A Sense of Belonging

On a recent Sunday, my world slowed for a moment. And I could see that I am exactly where I am meant to be.

I'm fascinated by how often opposites live in the same breath. Magic holds hands with doubt, problems house their own solutions, being different is incredibly common, miracles happen every day, and these miracles are so swiftly taken away.

Only on my best days do I let these cohabitating opposites toss me around in their cyclical waves, and I have unwavering faith that they’re moving me in the right direction. Most days, I try and fail to direct the cycle and end up spending too much energy swimming against the current. Some days, I luck out with a strong direction determined for me, led by important events that I have to be at. On those days, I know that trying to direct anything is useless, I just have to show up and let things take me along for the ride. Last Sunday was one of those glorious days that let me off the hook from trying so hard. It was hectic and still, selfless and selfish, being out all day while being right at home, it was everything.

I woke up early without a minute to spare, knowing it was marathon day. Not just the New York City Marathon, but my own marathon. I needed to get up, paint some signs, catch my marathoner friends running once down by where I live, travel uptown to try and catch them again with their families, head to an open mic to support a fellow artist’s performance, perform my own poetry, and finish the day by travelling to another open mic for a tribute performance to a good friend, Samson the Rebel Poet, who’d recently passed away. It was an important day laid out for me, all I had to do was be there, that was enough. I reveled in this sense of "enoughness" as I rarely feel like I'm doing enough. I have a tendency to focus on all the things I didn't do and none of the things I did do. And let me just tell you right now, with that kind of focus, I don't think anything I do will ever be enough. I could sail to every ocean and still not have seen every country. I could become a millionaire and still wouldn't be a billionaire. I could lasso the moon and I still wouldn't have gathered the stars. I wanted to know how to lock in this elusive enoughness. I didn't want it to desert me in the morning when the normal events of normal life came back and brought along a stretchy and pliable schedule with it, vulnerable to my missteps and wasted time. All I could tell myself was "just show up."

When I showed up to race location #1, race location #2, open mic #1, and to open mic #2, I positioned myself to accept what was meant to happen. I was hopeful it would all pan out as planned, but didn't expect anything specific. Some things happened the way I hoped they would, some things didn’t, and some things happened beyond anything I could have hoped for or planned out.

I saw one marathoner friend running and cheered wildly for him, sign in tow. I missed the other two runners, but I met their families. I made wonderful new friends at the first open mic who even ended up coming along with me to the second open mic. Perhaps most importantly, I was able to read a poem I wrote for Samson to is family at his open mic tribute. As I was about to take my seat again at the back of the bar, his mother found me and embraced me with tears in her eyes and said "That was him." We talked, cried, and comforted each other, wondering "Why him?”

I didn't expect to have the opportunity to connect with Samson's family. They probably hadn't heard about me at all yet from him, Samson and I had only known each other for three months prior to his passing. Not that those months weren't meaningful, but three months often isn't long enough to tell your family about a new friend. It dawned on me how after an important person passes, the gap they leave is filled by their community coming closer together. I don't know that I would’ve had the chance to know Samson's family any time soon if he were still here. His mother said at one point, "I didn't realize how many friends he had, how much of an impact he made." In those moments we had together, we both continued to get to know Samson. And what a gift it was to feel like my time with him wasn't over. There is still so much to get to know about the person he was.

Sometimes my plans are aligned with what is meant to be and happen exactly as I imagined, which probably just adds to my false sense of control. But the best things happen simply by being there— I can’t think of any better indicator of belonging. Last Sunday, I felt on a larger level that I am exactly where I am meant to be. I made signs for New Yorkers running in the marathon. I connected with other artists. I had people to show up for. From what I can tell, you know that you belong somewhere when just showing up is enough.

I’m sending all of you so much love, sweet readers. I hope you feel the same sense of belonging in where you are right now. And if you don’t yet, then I hope this helps you change that.

Huge hugs,

Izzie