I wrote the first part of this series three days before my family and I survived one of the worst natural disasters in our region during our lifetimes. In this part of the series, I had planned to talk about the beauty I found among the trees and wildlife while living in a small forest this past year. However, I found myself filled with grief the past couple of months after a devastating winter storm covered my community with so much ice that thousands of trees exploded or were uprooted. I can still vividly recall my first glance into the forest behind my home, the scenery completely devastated after the storm.

I wept. Seeing so many trees halved by the storm created a sense of regret. My heart questioned why I had not foraged in the forest yet. Was it really my fear of the unknown critters keeping me out? Why hadn't I found time to wander more? To learn? To just try?

I also felt cheated a bit. I had already spoken with a forester about creating a forest management plan but couldn't start the registration process due to federal staff layoffs. The forester informed me that the trees could be valuable. I had decided that I did not want to cut many trees, if any at all. It didn't feel right to me. Well, now, nature has cut many trees for me. Sigh.

Decisions, decisions. Surviving the storm helped me to see that the real fear I have is making a decision about how to steward the land. I have never owned land until now. As someone from deep poverty, I feel a deep responsibility to both the land and my people to be in harmony with all. Deep in my spirit, I knew this was a higher calling than I yet had wisdom for.

Last week, however, I spent time on St. Helena, an island in the Gullah Geechee corridor. While this trip was work related, the ancestral spirit of the land quite overtook me. The Spanish Moss trees, large swaths of marshes, and glimpses at the ocean made clear the sacred intentions of nature. Hearing the stories of how Gullah Geechee people have lived in harmony with their land, been protected by their land, and continue to steward their land in such a respectful manner awakened my desire to do the same in the forest. It also prompted me to better understand the history of this place and its original purposes so that I do not cause harm.

After the Storm

As for my family and I, we were without electricity for two weeks and internet for a month during the storm’s aftermath. We evacuated our home for safety after being stuck (due to iced roads) in below freezing temperatures for a few days. When we returned, we realized we need a new water heater as water streamed down from our attic to flood portions of a bedroom and family space. We have now been back in a fully operational and safe home for a few weeks. I will admit that writing this tonight is a bit of self-soothing practice as we just spent the last few hours watching weather radars. A line of straight winds passed through, bringing many tornado and thunderstorm watches and warnings to the area. Thankfully, nothing serious developed here this time.

Now that we are getting back into a routine and weather will soon be warmer, I am making it my goal to hug trees. I am not interested in worshipping them but I do want to connect in ways that I had not before. I want to appreciate all of life that God has created around me. I have decided to listen for the whispers in the wind, ushering me into a stewardship that honors this land and the people of the past, present and future who steward it.

For the last part of this series, I will share visions that I had about this land and why it is important for us all to carry faith, hope, and love into the dreams we have about wherever we call home in Futuring in Place.

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There is so much I have to say that the weight of it has paralyzed me into silence. Every time I want to say something, I am pulled down into my chest. I need to write a book not a LinkedIn post to walk you through the history, beauty, sheer pain, resilience, resistance, and richness of Iran and Iranian people.

“Our liberation is interconnected” is not an abstract motto. It is a deeply personal matter. When we talk about justice, the horizon for me has always been transnational and a literal calculation of how many years, decades, and centuries it will take to go from a transformed U.S. to a free Iran? I am now convinced by the time it happens; we will be extinct.

What I carry as an Iranian in diaspora is not comparable with what my sister carries at home. But it illuminates a truth - that our pains are either deemed “irrelevant” or a “personal matter.” Where the reality cannot be further from the truth.

The calls from home all points to one thing - don’t let the world forget about us. And I don’t know how to break the news to them that the world has already moved on.

My wise mother always says, “thank god for forgetfulness, without that humans could not survive.” But I will make it my job to fight against the comfort of erasure. When I make myself invisible, I make my people invisible.

“There is a

gravity to grief.

it

pulls

you down.

past hunger,

past reason.

past the places instinct should save you.

a kind of drowning

that happens on dry land.”

A collective community plan is one that must include the voice and leadership of people who are first and worst impacted by these devastating events, and not just those who hold positional power or status. We cannot wait on our elected officials to do this for us. We must do this for ourselves, welcoming the cooperation and support of elected officials but not depending on it.

Today I feel hopeful because, as soon as I was able to access my phone service and internet again, I learned about the grassroots efforts happening all across my community and others in the region to reach every home in the area to ensure folks are safe. The road ahead is uncertain. However, I believe we will all get through this and be better on the other side of it.

