All last week I found myself in denial of what would inevitably come. On Thursday, I went downtown to absorb the good vibes of witnessing an Obama White House one last time, but was greeted instead by a sea of red caps, which left me feeling a little empty inside. I hope it isn't, but I suspect that was probably the last time I am going to see a minority in the White House for a while.
On Friday, I woke up late. I rolled around in bed. I had a sinking feeling in my gut. I took Rosie out and fed her. I turned on a live stream. I couldn't sit long in front of it. I got up and made a second cup of tea. Tried to endure a little more. I got back up and rolled out some phyllo dough for guava pastries.
My hands shook a little bit as I listened to the speech and cut little pieces of guava up. But I refused to turn it off. I want to know what is said. I want to make my own decisions with my own ears and my own gut before those feelings are decided for me by articles, tweets and tv crews. I don't want to turn a blind eye to what is happening around us, but it was hard to physically watch.
I am very nervous about the future of America. The future of my family. But I'm focusing on what I can do. What I can control. How I can help myself get through this. In my own future, I'm going to be seeing lots of pastries, hand stands and warm baths. As Audre Lorde said, self care is preservation, not indulgence.
Cooking is therapeutic. For me, at least. I get to be creative. I get to do something with my hands, and I get to reap the rewards of all the work immediately. I've never been much of a cook in my life, but there's nothing like rolling out dough like mom used to to feel immediately comforted and at home. Preservation.