlottesville and watched my children's faces become glazed and glossed over, I thought, enough.

I am so tired of being angry at what a buffoon, cowardly, incompetent, divisive, self-focused, arrogant joke of a president we have; and equally as exhausted by the debilitating notion that we have to live with a lack of real leadership for another 3.5 years.  As such, I'm reclaiming my ability to rise and to represent my values, my hopes, my beliefs, my aspirations for my children and my community.

For me, the "rising" happens every day in every small way...at home, walking down the street, in classrooms and coffee shops and over dinner with our families and with our neighbors...in the ways that we treat each other and the actions we take when it would be easier to not.

This year, my son has two new players on his football team which is intimidating when you're joining a group of boys that have been playing for over 8 seasons together.  I told Sam to be the first.  "Talk to them.  Welcome them.  Find out where they go to school and what they did this summer.  Invite them over.  Thank them for joining your team."

Likewise, Kate had a really good friend move far away and two new kids join her fifth grade class.  I told her the same.  "Sit by them in the lunch room.  Ask them what they like to do.  Find them at recess.  Tell them about the book you're writing or the song you're learning to play on the piano.  See if they like stories as much as you do.  Tell them that you're glad they're here."

My "rising" hasn't involved public protests, but it has involved a deep and intentional choice to rise in my own space and speak up for what is right...inclusion, hope, connection, vulnerability and truth and to speak against injustice...side slights, insensitive barbs/jabs and to try my damndest to nurture a new generation of children who feel loved, valued, believed in and not afraid.

I keep running to the song.  I keep believing that good can come.