I recently attended a virtual meeting with colleagues who shared stories about how they “came out” or became more explicit and open about their faith at work. The conversation was quite interesting because my colleagues are very diverse, representing many faiths and cultures. As I listened to people share, I thought over my work life and how faith has been a part of it for decades. However, as I got older and learned about diverse religions and faiths, I found myself less likely to openly discuss my faith when I did not know if others shared the same beliefs. I do believe, however, that faith is not something we have to say out loud but rather live out loud. My commitment to live out my faith has sometimes led me to be courageous when I have wanted to cower. I believe this same commitment to live my faith out loud is creating a future for me to carry out a vision that I do not yet have all the strategy nor resources to make possible.

A Shifting Faith Journey

When I started working in corporate settings, I found it near impossible to not talk about Jesus, Holy Spirit, and God because I had experienced so many spiritual encounters and had spent so much of my younger years serving in a Christian, Missionary Baptist ministry. I grew up as a youth Sunday School teacher in my home church and loved studying the Bible. I had a teaching pastor who wrote very detailed notes and shared them with us. I still have some of these notes today from decades ago. Given my passion for learning the Bible, I immediately joined a lunchtime Bible study group at my first corporate job during my young adult years.

What I remember most about that study group was how they prayed for me during a season of infertility. One member of the group ultimately invited me to join her church one evening for an event. I didn’t know what I had signed up for but went to support her. As it turns out, there was a prophet visiting who called me to the altar for a prophetic word. She said that she saw three boys running around my house. Doctors told me I would never have children without medical intervention, which I could not afford at the time. Prior to receiving that prophetic word, I had given up on being able to have my own children. That word stirred up my faith. Today, I have three sons and never had a medical intervention.

Faith is important in my life, but, as you will soon learn, my faith journey gets a bit more complex. I started out as a Christian, raised in a Missionary Baptist church. Let’s just say I was very religious. Church every Sunday. Bible study every Wednesday. Choir practice Tuesdays. I attended the Sunday school service, church service, the after service, and the afternoon programs when my pastor served as the guest minister at other churches. It was almost like a job except I was not even 18 years old nor getting a check. Much of my actions during these early years of my faith journey were shaped by my desire to get to heaven — not really knowing what that meant. Also, there was a handsome young man around my age who I enjoyed seeing each Sunday though nothing ever developed between us. He liked me too. We were both too sanctified to tell each other.

Today, I am still Christian but consider myself non-denominational and non-religious. I attend church whenever possible to fellowship and not as ritual. This includes most Sundays unless I’m traveling or sick. I attend Sunday school, too, though I do not teach or sing. I have pretty much been a benchwarmer and loving it until recently I did raise my hand to manage new member orientation. Although I and my church leaders take this role very seriously, I live in a very small, rural community and growth is pretty stagnant at our church due to the dwindling population, in my own personal assessment. I actually did the math before raising my hand to take on this role, and I estimate that I may interact with a dozen new members over the course of this year. That’s a moderate estimate. You have probably figured out that I do not consider myself religious anymore. I am spiritual and always striving to be better connected with God, other people, and the planet.

It’s that last part about being connected to planet that I feel gets me a little side eye from some folks so I tend to keep this close to my heart. However, a little over a year ago, I moved into a forest and have slowly began to embrace this part of my spiritual life more and more. I’ll share more as this series continues with part 2 focused on Facing Fears in the Forest.

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What do you do to truly relax? As it turns out, this is a question that is difficult for many to answer. For those of us who do have a routine to foster relaxation, it is often something that seems more like a luxury than daily part of life and requires a financial investment that too many cannot afford. Even so, we struggle to not worry about all we have to do when we do take time away from all the responsibilities to just be human and relax. We know that experiencing these scared moments of relaxation regularly helps our mind, body, and spirit rejuvenate. In order for all of us to experience this feeling, we must intentionally care and make space and time for all to experience relaxation. This is possible when we lean into our collective liberation dreams. However, it is the very tasks of individual work and lives that make it hard for most of us to chill out more often. Let's unpack that and consider some alternatives to how we can do work and life together.

Work demands

Work is a natural human activity that has many purposes. Most who work do so to obtain income that can be used to supply needs for their families. Many also report that their work helps them feel a sense of purpose. Others even find social connections through work. There are ample reasons we work that make this activity one that positivity contributes to our lives.

