Growth

“I don’t see no riot here! Why are you in riot gear?”

That’s when I realized that the cops were, in fact, in riot gear.

They were donning the intimidating attire to protect a shadow behind a mansion door.

The shadow was the warden of an ICE detention center in Aurora, Colorado, and they were protecting him from us.

From us. And we were an admittedly loud and boisterous bunch of young and old, with bandanas, picket signs, and music (one protestor was casually accenting our chants with smooth blows on his trumpet, another marched along rumbling on a snare drum and another swinging hip hop from a speaker around his neck). We were taking a few spins around the neighborhood and while we were a collective and strange bunch, we were peaceful.

“Why are you in riot gear, and why do I feel no fear?” I was wondering weaving through the crowd; blue and red flashing all the while in the cool night. My face was uncovered and I was carrying no night stick, no mace, no protection. And I was looking into the eyes of an officer while saying “No justice, no peace, no racist po-lice”. And I was looking into the eyes of a young man filled with hate and dripping in red attire boasting “Make America Great Again.” Police pushed our lines in and out and then resumed standing near the boy in red.

I wanted to ask him why he felt such hate towards other humans. I wanted to ask him what was wrong. I wanted to ask the police why they weren't protecting us.

And yet I was unafraid, and yet my hands stayed steady all the while.

When did this happen? How did I become this way?

-

Years prior, a bell is ringing and anxiety is ringing along with it the pits of my gut. It’s the first day of senior year in high school and I had to go to damned lunch. I was clammy and ill with fear.

I was a self-classified freak. A self-classified loser. I had no friends in my own grade, therefore I knew I would have no one to sit with at lunch. Which left me with the daunting task of walking into the lunchroom and sitting... where?

I was already at the lunch room door and then I was already turning around. I slithered to the bathroom and sat on a toilet for the remaining forty-five minutes of lunch and pretended not to exist.

The rest of the year I took to the library (toilet seats are rather uncomfortable after about thirty minutes) until completely dropping out of high school largely due to my drug use and inability to connect… with anyone.

Social anxiety is a bitch. It’s much worse when coupled with debilitating depression that consistently gripped my shoulders and whispered sweetly to me to completely avoid my own existence.

After dropping out my desire not to exist only grew and deepened with drug addiction. However, I used other means to avoid my reality such as hiding behind books or simply slipping into a catatonic state to avoid even speaking with anyone. (I am still rather reclusive today, mind you, but there is a difference between avoiding everything and simply wishing to reflect alone.) I was afraid of my own feelings; the good and the bad. I was afraid of my own life. Often times I couldn’t leave my own home simply to hang out with other humans or even to go to work unless pumped full of drugs.

For years this went on. For years I was too afraid to live my own life. I remained in the shadows. I couldn’t handle what I thought of myself let alone what I thought anyone else did.

Until something changed. Until I reached the depths of depression and then realized I could no longer live with my unhappy self. And I could not bring myself to bring pain to others by… not living anymore.

And while there is much more to be said of the litany of instances, people, and places that propelled this change forward, I would like to focus on only one for the sake of this piece.

This process, while wonderful and wildly complex, was rather slow at first.

And then I moved to Denver and found activism. I relocated to this state with the sole intention of self growth, and of transformative change before I moved on to the next step. Volunteer activism and my job as a fundraiser for Greenpeace has taught me more than I feel I will ever be able to repay.

There is no denying that there is something incredibly powerful about protesting for a good cause, for the betterment and equality of all life. There is no denying that marching through the streets unafraid of judgement, unafraid of punishment is empowering. (So long as you are standing up for benevolent ideas of course. Spreading hate, fear and/or oppression is not freeing and is not benefiting of any life anywhere.)

However, my day job as a canvasser has taught me the most.

There is a theme I have found throughout the canvassing and activism world. Most who partake come from rather dark backgrounds; whether it be seeking asylum from a murderous regime in Venezuela, from homes that pushed conversion therapy onto their own children; or survivors from sexual abuse, drug addiction, suicide, or racial discrimination (because YES, you are all survivors). We are the down trodden, we are the oppressed, and we are the freaks.

We use our pain to make a positive change in the world. And our daily job is to take shit. Over and over and over again.

I have had so many doors slammed in my face. My peers look at me as though I am crazy while yelling “there’s plastic in your goddamned water!” on street corners. I have been called disgusting. I have been called a bitch. I have been harassed for simply doing what I believe in. I have handled more rejection that I believe any human is wired to handle.

And it has made me a better person. It has made me unshakable in my faith in the good in this world. Because while I may often look darkness and hate in the face, I also meet enough loving, genuinely kind and brave humans that make it all worth it. It has made me comfortable in how I communicate and connect with folks from every walk of life. Forced me to understand where we all come from and how we got here. It has made me undeniably comfortable in my own skin. During the recent global climate march, I walked through the streets of Denver amidst thousands, solo. And without social anxiety and without fear. I am able to recognize now that while it may seem dark at times, while we may think we are alone, we are not. And that when we stand together for the betterment of society or against oppression in any form that we are stronger; that our little problems and insecurities that often distract us from being our full selves, do not matter.

I have learned to embrace my strengths as well as my short comings. I have learned strength is not the act of avoiding emotions; it is the act of embracing emotions. It is feeling, and it is feeling all of them for you cannot shut out the bad without the good. It is admitting we are all human and we are all vulnerable no matter how much we would rather pretend we are not.

I am now a part of something larger than myself. I am now a member of an intertwined global web of compassionate and brave humans fighting for a healthy planet.

And I am now facing the thing I have been afraid of most. Moving to and building a chosen home; one that is just right for me. Relocating again, at twenty-seven and perhaps for the final time. I have lavishly enjoyed anonymity while breezing from city to city in state to state. And I know now that this was a part of my skillful avoidance in life. To be a stranger is easy. To be known, to stick roots in the ground in one place, is god damned horrifying.

We are all always going through something. We struggle and yet through struggle and the embracement of fear of the unknown, of the uncertain, we grow. And we live.

Activism has thrust strength and community upon me than will never disperse no matter where I go. And I know because of this, I will be okay. This piece is largely an advertisement for involvement in activism and yet there are more ways than one to be an activist. To me, activism means to motive and inspire others to stand up for themselves or for those that cannot for themselves, to make positive change, and to be themselves fully. Each time you chose to uplift instead of beat down someone, every time you chose to speak up regardless of what your peers might think because it is the right thing to do, every time you chose to hold onto hope and positivity instead of hate and negativity—you are an activist in my book. So square them shoulders and stand a little taller.

This world has given me more than I can repay.

I am grateful for the life I have lead so far and I am even more grateful for the road that is ahead.

I challenge you today and everyday to consciously choose love over hate, what's right over what's easy, to believe in yourself, to be kind and compassionate as much as possible. No matter how small and insignificant you think you or your actions are, by choosing light over darkness, peace over violence you are always significant. You are always contributing to helping to make this wonderous spinning beauty of a planet a better place. Remain conscious of your impact on the world around you.

Be brave in all that you do. Contribute to and live this life as fully as possible.

"Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that."—MLK