In praise of The Bubble

“You’re just in your own little bubble.”

This is offered as an insult. A bubble is bad thing. Being in a bubble implies (well, more than implies) that you purposely and exclusively surround yourself with people who think, talk, live and look like you, your political, cultural, religious, economic, racial, gender-identified bedfellows.

The bubble is, by this definition, an unchallenging, unmotivating place, a somnambulant comfort zone that you share with fellow bubble-dwellers. Or maybe it’s just your own private world, isolated and insulated from what is happening all around you. A bubble by this definition is solipsistic, self-involved. Those who reside inside it are resistant to acknowledging, reaching out, getting to know and working to understand the “other.”

Maybe.

I mean, yes, a bubble can be all that. But I’d like to argue for another kind of bubble. Especially during the past four dark, nasty, soul-crushing years, I have sought out and immersed myself in a bubble. My bubble is not geographic—although living on the “upper Left coast” sure helps. It is not age-specific. The bubble includes people from 26-81 years old. It is not race-specific. The bubble includes people of many hues. Some in this bubble I have known for most of my life. Others are newcomers. Some, most, I know IRL. Others I have connected and bonded with over social media.

What we have in common, what has sustained me these past four years, is our commitment to social justice and meaningful change, our love of our communities and our work to keep those communities vibrant, our persistent and stubborn belief (sometimes to the contrary of all we see) that people are good and want to do good and do indeed care about each other. What we have in common is our resilience. When during these past few years more shit hit the fan than anyone knew there was shit out there, we were appalled, we were furious, we yelled, we cried. And then we took a breath, gave ourselves a talking to, reached out and jumped back into it. That meant everything from taking to the streets to cooking food for the hungry, from running for political office to helping find jobs for the previously incarcerated, from making music to sewing masks. And more. So much more.

I owe my sanity to this bubble. I thank you all. You know who you are.

In memory of, in praise of RBG. Of course.