Last week I walked up to the storefront of a psychic, who recently set up shop in my neighborhood. She wasn’t entirely the picture of health—cigarette in hand with a pack placed securely next to her seat; swollen, almost engorged ankles; and a concerning crackle to her voice—yet I was intrigued. She peered into my eyes and told me things about the last few years that were so basic yet so true: I hadn’t been myself. I was meant to be a happy and joyful person, yet somehow I lost those parts of myself. I had walls around my heart. These were all such true and disheartening statements. For the past four years, since the election, I have been in survivor’s mode. 

This woman promised she could help me. She gave me some secret ninja shit to do at home. She overcharged me and swore me to secrecy, and I am superstitious enough that I won’t tell here, not even for a good story. She guaranteed me that I would start to feel better in three days and that, in a week’s time, I would feel like a brand-new person. I believed her. I walked home that night with a lift in my step and a smile plastered on my face—whatever the alchemy between the two of us, it had worked. I felt overjoyed to experience a little magic in my life again. 

When I got home, I showered and spent the rest of the evening naked. I looked in the mirror and began to dance and admire my 39-year-old body. I could see where gravity was beginning to run its course. My breasts and ass were placed a bit lower than what I used to see when I looked in the mirror. Everything about me appeared slightly altered from what I’d grown accustomed to, but I remained happy to be smiling at my reflection after not looking for so long. 

For the rest of the evening, I sang, “Row, row, row your boat gently down the stream. Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily, life is but a dream,” on repeat. We used to sing this on the beach on Maui after our week with Ram Dass. A group of cheeky retreaters with our guru. I always took those lyrics to be light, yet on this evening, their significance finally reached me. I am in my own boat, no matter how others are or aren’t rowing, no matter if they are making choices that will inevitably cause their ships to sink. I must keep rowing with an “easy-does-it” sensibility. I must bring my attention back to my own life … That’s the only place where I hold any real power. I went to bed and slept all the way through the night—something that hadn’t happened in a very long time. 

I rode that beautiful wave of contentment for the next several days until the news of RBG’s passing struck us all down. For a moment, I lost my bearings and moved into fear. Yet remembering the promise of my neighborhood psychic, I found my resolve and decided I wouldn’t be kept down. I made a promise to myself to take action on behalf of Mrs. Ginsberg. That same night I went to bed only to be startled awake a few hours later. The earth quaked in Los Angeles. I ran out of bed, in a dazed stupor, and searched my surroundings for a sign that all was safe. That’s when I felt RBG’s booming presence exclaim, “WAKE UP! You’ve got to do something.”   

Yes, Madam Supreme Court Justice. The next morning, I worked on the phone banks. I spent the entire morning getting hung up on, yet I couldn’t stop smiling. The motions of the last few days and the earth literally quaking brought the force of hope back into my life. That hope allowed me to take action. I spent the rest of the weekend writing letters to potential voters, pleading with them to vote early and make it to the polls. I donated more money than I ever thought I would to a political campaign because, when Ruth Bader Ginsberg speaks to you, you better listen. 

Taking those small steps not only unburdened me from the weight of despair and apathy, but also made me like myself better. I shed my identities as a victim and survivor and became something much larger than my puny self. As Ram Dass taught, “I am loving awareness.” Even when I write those words now, my heart glows and expands. Will you say them with me? 

I am loving awareness. 
I am loving awareness. 
I am loving awareness. 

When I say these words and breathe them into my heart, the world around me feels peaceful, and, for a moment, there is enough space again. I say these words one more time and then promise to be a vessel of peace as I enter the new day.