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Race Matters: “On the Anniversary of George Floyd’s Death, How Do I Stay Hopeful?”

Christine Pride race matters

Welcome to the latest Race Matters advice column, featuring the wonderful Christine Pride. Today marks the anniversary of George Floyd’s death: May 25, 2020. As we look back on the past year, how far have we come? How much has the country grown? Today, a reader is asking about staying hopeful during these difficult times…


Dear Race Matters:

On the anniversary of George Floyd’s death, I can’t help wondering where the country stands regarding race. It was a relief when former Minneapolis police officer Derek Chauvin was found guilty for Floyd’s murder. But what happens next? How do we effect change that’s substantive and enduring? That would mean confronting bias in how we police Black and brown communities; how we educate Black and brown students; how we create jobs that give people more opportunities. In short, can we create thriving neighborhoods where everyone has an equal opportunity to partake in the American dream?

That goal, at this particular moment, feels more challenging than ever.

As a 56-year-old Black woman, I’m not at all delusional about America’s race problem yet I’ve always been a glass-half-full type of person and try to stay positive. But a year after George Floyd’s murder, I fear that our country has stalled in its efforts in our racial reckoning. After all the protests and hashtags and talk about diversity and inclusion training, I worry that we’re losing that forward motion toward institutional and systemic change. What recommendations do you have for a weary traveler who’s desperately trying to stay positive and hopeful for a fight that must continue?

Signed, Sick and Tired


Dear Sick and Tired:

I appreciate that you signed off with a nod to the immortal words of activist Fannie Lou Hamer: “I am sick and tired of being sick and tired.” How could we not be weary after the year we’ve had? It’s a reminder that the capacity for human resilience is remarkable. As demoralized as we may be by the rash of police violence, COVID, economic strife, an intense national election, and general fear that everything could spiral out of control, we’re still here, getting up every morning and putting on clothes, scrounging up a few meals for sustenance, and hopefully, on good days, finding enough flashes of joy to be a siren call to do it all again tomorrow.

I think our first step is to acknowledge that weariness. It’s okay that we’re not okay. Emotional exhaustion, and the cynicism that creeps in with it, is not a character flaw. All too often, women, and especially Black women, aren’t given the time, space, or permission to sit in their feelings and just be. Yes, there are voting rights to advocate for, and children to feed, and paychecks to chase, but that will all still be there if we take a moment to drop our load and rest our arms; to wipe our brows and say, woo wee, this shit feels impossible.

So, I want to start with some counterintuitive advice: to really sit with those feelings, before trying to move on. That’s hard to do, I’ll admit, because I, too, am a glass-half-full optimist when it comes to life and race. I recognize that this optimism is a form of privilege, a byproduct of the luck and success I’ve had in my life. I have a career that I love, I own a home, I have savings to carry me through an emergency. But I am also hyper aware that I’m an exception, rather than the rule. To wit: Only 44% of Black people own a home compared to 74% for whites; the median wealth for white Americans is $142,000 compared to just $24,100 for Black Americans. Black workers earn 15% less than our white counterparts. Beyond economics, Black people are more likely to die of gun violence… or pregnancy complications or cancer or diabetes or COVID. I could go on with more crushing stats. How easy it’s been for too many people to distance themselves from and rationalize these gross disparities with the false belief that they must be the result of cultural deficits or personal shortcomings, rather than face up to the harsh reality: the system was designed exactly this way from the very start, to keep an entire group of people from accessing education, economic opportunity and equal rights and then blame them for it.

Which is why I hate the idea that people could point to me as some sort of example for how we must be over-exaggerating racism, because LOOK! at these successful Black people. It’s a dangerous myth of “exceptionalism” and ignores a glaring reality for hundreds of thousands of BIPOC people in this country and the oppressive systems of inequality that keep them from having the same opportunities.

After all, how easily it could be a very different story. If I lived in another town, I could be Breonna Taylor; if I took a road trip on a summer day through some back roads, I could be Sandra Bland; if I had decided to have kids I could be Lucy McBath. And on and on. I’m constantly aware that my life as a Black woman is very much a there but for the grace of God go I situation.

This is the weight I was feeling over the past year, as I’m sure you were, too — a heightened recognition of all the ways the world is dangerous, unfair and demeaning to people who look like us. This is the weight I felt as I cried through George Flyod’s funeral last summer, and as I fielded well-meaning emails from white friends who would never truly know what it was like to be Black in America, and as I dealt with a painful career situation with upsetting racial implications.

