New day

I sit outside listening to the birds and the twinkling of my flamingo wind chime and I ruminate on the last three months. Then, I think about about these last weeks. How change happens can sometimes be unpredictable and I am finally seeing what I hope is a seismic shift in criminal justice policies.

For far too long, I have participated as a deputy public defender representing clients in a broken system, one about which I was constantly conflicted. Harm reduction was my goal but now, I have decided to stand up and to speak out. My practice will change. It has to. Now, I will practice my feminism in my work and call for true change. I have always nurtured and protected my clients and urged for salvation rather than incarceration.

As Angela Davis said recently in an interview with Democracy Now:

"And I would say that abolition is not primarily a negative strategy. It’s not primarily about dismantling, getting rid of, but it’s about reenvisioning. It’s about building anew. And I would argue that abolition is a feminist strategy. And one sees in these abolitionist demands that are emerging the pivotal influence of feminist theories and practices."

Reading her words, it is as if a lightbulb went off in my head, and my eyes opened. My views have always aligned with this abolitionist and feminist ideology. I've always known that this criminal so called system of "justice" was anything but just. It's just recently, however, that I have found the synergy in my work and writing to articulate it.

It's also been about reading, because all writing should begin with inspiration from writers who inspire and for me, Angela Davis' words do just that.

If I can urge anything, it's to read books like "Is Prison Obsolete" by Angela Davis and "The New Jim Crow" about the racism behind mass incarceration by Michelle Alexander. The best writers are prophets and see what society cannot until decades later.

Much like how the best musicians are visionaries, these writers saw and said and wrote the truth we are seeing today. Their words will resonate. I promise you that.

Static

Static: Defined as “pertaining to or characterized by a fixed or stationary condition” or “interference due to such (atmospheric) electricity”. (Source: dictionary.com).

Can you hear me?
Screaming in my head
Let my people go
Let me go

Saying let us go
Release everyone
From this system
That hurts us all

I used to think
As a deputy public defender
I could work within it
Now I see it’s broken

Can you hear me?
Screaming in your ear
Listen to me
Please listen, listen!

Let me do what I do
Then let me go
From this misery
Of banging my head

My ears are ringing
From the beat of cuffs
On bars of cells
Across America

Are you there?
Can you hear me?
Screaming your name
It all still remains

Excuse me
Excuse you
Forgive me
Forgive us all

We know not what we do
Or maybe we do

Testament

I am just here as a witness in these times. When a black man is held down and killed over and over and over. People are angry, frustrated, sad, and hurt that the state and systems have not been accountable and rightly so.

We have let people down. The systems are only as good as the people running them. For far too long, we have allowed others to shape the narrative. People like me, who have seen the inequities and systematic injustices on a daily basis, have not said enough. I feel as if I have not amplified my voice. I haven’t screamed loud enough for people to hear. This is my community dammit.

Because you see, as a deputy public defender, I see it. Every day. I thought it was enough to try to cure injustice one person and one client at a time. But it’s not. Micro change is important yes. And my clients need me desperately. They often have no one else.

But big change is needed. Macro change that makes foundational and structural shifts in how justice is applied. And that requires all of us who work within this system of so called justice to scream out against it. Say it out loud. Say their names. Don’t back down. Be a tireless advocate, yes, but also a political force and voice.

You see, they need us to testify to their pain so others will be able to see what we see.

We’re no longer just lawyers, we’re witnesses.

Fantasy Island

Everything looks nice on TV. Social Media is the same. It’s fantasy, a kind of construct.

I have said before that the image I project on the page is not me. It’s only a version of me. We all contain multitudes (Whitman).

This pandemic has created tiny worlds for us all. We used to run around keeping so busy. We were all worker ants and busy bees. Now that everything has slowed down, ground to a halt may be a more fitting description, we are still and quiet. That stillness can be terrifying.

Being stuck in one’s head is a frightening experience, especially when you’re not moving. The stationary nature of the pandemic, however, can also be an opportunity for growth. For me, I’ve been working on my poetic voice, learning to cook more than just eggs, and we have (well Adrian really) been working on the asthetics of our spaces.

What I have realized is that everyone needs hobbies. And pandemic hobbies may not be the same as your non-pandemic hobbies. For example, right now, it’s very hard for me to work on my memoir, but I find blogging and poetry cathartic and healing.

I’ve also become closer to some friends by talking to them on Zoom or on the telephone (can you imagine?!). I’ve also realized how much I miss my work colleagues who have always accepted my quirkiness. Even when I get annoyed at work, and the sheer overwhelming nature of the broken system I work within, I know how lucky I am.

I guess what I’m trying to say is, go easy on yourself. And realize that the images people project are just that, images, and reach out to those you care about.

When this all passes, and it will I promise, you want to remember these times and have used them to grow and reflect. Most of all, I want to remember these times as when I helped those in need.

But like I said, be easy on yourself and if you want to be a Netflix couch potato that’s OK too. I’m part of that club. I will never apologize for binging a series with my huge bowl of popcorn (topped with real melted butter and lots of salt).

Much love to all of you who read my musings. It means a lot. I will reciprocate and I’m here if anyone needs an ear.

On the horizon

Something is brewing up on the horizon. I’ve had this feeling before. When I get this tingle, all the way from my head to my toes, it always means big changes.

There’s something in the air. It’s not just the strangeness of the pandemic. It’s everything. The world, my world, feels as if it’s tilted on its axis. The air feels different.

