On Small Losses...

We were supposed to go camping a few weeks ago, our one vacation for the year.

We planned to pack up our tent and head south, toward the redwoods near the California coast. We were meeting friends we haven't seen in a few years, for some socially-distanced hang out time in the woods. We planned to see some elk, go on hikes, and spend time catching up.There was the bonus of space to simply be quiet, and breathe.

Then the fires that had already been consuming much of California's forests spread. And then freakish, hurricane level winds, whipped up and quickly spread fires in Oregon.

Suddenly everything was on fire. The sky was orange and the air was choked with smoke.

Instead of camping, I spent my time gathering supplies to bring to drop off points, to help out those fleeing their homes, or who had lost everything.

Another household member commented that they were sorry I had not been able to go camping. I replied that not camping was the least of my worries. We weren't sure whether or not we would be evacuated, and though it was unlikely, the line was creeping closer. 

Go bag packed, mostly, I was concerned for all the people who had lost what little they had. Who had already been struggling with pandemic, and underemployment, or who had been already unhoused, and suffered with nothing more than a tent or tarp between themselves and the hazardous, toxic air.

How many animals were displaced or dead? How many homes were unrecoverable? How were people going to survive?

But then the rains came. Our air cleared. The immediate danger passed, though the fires still burn.

So, this week—all of a sudden—I missed being able to go camping.

And that's a small thing. A seemingly unimportant thing. I don’t work in a hospital, or a grocery store, or an Amazon warehouse. I don’t drive a bus. I don’t fight fires. 

Not going camping? It's one of the multiple little losses every ordinary person contends with right now. Not meeting friends for tea. Not playing favorite sports. No concerts. No movies.

Shopping is a chore, and food prices rapidly rising. School is hard. Work is hard. Maintaining mental and physical health is hard.

But I realized something this week, in thinking about that missed camping trip:

It's mourning the little things that enable me to keep perspective on the larger things. The fact that I can't go camping isn't important. Except it is important, because it reminds me that this is the world that has been built for us. Oh, certainly, we all make choices and have responsibility to one another. I’m a firm believer in collective care and mutual aid. 

But all this time, we have been told that it is our personal efforts that are needed to change the big things. And that simply isn't true.

This world of increasing climate disaster, mass incarceration, over policing, expensive health care, housing, and education, and of economic inequity the worst we've seen in half a century or more? 

All of this has been orchestrated and enacted by the few. The wealth hoarders. The power brokers. The major polluters. The billionaires and all the politicians who bow directly at their feet.

So fuck yes, I miss going camping. 

And fuck yes, I'm going to keep sending money to people on the front lines who need it. And fuck yes, I'm going to stand up against fascists. And fuck yes, I'm going to keep saying Black Lives Matter. 

And I'll keep working for the abolition of these systems of oppression. And I'll keep working along with others, for a day when oligarchs don't rule us anymore.

I'll keep working for a day when we, the people, have a greater say in what happens to this beautiful world.

I'll keep working for the day when I can go camping again. And see my friends. And not give away a huge percentage of my modest income trying to help other people simply survive.

I want a better world, a world in which we thrive. And until we get one? I’m going to mourn the little things every once in awhile. 

How about you? What small losses are you feeling these days?

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