Which all led to a sense of helplessness, too. Because, if one thing has become crystal clear, it’s that since white people built this system, they have to be the ones to dismantle it, even when they might feel so far removed from its detrimental effects; even when it could come at a cost to them. It felt like there was momentum on that front, didn’t it? The protests, and marches, and education; those thoughtful texts and emails I was getting; the collective primal scream of, “This has got to stop.”

But looking back, a year later, you ask a pressing question on everyone’s minds: have we stalled in our great racial awakening? Did we make tangible progress? There will be a million think pieces that explore those questions over the next few months. And I’ll leave it to the sociologists, economists and journalists to try to qualify that. From a personal standpoint, however, in a lot of ways, I say yes. One measure of that is that people (including Race Matters column readers) seem intent to be aware of the intricacies of racist systems. I think people are starting to understand that white supremacy is not a personal failing, but a deeply embedded institutional one. I’ve observed that more people are thinking critically about redlining, the gross disparities in the criminal justice system, police violence, attempts to quash voter rights, etc. And white folks are also more aware of their capacity for bias, defensiveness and fragility. Awareness is half the battle.

But the all important next step is, of course, action. Here, too, I have seen some heartening strides. For example, the publishing industry’s efforts to hire more BIPOC folks. I know that’s just one industry, but given its role in elevating stories and ideas and deciding who has a voice and a platform, it has an outsized impact in shaping our very culture, and thus the white supremacy at the heart of it.

Progress never feels fast enough though, does it? But it doesn’t mean we give up. We can’t; we don’t have a choice but to carry on, endure and strive; which are, themselves, acts of resistance.

So, given all of this, what are my recommendations for a weary traveler?

Soak up the positive. We see all the negative news; it’s liberating to also notice “feel good” fare that affirms the goodness of humanity. Sometimes we don’t focus on the positive because it seems a cop out, or a slippery slope to complacency if we dare turn away from the pressing struggles for even a moment, but we need these stories as fuel and balm. Consider following Good News Movement or Because of Them on Instagram. Poetry offers this, too — this Margaret Walker poem never fails to uplift me.

Do something. We could all stand to focus more on the power we do have and not the power we don’t. Volunteering, donating, supporting artists and activists — that matters and it gives us a sense of agency. Small acts do add up.

Have hard conversations. One thing I’ve realized is that we don’t talk about race enough at work, at school, in our families or with our friends. (And thus this column!) This isn’t just **people of color** talking to white people, but it’s white people talking to other white people. Racial enlightenment is not a quiet self-improvement journey. It’s dynamic and interactive and messy. A good adage is: see something, say something. We have to be brave enough to call people out when we hear cringe-worthy opinions and to share our experiences and perspectives, even when it’s hard or uncomfortable.

Remind yourself that hope is a muscle. It’s as easy to give into despair as it is to sit on the couch and eat French fries. Hope is the jog you take to get your blood pumping. Remember that hope is not something that comes to you — it’s a decision and an action.

Beyond that, I hold an image in my mind; it’s cobbled together from the many slave narratives I’ve read and maybe vestiges imprinted in my DNA. A woman working in bondage on an Alabama cottonfield with a newborn strapped to her back. Her circumstances are impossibly grisly and there’s no reason to believe that her child will fare any better than a life of cruelty and depraved conditions. And yet, she does. She imagines a world where her progeny are free, can marry who they want, earn a living, have a voice and a say in their very lives. It’s an audacious dream. And yet, if she were to glimpse the world today, she would be shocked. For all its imperfections, it is a world where those wishes came true.

Then another image: 100 years later. My own grandparents trying to rent a house only to be told by the landlord point blank he doesn’t rent to “ni**ers.” I see them walking away from that encounter shaken, dreaming of a day where their future children and grandchildren would be protected by Fair Housing laws, would be able to get a sound mortgage and own a home. Would have the right to vote to be able to ensure the fairness of those laws. They lived to see that.

And one more: This one is hazy, a whisper really… It’s 30, or 50, or 100 years from now, when we, too, could glimpse a world that is unrecognizable to us in the best possible way.

This imaginary triptych in my mind’s eye tells a story of progress and resilience, and it brings me comfort. It’s a reminder that true change is a long game and so then is hope.