For the last two months, I’ve been struggling with the pandemic, and with my workload and other’s expectations of me. Then this weekend, I meditated and prayed for it, it being my terror, to go away. For me to be able to let it all go. It worked, that fear, it’s gone. The anxiety I had for weeks in my gut just disappeared as if by magic. In its place is just a calm, a calm like still water.

Maybe it’s because I've come to the realization that I do not care what other people think of me any more. The opinion of others just doesn’t matter to me. I’ve always had a deep desperation for everyone to love me. I wanted to please everyone, at the expense of my own self. Now I’ve decided,  I don’t need to be liked. Or needed. Or appreciated.

I’ve made a choice you see. A choice to put me first. It’s not selfishness. It’s self love.

The only thing I care about now is whether I meet my own internal criteria. I ask myself, are you helping people? Are you doing your best? Are you being a good person? Are you meeting your own internal goals? Are you being loving and true?

My whole life I’ve cared so much about what others thought. Their opinion and evaluation of me was everything. This blog post is my way of saying, forget it. It’s my external bulletin board message to the universe saying, I’m me and I’m good. Screw what everyone else thinks because I don’t give a shit.

All I want is to be happy and joyful. I want to sing and dance and be my best self.

Merry. Sunny. Introspective. Outgoing. Those are just a few of my new adjective goals. Wait, add in fearless and honest. Oh and optimistic, courageous, loving, funny and kind.

From now on, I want to put my feet on the ground each morning and meet my life’s purpose.

What is it you ask?

Dear reader, that’s exactly what I am trying to find out.

Chirping

The birds are chirping so loud. Or maybe it is just so quiet that they sound loud. It is 630 am in the morning and all I hear are the singing birds and my dogs breathing. It’s beautiful. The birds sing and sing. Maybe I’m just learning to listen.

On my second tiny cup of espresso, I stretch. This is day whatever of the pandemic. There are surprises to be learned during a pandemic. One thing I’ve learned is that my dogs are spoiled rotten and also that I enjoy sanitizing the house every morning, the regimen of it, and doing laundry. Who knew?

My new organized closet makes me happy. It’s also my office so when I’m working, I sometimes take a break and look at my sequined jacket and dresses and imagine myself dancing in them again in Vegas. I remember all the Vegas trips and don’t regret them one bit. My party days may be somewhat behind me but I’ll always have the memories.

I have also found that writing poetry eases my anxiety and writing prose increases it. Why is that? Reading has also vexed me. Until yesterday, I wasn’t able to escape into a book. My mind wouldn’t let go of this anxiety inducing world to let me fall into the literary world. Then yesterday, I started reading a memoir and poof! I fell into it, losing myself for a couple of hours. It was bliss.

It’s Friday and of course, I have more legal work to do before a long weekend. I have telephonic hearings this morning and then a training (a pox on those those who plan a training for a Friday afternoon on a holiday weekend). After that, I plan to spend my weekend reading and floating in the pool. My goal is to disappear into a book and find myself while also finding truth and beauty.

Roar

Blogging can be cathartic, and it’s an effective way to bear witness. In my more than a decade of blogging, I have memorialized my joys and my sadness, my mental health struggles, devastating deaths, happy travels, my infertility, my anniversaries and birthdays, along with my successes in creative writing and my trials and tribulations as a deputy public defender. But never have I had to bear witness in times like these.

Times like these make you question everything. I don’t know who I am anymore. I’ve realized that I’m much more anxious than I knew and a lot less patient. I have obsessive tendencies, and I can throw myself into things for the greater good or into drinking and lose myself. Both are harmful. I tell myself, all things in moderation. But it’s hard. I’m self-destructive and cynical. I’m not happy. But who is?

Happiness, however, may need to be redefined. At this point, I’m grateful to have my husband, my mom and my mom-in-law in my inner circle. My mom is home in her apartment (she just got back from my twin sister’s house). I’m seeing her once a week. It’s a joy. And life with the husband, mom-in-law and the spoiled shih tzus has found a purpose and meaning that’s surprising. When I’m not binging Madame Secretary, there are deep connections to be made. Telling conversations to be had. Reminiscing about times past is what I do in my writing, but I also need to do it in my life.

For this is not me. I am not sad and frustrated all of the time. Am I? Remember? I was happy. I am happy. Maybe if I say it, it will be so. Like a mantra. I’m happy. I’m happy. I’m happy. Click my heels three times. Is it working? I feel a little better. Everything is relative.

There are days when I am still me. I rail against injustice, then blast the Sex Pistols and Buzzcocks and jump up and dance, I make funny faces, but I scream in frustration when I run out of stamps. Then, I wake up to another day and make pancakes. Pancakes are prayer for me right now. They remind me of my father and when I make a pretty pancake, I say a little “whoop” under my breath.

Small steps my friends. Bowie helps. Yoga too. It’s the breathing. Reminding yourself, you’re still here. That’s powerful.

Who will I be when this is all over? I hope I will have morphed into someone who is a bit less self-destructive, and a lot more grateful and joyful. Into a girl who knows she can do and be anything. Into someone who expresses her love in both her actions and words. Who says “I love you” without hesitation or fear to those she loves the most. To someone who is not self critical but self empowering. And most of all, into someone who always speaks and writes her truth.

I am pandemic lioness hear me roar.