“And we saw it then,

An Age, set down in Crystal.

And the more we gazed down,

The more clear it all became.

All our fears, worries,

Joys and bonds,

Reflections of a world

Now only Forever”

—Evelyn Wort, “The Dragon and Web”

It's never been more clear to me, today here in the summer of 2020, that what's important never changed.

These have indeed been months of fierce change, savage hypocrisy, late-day Prophets, hungry minds, restless hands, and a historic scythe of what I thought our little world to be. I knew that it was possible that one of the viruses that we've heard about for years would cross our oceans, that it could become a global issue, but what I wasn't prepared for was how it would bring my life into sharp focus. If the question is what I've learned in the past almost (unbelievably) six months, it's one word: clarity.

I've seen a government that I, frankly, knew didn't care about my personal well-being stop being quiet about it. More than that, I've seen them take the mask off that reads that they care about anyone other than their own. My home country was woefully unprepared for this, and I fear that it was out of choice. I wonder what my father would have said if he was still here. When he saw politicians discussing the acceptable numbers of sick and dead children, just to make sure an imaginary line representing imaginary money didn't drop below an imaginary limit. I can see, with microscopic clarity, that I have more in common with a barrel of trash awaiting pickup on my street than those who claim to be my elected servants. I am living in an empire, and the empire is falling.

As I write this, though, I find myself losing patience with the negative aspects of this pandemic. I don't want for you, dear reader, to mistake this distaste for blind optimism or a willful ignorance of the pain of our time. Much to the contrary, I can't escape the pain, the cries, the fires burning everywhere, and every day. But as I write this, could I allow myself just a moment of joy? Of hearing the violins as the boat sinks, and finding any level of meaning in them? To eat the corner of the bread, the rest of which has gone stale? Why not? Why can't I run for one night? Why can't I drink deep of the wine of the world, even as it scratches my throat?

Maybe that's the true meaning of this historic clarity. That truly: THIS IS IT. THIS IS ALL. THIS IS LIFE. The vinegar is knee-deep and tastes like vinegar. We are all here, together. And I am here, together with myself.

And what does that mean to me? I think it means that I've survived to meet this challenge. I've felt tremendous, crushing, hateful stress bearing down on me. In a life of dark nights of the soul, I can't remember feeling this tired. But I'm still awake. I'm still upright. And I'm still here. Why not celebrate that tiny victory in a hostile world? Can't I be allowed to feel like the morning mouse who couldn't sleep for the sound of the owl? What could be a real strength, if not staring down the cold barrel of history, and laughing “No”?

What's clear to me now, is that I am a being of incredible might. I've always felt small, but improbably, the boot of these months has made me feel gigantic. My hands flex into a stony fist, ready to defend those who are being pushed away from an uncaring power faster than ever. Every minute I spend at my job supports the supply chain that keeps good, everyday, real people fed and clothed. The money I earn from my job can be used to help people even further. I've chased away years of anxiety and depression (for the most part) to really improve myself and stop being afraid. I wish I could go back in time to half a hundred moments and tell my younger self that. That I would enter the fire and LIVE. That I would THRIVE. That I wouldn't give up on the goodness in this world.

But you know, the most important thing that I've been shown by these months is this: I am just one person. Despite my newfound power and strength, despite the fire that I find within myself, I am a tiny animal walking a tiny path on a tiny ground. I can't save the world. I can't breathe into the hearts of every hate-filled husk that I encounter. I can't liberate all the people in the shadow of my privilege. I can't make the world a better place. It's all too big for me to even touch.

However, I can change my world. I can damn sure do that every day. I can greet every person I meet with empathy, respect, kindness, and charity. I can be the daily knife that stands against oppression when it crosses my path. I can work to be actively anti-racist and uplift, listen to and learn from marginalized voices. I can live my life, every day that remains in my pocket, as I want the world to feel. I can be the warm aura of fresh bread. I can be the sacred darkness of a loved one's embrace. I can be...better. I can be better tomorrow than I was today. I can love, and love myself enough to not hold unreasonable expectations. I can be me.

And we can all be ourselves, together. That's how I know we can win. Hand in hand, with perfect clarity. I love you all.

“But what if the world was just too big for our eyes to see, Gran-Hopper? What if we could only see it by looking at it together?”

—excerpted from Little Leaf Hopper in the Big Wood by Ian Snell