So, rest up, Sick and Tired, for the journey is long. Have faith, for the road heads towards the sun. Take heart, for your fellow travelers are right here with you.

Rest in peace, George Floyd.

xChristine


Christine Pride is a writer, book editor and content consultant. Her debut novel, We Are Not Like Them, written with Jo Piazza, will be published by Atria in fall 2021. She lives in Harlem, New York. Feel free to email her with your questions at racematters@cupofjo.com or connect with her on Instagram @cpride.

P.S. More race matters columns, and five things I want to tell my white friends.

(Portrait of Christine Pride by Christine Han.)

  1. Amy says...

    Thank you for this piece, Christine. I’ve had it “mentally bookmarked” so that I could come back and read it when I had the time to truly absorb your words.

    I am a white woman who is still 100% determined to be a part of the change. I’m still in the learning phase….because, so far, I’ve learned that I can’t let my emotions be in charge of the hard conversations. I am hopeful that staying engaged and consuming media written by Black authors & activists will help me confront hard topics, as if it’s second-nature…because I’ll have the knowledge to back me up. I know it won’t be easy – but if I can stay calm and be confident, I hope that I can avoid getting immediately flustered or dumbfounded, and I’ll be able to say the hard things that need to be heard by the white people in my life.

    And, just to echo so many of the other comments: your imaginary triptych is truly moving. Thank you for giving my Hope muscle a workout this morning :)

  2. Hayley says...

    Thank you for your words Christine. The imaginary triptych you describe brings up so many emotions- there is so much work to be done but there is hope. Thank you for sharing.

  3. Maryann says...

    “Hope is a muscle.” Yes. Such a good reminder. And beautiful triptych – that is going to stay with me. Thank you, Christine.

  4. Elle says...

    Thank you for this powerfully written article. It certainly does seem like complacency has crept its way into the movement, and this has been a call to action for myself, a white woman, to pick up where I left off in my efforts to become an ally for BIPOC. I will continue working my way through ‘Me and White Supremacy’. I’ve moved to a new neighbourhood and noticed someone flying a ‘blue lives matter flag’. I’ve been considering writing them a carefully worded letter to evoke some understanding around how hurtful a symbol thag flag is for the BIPOC community, and this article has reminded me that it is something I need to do, right away.

  5. Liz C. says...

    Wow, what a writer, thinker, reflective practitioner you are Christine, you have crystalized so much in this essay. Thank you for your words, your wisdom, your spirit, your courage. I am moved, moved to act, moved to make change, to help make that third image a reality someday, someday.

  6. Anne says...

    “Have hard conversations” yes!! On the same day you posted this I received Megan Madison’s new picture book “Our Skin” from the First Conversations series. We have to start these hard conversations young so the next generation grows up already knowing how to face the hard stuff head on! Thank you for this beautiful post!

  7. NM says...

    “Racial enlightenment is not a quiet self-improvement journey. It’s dynamic and interactive and messy.”

    So true. Important work is always messy and scary. Relationships, ones built on love and honesty, always demand growing pains.

    Truth is not easy.
    Growth is not easy.
    Empathy is not easy.
    Letting go of the structures that seemingly hold us together, but actually keep us apart, not easy.

    But, as we know— there is fear that spells danger. And there is fear that spells growth.
    That’s the fear you walk into.

  8. chrissy kaszanek says...

    Wow. I am speechless. What an amazing read. Thank you for posting this.

  9. Heather says...

    Somehow you always cover every corner my mind goes to in these columns – your thoughts and advice are so substantive. Thank you!

    And speaking for myself, a white woman, I definitely do feel a sense of urgency more than I ever have. I have so many failings and much to work on still, but now it’s all in the forefront of my mind. I definitely spend more time analyzing my words and interactions – which is likely a good thing, carrying a tiny tiny fraction of the emotional labor Black people been doing their whole lives.

    Thank you again!

    • Thank you, Heather, for reading and for the emotional labor you’re now doing in the name of allyship.

  10. Laura says...

    Talk about your ugly cry. Thank you, Christine.

  11. Agnès says...

    So beautifully written and carefuly expressed. Thank you.

  12. Emily says...

    Beautiful, Christine. Thank you. I try to remember that being hopeful about change doesn’t mean that it’ll be easy, and just because it’s hard doesn’t mean we should lose hope.

