The world is on fire

The world is on fire, and I’m planning a birthday party. These two things feel deeply incongruous. Climate change is causing storms that are wiping out towns. Marcellus Williams was executed despite those who operate the justice system noting the injustice. The world is on fire and I am planning a birthday party. Everyday we watch a genocide continue in Palestine. We try to raise awareness about genocides and human rights violations happening in other places around the world. There’s a chemical plant fire in Georgia. We are all figuring out how to navigate this election season day by day. The world is on fire and I’m planning a birthday party. Mass shootings continue to be normal. Wages are not keeping up with the price of… everything. And our personal lives are complicated by grief and stress and uncertainties and hopes and disappointments and a deep desire to lead lives that matter. The world is on fire, and I’m planning a birthday party.

If I am honest, it feels wrong. And yet, even as things fall apart, I want to celebrate you. I want to celebrate your accomplishments. I want to celebrate that you tried something new- ran for office, volunteered, became an activist, raised money, spoke truth to power. I want to celebrate your birthday- that you made it another year. I want to celebrate that you are still here, still fighting the good fight. I want to celebrate who you are and the light you bring to the world. I want to celebrate your new project, your new idea, your new plan. I want to celebrate your latest aha and that you finally went to therapy and that you did something brave.

I don’t know where the disconnect is. How could it be that even when the world falls apart- perhaps especially when the world falls apart that I want to celebrate you, but planning a birthday party feels silly? I can’t explain it. I hardly understand it. And so I just have to rely on my hope that it matters. That dancing is part of the revolution. That the joy of Black girls matters, including my own, that pleasure is my birthright and should never be a privilege for only a few to enjoy. I have to hope because hope is a duty.

So here’s to you, who care deeply and need joy. Here’s to you who are planning parties and weddings and get togethers and coffee dates. Here’s to you who laugh loudly and take naps and tell jokes. Here’s to you who indulge all of your humanity and invite others to do the same.

The world is on fire, and we should help. We should raise awareness and make donations and hold politicians accountable and maybe even become politicians ourselves. We should write and sing and plan and strategize. We should make ourselves available to being a part of change. And.

And I want to celebrate you.

And I want to celebrate me.

Because we are still here.