Living for Liberation: Lessons in Rest, Joy, and Community

Does the Arc of History Really Bend Toward Justice?

Today is January 20th, 2025. Well over 46,000 Palestinians have been killed in genocide, he-who-shall-not-be-named will take office as the 47th president of the colonized United States, and Mark Zuckerberg just said companies need more ‘masculine energy.’ Yet, none of this is new. The forces of evil—white supremacy—want to keep us small, complacent, and numb. But you know what? Millions are fighting back. For many of us, it’s the fight of our lives.

How do we stay in this fight for the long haul? Martin Luther King, Jr. tells us that the arc of history bends toward justice.

Do I really believe this? Most days, not really. But when I quiet my mind and get really still, I do. It’s only when I drown out the noise of the news, political commentary, and the hyper-polarization of social media that I can believe it. In those still, quiet moments, it’s also clear to me that, someday, I will die. And, that I am only effective in showing up for racial justice when joy, gratitude, and play are central to my daily life.

This realization did not come easy.

Dark Night of the Soul

Last summer, a close friend of mine passed away in a drowning accident. He was 27. A fellow yoga instructor, dancer, and racial and environmental justice warrior, JP carried ancestral wisdom in his cells. He shared tinctures, teas, and fruit, inviting us to drink deeply of ancient medicines. And he knew how to have fun (JP is in the upper left corner of the article's accompanying photo, smiling).

JP had just begun his healing journey before he died. Like so many of us, he learned to survive by hardening against pain. But before his death, he was thawing, like a frozen lake in spring. He leaned into grief, anger, sadness—week after week, in deep study and communal practice, he grappled with an unjust world.

He had the courage to journey into the dark night of the soul: the necessary process of transformation. But JP never got the chance to re-emerge.

After hearing the news of his passing, I was livid. I repeatedly punched the wall as hard as I could. At his funeral, seeing his body in the casket, strangely, the fog lifted. That day, I texted my Peace in Practice yoga community:

I really didn’t know what to expect. I was terrified to show up. Today showed me that death is an ordinary continuation of life, strangely. That humans create rituals to deepen love for one another, to remember. Always to remember our dear ones who have passed on. What a gift he was to us. My sorrow and anger comes and goes, the deep love for a life well lived remains. I’m sitting with the question now: what am I so afraid of? I’m always so afraid. Of looking stupid, saying the wrong thing. Maybe honoring JP means dropping the act and living free. Seeing him dance, remembering his voice, his smile…none of it makes sense, and it makes all the sense in the world at the same time. Mystery. Sorrow. I’m exhausted. Gratitude holds new meaning.?

The #1 Regret of the Dying

They say the top regret of the dying is that they wished they’d had the courage to live a life true to themselves, not the life others expected.

For most of my twenties and early thirties, I was furious at injustice (still am). I fought hard but forgot what I was fighting for. I blended into activism that left no space for joy, reprieve, or rest. I became kind of a buzzkill.

When I was 34, everything changed. I had a traumatic miscarriage that broke me open to the inevitability of loss, yet I kept showing up for justice work without slowing down to heal. It took me four years to unlearn my conditioning of perfectionism, urgency, and nervous system override (and, you know, a global pandemic that forced us all to step back and think critically about how we were living).

As I write these words, my seven-year-old is behind me, lost in imaginary play. A shoe, a tissue, a ball of string become her characters. She sings to herself, immersed in delight. It is not lost on me that this moment—this—is actually all there is. This is what I am fighting for. To live a life that is true to myself - a life of levity, imagination, and spending precious time with my daughter while she is still young.

Let the Soft Animal of Your Body Love What it Loves

JP had only just begun to feel lightness and joy before he died. While you still have the chance, invest in relationships that light you up. Lean into community care. Let the soft animal of your body love what it loves.

Take time to rest. Invite a friend to coffee. Enjoy the fruits of your labor. The fight for justice will last beyond our lifetimes. Do what you can with what you have, and then set it down when it gets heavy. Live into liberation and joy now. Don’t wait.?

Find your safe spaces to grow, heal, and journey into the dark night of the soul. And like the phoenix, re-emerge over and over with renewed energy to stay in the fight. And maybe one day, the ever-elusive arc of justice will take its rightful place in history and all beings will finally live free.