  13. Julie says...

    This was a balm for me, and obviously for others too. Thank you so much.

    Also: for anyone reading who doesn’t follow Rachel Cargle on IG — she often posts about ease and joy for Black women, in addition to her antiracist content. She seems to exemplify the balance of action and rest in a beautiful way.

    • Hi Julie! Thanks for the kind words! Great shout for Rachel. I second that–her IG content is really great. She’s an excellent person to follow.

  14. Akari says...

    Thank you so much for this powerful piece and advice!

  15. Hello,
    Thank you so much for this beautiful response to “sick and tired.” As a black woman, I often have to remember that while we deal with a lot of injustices today, there are a lot of progresses that have been made. In reference to your story about the slave mother, I 100% agree that they would never have believed that black people would have made as many strides as we have. The fact that there are black writers, judges, doctors, lawyers, and important members of communities. While our ancestors hoped the best for their children, they probably didn’t see this amount of progress happening. It doesn’t mean that we ignore or don’t speak about injustices that we personally experience, but we also have ot be proud of our progress.

    • Christine Pride says...

      It’s so true– we have to celebrate our progress AND accept that we have much farther to go. They’re not mutually exclusive. Thanks for reading and commenting, Desiree– I so appreciate the engagement of this whole community.

  16. April L VanDerwerken says...

    Just wanted to say that I really enjoy this column. Thank you Christine. Looking forward to reading your book.

    • Thank YOU for reading the column. I hope you like We Are Not Like Them!

  17. Shannon says...

    Thank you Christine!

  18. MB says...

    Beautifully expressed and written, and thought-provoking as well. Thank you

    • Ellen says...

      Exactly.

  19. Kate says...

    Thank you for inspiring hope in us through this eloquent piece. <3
    And I love that some of you gals are talking about redistribution of wealth in your own communities. I don't believe that we'll have real improvements in racial disparity until these economic factors are addressed.
    It's imperative that we talk about reimagining our future as a species. I would love to see more conversation from the dreamspace on this blog. That's what inspires me most. Let's let our imaginations run wild!
    Much love to you, Christine, and to those of you doing this work. <3

  20. Amy says...

    I love this column Christine Pride. What a beautiful and powerful essay. I can’t wait for your book to be published this fall and for a cup of jo book party where we can discuss the story together.

    • BOOK PARTIES!! INDOORS! COLD CHAMPANGNE!! A girl can dream. You’re all invited. :)
      Thanks for reading, Amy!

  21. Jennifer says...

    What a beautiful, strong, and thought-provoking response to a beautiful and heartfelt question. Thank you for creating this column.

  22. Neysa says...

    Beautiful words – just what I needed xo

  23. Nicki says...

    Thanks so much Christine, for your words and for your optimism. I loved this.

  24. Caitlin says...

    I’m really grateful for this column. Christine, your writing is so powerful to me. I find that I come back and re-read your columns, soak them in and discuss them with a few friends. Appreciate your writing so much.

  25. Amanda Millstein says...

    Thank you Christine. I am reading and re-reading this. To echo what others have said, the imaginary triptych — with the 3rd view the most misty and clouded at this point — is both sad and inspiring at the same time. Despite the immense privilege I have as a white woman, I find myself struggling immensely to imagine the future for my two young children, ages 3 and 5, especially when I think of our cascading crises — racism, climate change, misinformation. I will hold tight to this and thank you again for your words.

  26. Susannah says...

    Thank you Chistine, this is so powerfully and beautifully written. And thank you Cup of Jo for continuing to feature columns like this.

  27. Meghan says...

    Thank you for the work you do. Continuing to work towards true justice in our lifetime.

    • N says...

      Goose bumps from this white woman. And yes to ‘see something, say something’. It feels good to speak up and sets an example for our kids and others. My 9 year old remembers the calm but resolute conversation I had last year (him by my side) with a shop owner who disagreed with BLM (she had called the police to report an adjacent shop decorating a beautiful BLM message outside their store front). We no longer take our business there – my son’s idea, before I ever suggested it. Ignoring this BS is no longer an option.

  28. CC says...

    Thank you for this. As a white woman, this is so important for me to read and really think about and talk about long after I am done reading it.

    • Emilie says...

      Hear hear, CC.

      I’m someone who tends to avoid conflict and uncomfortable conversations (what a privilege!), but after the murder of George Floyd it was impossible to stay silent during the kind of white-on-white cringey and sometimes upsetting discussions Christine references.