However, there can be drawbacks to work as well, especially when the going gets tough. In our capitalist society, most people can identify with feeling the overwhelming pressure to produce, produce, produce at some point in their career. This goes beyond the healthy challenge of reaching goals at work to toxic expectations requiring the sacrifice of our wellbeing. We know toxic work situations and workplaces can create detrimental outcomes for employees. It is often those who are marginalized in the workplace who experience the worst outcomes in these situations. Burnout is one of the leading causes Black, Indigenous and people of color exit leadership positions in the nonprofit sector right now, for example.

Life demands too

Many of us have been told to pursue work-life balance. However, life can also come with its own set of challenges. It can be especially hard to think about relaxing these days, as we all have life responsibilities and uncertainties regardless of the season of life we are navigating. Young adults are figuring out how to become independent during a time of great transition in our society. Many of us who are approaching middle age are caregivers for our children and parents. More seasoned folks, unfortunately, are feeling some of the toughest healthcare and economic challenges of their lifetimes at a time that they expected to be retired and relaxing.

Let’s face it. Many facets of the once widely-accepted American dream have disintegrated into tales of horror for many in this nation. Locked out of opportunities to access what they need to achieve and thrive as homeowners in this nation, a growing number of BIPOC individuals and families are taking up residencies abroad to embrace a softer, more relaxed life at far less expensive costs. Those who have been in the workforce for decades are continuing to work well past 65 to maintain some level of financial security and access to decent healthcare during a time when the cost of living and healthcare have astronomically outpaced wages. Thus, dreams of building a nest egg, reaching retirement, and then relaxing are becoming more and more less common among younger generations.

Handling work-life demands, together

Given these challenges we all face, it makes sense to consider solutions to help us get through work and life demands together so that we can all relax more. When it comes to both work and life, we are all susceptible to burnout. Warning symptoms for burnout usually appear way before actual burnout is obvious, giving us some signs that we can heed so that we can intervene. Too often, however, we overlook or minimize these symptoms. When we do catch the warning signs, we sometimes fail to access community care.

Consider that stress is normal but should not greatly impact our daily functioning (eating, sleeping, socializing, etc.). If you set a plan to eat more meals you prepared at home but notice more and more that you are having fast food for lunch, this is a sign that something may be off. If you find that you are working longer hours, staying up later with work than usual, and increasingly passing up opportunities to connect with friends and family, take a moment to assess what is happening before that pattern becomes your norm. Food, sleep, and social connections are all forms of energy sources that we need to thrive. When we run low or lack quality in these areas, we run the risk of burning out.

When it comes to daily functioning and managing stress, community care is somewhat of a secret superpower for folks who lean into it. Community care is a practice and system of care that sees and leans into the power of our relationships to care and provide for each other in a shared ecosystem. Community care is often informal but powerful because human needs are always centered. Tapping into community care, however, is not something that happens overnight. It takes time and trust and genuine connection to others. When it is done well, however, relaxation can become a daily, affordable experience.

Mutual aid networks are a type of well-known community care system. For example, a group of parents for a local basketball team chipped in to provide gameday meals for the entire team so no child would miss a meal while playing sports. Parents who had the means and willingness donated funds and/or items. Some local businesses noticed the efforts and also chipped in with donations and other forms of support. As a result, all of the children and their families did not have to worry about making sure each child had a meal before the games.

As access to quality childcare is becoming more and more expensive and inaccessible across the nation, it makes sense for families with little ones to pool together to provide childcare. This is another example of community care and has already been a long-standing practice in some rural and small towns where childcare facilities are scarce and it is not uncommon for friends and families to share childcare duties including babysitting and transportation for no or low cost in exchange for goods and/or services.

About a decade ago, a rural community in Vermont decided to rotate hosting dinners in their homes. There was a local chef who could not afford the overhead of a restaurant but had a nice following in the community. Several diners who frequented the restaurant decided to organize themselves to pay the chef to prepare meals in their homes. The chef would rotate a menu and schedule among these families and prepare meals in their homes. The families would congregate at the host home for each meal, giving all some time to relax as the meals would be prepared. The chef got rid of the stress of managing the extreme overhead costs of the restaurant.

These limited examples are not shared as solutions to be copied and pasted but rather to illustrate how we can all relax a little more when we lean into caring for each other. Our communities are great ecosystems to start asking each other about our needs so that we can turn to each other when possible for care. People who are like-minded that know, like, and trust each other are most likely to lean into caring for each other to foster ease in each other’s lives.

How have you experienced community care? Did doing so help you relax more? Let’s talk about it in the comments.

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