“It is a deep mystery to live here in this imperfect place. On a summer night, with fireflies in the yard and bats overhead, the beauty is almost unbearable. There is so much life in and around our home. The living are riding bikes, pollinating flowers, quietly sending a tap root even deeper. My neighbors outdo me in generosity of care and of time. It is humbling. Like so much of life these days.
When I was growing up, the kids I knew whose parents were divorced were said to come from a ‘broken home.’ Now, over the course of the past year, my partner and I are pulling our life apart. It is so hard to come out as a divorced dad, a single parent, (a failure.) Gratefully, I am a member of a twelve-step program that has helped me have a language for the pain of separation and divorce. I have committed to a path of inner work and healing, and I can sense the growth. It is underway. Paradoxically, the gradual disclosures of my pain have helped me connect with my community. I have become an ally to the heartbroken. The loneliness of this path trained me for the powerlessness of quarantine. My emotional fragility was exposed as my marriage fell apart. And this paved a way for me to consider my white fragility, my reticence to hear feedback or criticism. Now I am better able to join my children in learning what it means for us to become antiracist.
I am glad and grateful to be a broken man. But I see now that our home is not a broken home. We remain a place people. We are exploring new hospitalities, new ways to Welcome. This work is never done. It is healing. It is generative. It is new every morning.”