      “See something, say something” MUST continue during these conversations among white folks, even though the energy surrounding the discourse of systemic racism now is not *quite* as explosive as it was this time last year. BIPOC (Christine foremost among them in my experience, along with Rebecca Carroll, Stephanie Yeboah, Rachel Cargle, Ibram X. Kendi, Layla Saad and many others) have labouriously lead white people through our own fragile and misinformed understandings of white supremacist institutions, and to abandon our attempts to dismantle these systems now would be the pinnacle of betrayal. We must keep at it, dear fellow readers!!!

      Thank you so much for this moving and beautifully written piece, Christine. Your triptych image will stay with me (and inspire me) forever.

  29. Anne says...

    Thank you so much for this post, Christine. Beautifully written and so important. I admire your outlook on and practical advice about these matters – thank you for sharing with us, with love from the Netherlands.

  30. Neela says...

    As a Sri Lankan Australian now living in Berlin I was exposed to a lot of racism growing up. And although I feel relatively removed from the Black/white issue as it pertains to the USA, there is a lot I can learn from, and also take comfort from, in this gorgeous essay. It felt like a sermon, a balsam, to read about the hope we can hold, in the quest for a more equal humanity. Thank you for the image of the triptych, which I will hold onto.

  31. AMK says...

    Thank you addressing this incredibly important discussion 🙏🏽🙏🏽🙏🏽🙏🏽

  32. K says...

    I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately. As a white woman getting ready to move back to my college stomping grounds in what was once declared “the most racist city in the US”, a town that’s now filled with cool progressive young people AND is rapidly gentrifying (Lincolnville, the first free black community in the US, is a neighborhood white people are buying up in droves. Twenty years ago you couldn’t get a pizza delivered there because it was mostly black).

    Anyway, my thought is as a white woman with a stable job, in a town that is rapidly growing, I have a responsibility to somehow help redistribute community wealth to black families who have been there for generations, but who are getting the short end of the stick. I’ve been thinking about reaching out to progressive business owners (my husband and I are also starting a side business ourselves) to see if anyone’s interested in doing a mutual fund of some kind to help with down payments for black homeownership. Helping build generational wealth is one small way to help balance the scales. I’m not trying to be a savior of any kind but feel I have to do something reparations-wise, since our government is not.

  33. L says...

    Wow this is so beautiful and powerful. Had to sit with it for a bit and then read it again. Eloquence is failing me but I wholeheartedly agree that hope, optimism is a lot of times a choice and a thing to exercise. I feel like that’s related to my hardest won lesson which is basically that when I’m spiraling down in the dark thoughts I can decide to just stop. It’s not always easy especially these days and I struggle a lot. But actively choosing hope and positive thinking can have SUCH a powerful impact on ourselves and everything we do. I love the triptych you paint. I also think of the enslaved ancestors and their choice to survive in the face of unfathomable trauma. Things can look pretty bleak these days and I hear people questioning whether to have kids in a world like this but we never know what world is coming and we can help create it if we try. When I was younger I wondered what the problems of the future would be and it’s turning out so far to be all the same old problems. So disheartening to realize that progress so often is one step forward and two steps back. But we have no choice but to keep trudging forward with love in our hearts. Rest In Peace, George Floyd.

  34. Elizabeth says...

    Thank you

  35. This piece is as beautiful as it is insightful. Your words read like a sermon, summoning hope for a better future. Thank you for your voice, your poetry, your heart. May we all look for the brighter bits.

  36. E says...

    I am just another white person who will continue to screw up, but I have gotten better about talking about race and privilege with other white people. Thank you for the nudge to keep its up. Regular donations to bail funds and charities run by and for POC are also a good way to redistribute generational wealth that other races haven’t had access to!

  37. Kelly says...

    Thank you for writing this, Christine.

  38. Lala says...

    So so good. Thank you.

  39. Rosalie says...

    What a beautiful column. The image of ancestors and us looking forward is so powerful! Today, at my school, we stood outside in silence for over nine minutes. My students in special education were so moved by it that some were crying and hugging each other and staff. I have hope that by the time they’re older adults, through the hard work put in by all of us, some things will be better.

