Grounding: A Personal Narrative

At 5:00 am I had resolved that if sleep was going to evade me, I would rather go walking than stare at the ceiling. It was that part of summer mornings where the sun was still contemplating rising, but it peeked out enough that you could still see. I was living on the edge of Springville UT, where the surrounding fields and train tracks met the residential suburbs. I walked past the last residential house and on to the roads after the sidewalk ended. Admittedly unsafe, paralleling the tracks, the road was a narrow strip of asphalt where the speed limit was treated as a suggestion, and cars barreled down it on their way to the closest freeway entrance. However, that same freeway entrance had a gas station, and with my lack of sleep as the inspiration I named that Maverik as my destination with a red bull as the reward.

Walking has always brought an abundance of introspection and I realized that even though I had driven on this road hundreds of times I had never walked it. It was an easy answer as to why. I counted the busted bottles of alcohol, needles, discarded furniture, 32 oz styrofoam cups, and a plethora of other trash that had likely been discarded out driver-side windows. The sky was expansive though, if you could shift your focus away from navigating through the debris, and gravel to look up; it was almost jarring. A strange comfort to feel small and insignificant, on a planet hurtling through space; somehow cursed with consciousness so you can be aware of it all; peak karmic comedy. However, the weeds were gorgeous. Masses of spiny purple thistles, flushes of dusty pink milkweed, and bunches of other small flowers. It was an obscure reverence as a slow observer on a road that is nothing more than a blur to those who travel it. I imagine that the drivers of each car that passed me thought I was stupid for walking on this road, crazy for being up so early, or maybe they paid me no mind. After all, I am also guilty of mentally criticizing the actions of those I momentarily observe from the safety of my vehicle, before I drive on. I made it to the Maverik, got my red bull and a yogurt, but before heading back I decided to venture to the overpass that ran above the freeway. I walked across to where I was standing above the barrier between northbound and southbound traffic and I sat down to eat what I guess was breakfast for the day.

I hadn’t been able to sleep because to put it simply: I felt fucking crazy. The world was falling apart and I couldn’t understand why so few people around me seemed to care. It had only been a month since the draft of the opinion that the Supreme court was planning to overturn Roe v. Wade, and Dobbs v. Jackson had been leaked. I was struggling to cope with the implications of what that could mean for the right to bodily autonomy, and privacy, as well as the fear that this was only the beginning, because if the court precedents could be so easily rewritten then the reality of what the future could hold was all the more daunting. In doing something out of my routine, devoid of convenience or practicality, immersing myself walking in place of what was usually tire tread was a desperately needed morning of catharsis. As I sat on that overpass watching cars race under me, eating a poor excuse for breakfast my phone buzzed with a news notification. Today was June 24th, 2022.

On June 24th, 2022 the Supreme court of the United States abandoned nearly 50 years of court precedent when they overturned Roe v. Wade. But to those immediately around me, it was just a Friday.

My family had already secured their place in the comforts and privileges of white suburbia with just enough proximity to wealth to keep them in the time loop of forever pursuing capital while simultaneously robbing them of the capacity to care about much more than outward appearances and their retirement fund. I had already tried to convey the seriousness of what was happening in our country, but once you are crowned with the jesters hat of heresy your words are seldom regarded with any air of gravity. Exhausted, helpless and angry, I wondered how much longer I could fight the apathy off.

A few days later, I walked into a room for my first training as a fellow for the Center for Social Impact at UVU, where I found myself in company with strangers who would quickly become some of the most brilliant, courageous, and radically empathetic individuals I have ever had the pleasure and privilege of knowing. I sat in that first meeting with them as we introduced ourselves and to my surprise, Roe v. Wade was acknowledged. I watched in awe as space was held for the burnout, the anger, the sadness, and the overwhelm that the Supreme Court decision had caused, and like it was second nature solidarity was held. That meeting was like finally hearing thunder when I had been stuck in a desert, like a promise that rain would come. After that meeting I sat in my car and sobbed in relief. I was not alone.

I don’t know if we will ever be able to fully dismantle the harmful systems of capitalism that are maintained by oppression and exploitation. I don’t know how much worse it will have to get before it gets better. I didn’t know if you could come back from burnout. I found social impact because it is a work that is full of people who are not only brave enough to acknowledge social injustice but are radically dedicated to cultivating change that is sustainable and transformative.

My Friends and Mentors: Cass, Kai, Jo, Alex, Brodie, Hannah Rowntree, Hannah Filizola Ruiz, Kate, Kiona, Mari, Oscar, and Vale, I feel regenerated through social impact practice by being in community with all of you. Yes, life often feels like trekking along a trashed, dangerous, poorly planned road, but there are also flowers. I have found that hope for change is not so elusive when you find people who share in the vision that life can be so much more than surviving, and that every single person is deserving. Thank you for your compassionate relationality, I love you all.