Our Small Actions Weave Together A Culture of Care
This past Thursday morning, I felt intensely unsettled. All mixed up. Jumbled.
But I had to be at work in less than an hour, so I threw on some music and hopped on I-5 driving north, aiming to get coffee on the way.
And when I got to the drive-thru, the barista asked me the typical question:
“How’s your day going?”
Unsettled. All mixed up. Jumbled. It was all still there, despite Taylor Swift in the background.
And – in that exact moment – small talk wasn’t going to quite cut it for me.
“I don’t know,” I started off. “I feel like I’m bouncing between watching videos of ICE murdering people on social media and then having to go to work and support teachers working with kids everyday. It’s a lot. I’m not really sure how my day is going.”
It could have easily been too much.
And usually, I tend to avoid telling the truth in these scenarios precisely because I’m afraid it’ll be too much. It's easier to just respond with "Great!" or my usual "Oh, I'm doing just peachy!"
But instead of backing away or trying to find a way out of the conversation, the barista’s face softened and she leaned halfway out the window.
“My old high school – Kentwood [just down the street from where we were] – walked out yesterday…and I’m so fucking proud of them. They give me hope – but they also just make me want to be brave.”
It was a beautiful moment between us – so much more than just a cup of coffee being passed through a window. My somewhat-accidental opening up turned out to be an invitation to solidarity and connection I didn’t know I was offering.
And over the past week or two, I’ve seen multiple friends issue these kinds of invitations – intended or not – through their actions.
Sam used native Minnesota wildflowers in her design to symbolize Alex's love for nature and hiking.
My friend Sam responded to the killing of Alex Pretti by going outside our city’s courthouse and creating a chalk memorial to him. She did it, not to cause policy change or directly challenge ICE, but to make the unacceptable visible, even 1,700 miles away. To create space for people to pause and mourn. To give herself space to pause and mourn. It was an act of craftivism and remembrance.
Another friend of mine hopped on Instagram with a video offering to cook for anybody who needed food in the local area.
And over the past four weeks, more than 50 of you have signed up to write letters of gratitude to teachers you will likely never meet and never hear back from.
These are actions that move us beyond our minds; move us beyond re-posting; move us beyond trying to “fix everything all at once, all on our own.”
When I talked to Sam after she made her chalk memorial, she said this:
“I was surprised by how many passersby stopped to comment positively. It reminded me of my own humanity. It was really cool interacting with total strangers in the community, and feeling their appreciation. Even people who I never would have expected to say something nice; no one had anything nasty to say – which was also really surprising and validating.”
When we take these brave and vulnerable leaps into action, we issue invitations to others – passersby, baristas, even folks scrolling Instagram – to connect with their own humanity and dreams and desires for change.
This is the power each of us have.
So this week, what invitations will you make with your actions?
Text a friend and ask how they’re doing.
Chalk something on a public sidewalk.
Plan a community dinner, no matter how small.
Offer your tools to someone working on a project.
Search for your local mutual aid network and sign up to help.
Invite someone to a protest with you.
Call your representatives and demand they push back against ICE.
To quote Kaitlin Curtice: “We should watch the ants work and remember that we are called to pick up heavy things and move them for the sake of community.”
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