Containers

Visibility and containers. Two different topics, or maybe not. I don't know which one to start with so I am starting by naming them both.

“I'm proud of you” said the barrista, when we finally had a minute to catch up. “Thanks, it's going super slowly but.., “That's a good thing! You know what they say” “Yeah....slow but steady” “That's right!”

She's proud of the workshops and presentations going well, dates lined up for more. I wrote a good chunk of the first book in this cafe. Only here on rare occasions now.

Vibe especially homey today, between the laughing then sleeping baby, the women catching up lively but not loudly, the tarot reading on the other side, the few people focused on their laptops but without headphones; a little girl with her mom, them having pain au chocolat together then the mom reading her a book; the barrista who checks on us like we're her ducklings, (or her plants, when she went around with a bottle of water being slightly insistant on refils: “Hey it's not like I'm pressuring you to drink vodka!”) Smiling at the recall, solar person. Caring person.

Professional vs community care. Strategic vs spontaneous visibility.

Not “vs.” Complementary. Always complementary.

The container idea came from a monster shape woven laundry basket I bought while checking out sales yesterday, having a bit of time to kill but not enough to go home and back. I sent the picture to my brother because we'd just been on the phone, he liked it too, reminded him of some character from Where the Wild Things Are as well as a gorgeous animated short series we'd one watched. “Woven things like that tend to mold easy though, especially in humid places like Belgium and in a bathroom area..” It's true. I'm so glad I got it though.

“Buying baskets makes me feel like I'm getting my shit together” commented a friend from across the pond, in a hushed voice as she was hiding away from her daughter, to get her used to the nanny. I had called after she texted that the big batch of soup her sister had made for them before getting back on the plane, had been spilled. Sympathy one way, insight the other.

At a malatang hot pot later, another friend announced that she had scheduled a career coaching program just three days after the formal conclusion of a years long project. We laughed thinking she was joking (on top of said project, she has recently started a full-time job that many would envy). She wasn't. Realizing this triggered a split-second judgment deconstruction process that she elegantly co-held, in a karate “be like water” stance as our other friend tentatively voiced said judgment. While not disagreeing with him, she essentially expressed that contrary to “not taking a break” and being “too vulnerable to uncertainty,” she would be able to rest more serenely knowing she was being supported in handling the uncertainty, step by step.

They were the missing pieces I needed to shift my perspective on the charged “have you thought of seeing a therapist?” question, that we had debated with another friend and her husband a day earlier. This is not about being for or agains therapy, I always support seeking support; it's about how the intention behind the question gets interpreted: does it mean the person is (consciously or not) making the friendship conditional on you toning down the expression of the true range of your emotions? It was difficult for me to hear it differently.

♫ “And if I have to choose,

my heart or you,

I'm gonna lose” ♫ (1)

With the container to get your life together and coaching for better rest idea, I can see it in a new light, simply: the friend has their hands full and can't help you carry anything at that very moment, (or they might have a personal allergic reaction to that category of things), so they are suggesting maybe you get a new container, a non-threatening but trusty looking one, like my cute monster shaped kids laundry basket, where you can put the stuff that's gotten extra heavy lately, and organize more efficiently.

It's not implying you are not strong enough to carry it: it's saying you don't actually have to.

Just because you can lift 50 kg at the gym doesn't mean you need to rock it on your shoulder the whole day, every day.

Back at that malatang place; I shared a story that hadn't always been received well: the one where I sent a punch to the face of the guy I was seeing and he caught it mid-air, just before it reached his jaw. Were we fighting? Not in the least. It was midday, sunny, sober, we were sitting at the table chatting and joking. Was it intentional? No! We were both equally surpised. What happened? I am still wondering to this day. It did later turn out that he had been lying to me on several very significant accounts; but I had no idea back then.

Point is: friend had an oddly similar story, (in her case a slap, symbolically more gentle than a punch, except hers actually landed), that she had always been ashamed of, had never understood, and had never shared before. We both felt less alone after. Still clueless on how to prevent it from happening again, but less alone.

What do we do with this information? We don't know. But maybe, if we share it, it could become visible to people who have other clues, other pieces of the puzzle.

(First piece from a medical doctor cousin, who did some research on chamanism related healing practices: it could be a flash trance with an unconscious protection intention at play; which seemed coherent in both our scenarios).

This writing style is what the book consists of too, in French. A friend highly skilled and experienced in social media strategy argues the main reason it isn't published yet is that I have not been attentive to building up my online “visibility.” Hence the questioning. Could going back to this writing style of capturing spontaneous every day life moments and connecting them to my practice be my strategy? Is it okay if it is also a container?

It rained on the walk back, kept getting stronger. Around half-way through, the paper bag holding the monster basket broke (as half-expected), so I ended up carrying it hugged against my side for the remaining half-hour. Pretty much the only pedestrian on this route, holding a cute monster friend, in the dark, rain proper pouring: I felt like a character in a kid's picture book. Except with non-kiddy music blessing my ears. Unexpectedly fun. If not for the pouring rain today as well, I wouldn't have managed to stay seated in here long enough to recount this little story. Who knew Belgium's infamous weather had hidden upsides.

In the basket was also a welcome mattress I had seen before, but was half-off this time, it says: “welcome, make a wish.” Along with a little ceramic girly tiger figurine, pretty much a gift, that luckily survived the fall.

Welcome to one of many spaces lovingly intended to support what Mariame Kaba calls the “collective improvisation” (2) effort of shifting current cultural narratives from punishment to support, justice and responsibility.

Feel free to make a wish.

(1) Hard Place - H.E.R.

(2) We Do This ‘Till We Free Us - Mariame Kaba