Handle With Care, Please.

It’s the last day of January, a month that seems to have lasted a year on its own. A month that’s sandwiched in between consecutive years that have blended together and wrapped with a bow of overwhelm.

Today I woke up and learned that Cheslie Krystie, a Black woman who inspired an entire diaspora took her own life yesterday-someone who seemed to the outside world like she truly had it all and all I can muster to think is…what the fuck?

This moment in time, all of it, compelled me to mull over the fact that despite what appearances lead most to assume, collectively we’re more fragile than ever. I mean, how could we not be? Day after day we’re watching folks around us struggle to make ends meet and grieving the loss of their loved ones, all the while trying to figure out how the hell we’re going to get through the day without crippling anxiety.

It’s a lot.

For years we’ve woken up in anticipation of the next thing. And, of course, in between it all we’re trying our best to celebrate the small moments and spark joy in whatever way we can. Milestones are being reached. Babies are being born. Couples are getting married. Grandparents are celebrating birthdays.

There’s still so much life being lived.

To me, this is one of the paradoxes of being a human in this moment. We can’t help but be reminded by the world around us that life is finite, nothing is guaranteed, and we have to make the best of this-in spite of the crisis’ around us.

I say all of this to send a PSA…handle one another with care, please. Handle me with care. Assume every sentient being is in need of care and love. We’re collectively hanging on by a thread, but I know it wouldn’t be so hard if we came together with tenderness, sensitivity, and concern for one another.