When I first heard that Israel declared war on Gaza in response to Hamas' horrific attack on Oct 7, I felt (among other things): concern (for lives lost), frustration (for violence being considered a viable option), and detachment (I don't know a lot about what's going on over there; I don't have a stake in this).

Then the body count grew, the neighborhoods crumbled, the safe zones were bombed. It didn’t take long for my feelings to change.

All lives matter. I believe this, fervently, and regardless of how the phrase has been used by others.

I believed this before the tragedy of what's happening in Palestine/Israel, yet the situation there and what I'm learning about it is heightening my perceptions of mattering, and sensitivity to it.

I'm seeing a pattern: in myself, with my friends and acquaintances, and in the folks I work with. It goes like this:

  - An act of oppression, harm, or inhumanity happens. We want to Do Something about it.
  - While we contemplate what that action is, we find ourselves awash in guilt, shame, fear or doubt.
  - And then, we end up doing nothing. Except perhaps to feel bad about ourselves.

While I still experience some combination of guilt, shame, fear or doubt regularly, I’ve figured out how to not be paralyzed; how to Do Something anyway.

Today, October 1, is the 20th anniversary of my breast cancer diagnosis. On that day, my kiddos were 14-months and 4-years-old. I didn't know then that I'd have to wean my baby so my milk ducts could shrink enough for a mastectomy. I didn't know I'd go through four months of chemotherapy. Or that twenty years later, I'd be a healthy 61-year-old disinclined to wearing what my kids used to call my Foob—my prosthetic false boob.

I also didn't know that I was white…

Recently, I found myself in a situation that called for an apology. The one I got surprised me. It was…perfunctory. Rushed. Delivered with downcast eyes. And totally dissatisfying.

This wasn’t a racialized moment or an interaction that had anything to do with racism. My surprise, however, was because of my racial equity work.

I’ve always been drawn to geometric order. When I see colors repeated systematically within shapes across a surface, I get a warm, soft feeling in my sternum, somewhat fluid & definitely comforting, surrounded by a deep breathy “ahhhhh”. I get the same sense of comfort from the smoothest, lowest physical effort to move my body—which also makes for speed. Do I love a low effort sequence of movements because it feels good, or because I’ve received so much reinforcement about the glory of productivity, the joy of efficiency, the beauty of a smooth running system?

Recently, I have been asking “white” coaching clients as well as caucus, circle, and workshop participants how many times a day they think about being “white”. I posed this as the Anti-Racist Action in a newsletter a few months back. Responses have been fascinating. This little research undertaking is helping me better understand how to cultivate a practice of attention to "whiteness", and the system of white supremacy culture, in all its wily ways.