  40. Anonymous says...

    Thank you for this column. I’m Black and was recently the victim of a cyber-hate threat that called me the N-word and mentioned my home address and email. Very scary. I won’t let racism take away my hopefulness or my country. But, I have to admit that getting that message (sent through my kids’ school) was terrifying.

    • Oh my god. That is awful. I’m so, so sorry that happened to you. Terrifying indeed and a reminder of how cruel and downright terrible people can be. I’m sorry that in the face of that appalling act you have to work that much harder to have faith in humanity and stay hopeful, but it sounds like this monster hasn’t robbed you of that. I wish I could give you a hug– sending one.

    • Ker says...

      I am so sorry this happened to you. How utterly awful and terrifying. I can only begin to imagine what you’re feeling. I wish I had some powerful words of comfort, but all I can say is that this internet stranger is heartbroken that you experienced this and sends love and solidarity.

    • S says...

      Does the fact that it was sent through your kids’ school mean they can help investigate and intervene?
      I am so sorry that happened to you. I wish people could spend the energy it takes to do something like that and instead spend it on something positive. Thank you for inspiring me to stay positive too.

    • Heather says...

      This is so scary and crazy – I really hope they can trace its somehow so the culprit is held responsible. Also hoping you feel supported by that school!

  41. Tovah says...

    Gorgeous and moving as always. Thank you, Christine.

  42. Kara, Seattle says...

    I really value hearing the experiences & wisdom of so many different women on COJ. I wish I had something more profound to say on this day of remembering such violence, but the different voices & perspectives have definitely added to this website. Although we are all different types of readers, I think we do have one key thing in common: we value listening to the stories of other women because we can use that info to ultimately, make our lives better. More of the planet needs to realize this.

  43. Sara says...

    Thank you, Christine.

  44. Alison says...

    I found this very powerful and very moving. You made the hope which has often seem elusive real and the poem you referenced is exquisite. I too loved the imaginary triptych you conjured and will hold onto that for some time to come. Thanks, Christine.

    • Thank you so much for the kind words, Alison. I so appreciate you reading the column and glad to have offered a little inspiration today by way of Margaret Walker– that poem is so good, right?

  45. Annie K. says...

    Oh my God, so beautiful. Thank you.

  46. Lisa says...

    You gave me chills. Thank you. White people do need to something, say something, and prepare to bear some consequences for speaking up. Black people have born the weight for centuries while we, I at least, have been exempt.

  47. K says...

    SO beautiful. You are gifted.

  48. GoldenMoon says...

    Thank you for this incredible response. Your vision holding and remembering what ancestors held too is so powerful medicine to reflect on. Rest in peace, George Floyd and all the others whose lives have been taken out of hate. May we all know we have power to be part of collapsing the systems that uphold power over others.

  49. Amy says...

    “True change is a long game, so then is hope.” Wow. Needs to be a shirt or tattoo or printed somewhere to be repeated in my head over and over. Beautiful.

    • Jenny K says...

      Right, Amy? Wozie zowie, Christine Pride, that was gorgeous.

    • Thank you so much Amy. A t-shirt is so much less painful than a tattoo so maybe that. :)

  50. Brenna says...

    I saw a small hopeful thing last month here in Ottawa. I often hear contemptuous and incredulous reactions to news reports of specific instances of racism from the more right-wing branch of my friends and family, but with the case of Keshna Spalding who, like others who “bank while black”, have their cheques and credit excessively and degradingly questioned at the bank, it was different and they were more sympathetic and indignant about the treatment. I don’t know why this case was different, but it’s hopeful to see.

    • Emma says...

      Wow! I’m in Ottawa and completely missed this news story. So frustrating. However I have just booked Keshna for a painting job so thank you for highlighting his work!!

    • Brenna says...

      Great! It would suuuure be nice to see bipoc tradespeople get a fraction of the attention artists have received in the past year. When I was looking up how to spell his name I saw all his business socials and thought f&#k yes, lol.

  51. Leslie-Anne says...

    This beautifully written piece made me cry. To be hopeful often seems like a fool’s errand, but not to be hopeful is worse. Thank you, Christine, for your encouragement and good sense. I needed both today.

  52. MB says...

    Christine Pride—what a powerful response. Thank you.

  53. Kat says...

    THANK YOU for the “imaginary triptych”! I really struggle sometimes with seeing how far we have to go, but putting it into context like this makes it seem more achievable. Yes it will probably take longer than it should, but with diligence we can get there.