Spontaneity can be hard sometimes, especially with a disability. It’s something that I have mourned, and also something I continue learning to re-integrate through collective care and a little courage.
Yesterday, after I picked up a dozen eggs from a friend, I decided to take my little doxie, Smokey, for an impromptu walk.
On our tiny island, I waved as my nephew passed on his bicycle, knowing exactly where he was headed on one of the first hot sunny days this spring.
As I approached the beach, I was greeted by another island boy, Ollie, who hit me with the ice-breaker, “I love your wheelchair!” As we parted, he politely tipped his bike helmet, as if saying, ‘howdy, ma’am.’
Cuteness overload.
As Smokey dawdled in the grass (smelling everything), my friend, Alex, pulled up. We did the stop and chat before I doubled back. But as I turned around to head back to my car, I looked at the sparkling lake and found myself calling Alex back. “Do you have any desire to jump in the lake?”
Next thing I know, we’re headed over to Joni’s Beach, sans towels, or bathing suits, just a dream and the good fortune of deciding to wear a bra that day.
As we prepared for a piggyback from the edge of the parking lot, through the sand and into the lake, more and more kiddos arrived, fresh off the ferry boat, after school, with the same post-winter dream.
When we mounted up, our fellow islanders made sure Smokey stuck around, although he was glued to my side, probably thinking I was being carried away for all time and he’d never see me again.
Alex, god bless him, waded in slowly, and when we were deep enough, released me to the watery wild to float and breathe, with the sunshine and a smile on my face.
When we were sufficiently dosed, we re-mounted for our emergence, but not before I made sure he fully dunked, which he welcomed with an expectant smile.
We made it out through the water and waves — with a little hike up for good measure — over the rocks and sticks and sand, back to my wheelchair, smooth sailing. And there, we basked in the high of our free happy drugs, courtesy of Gichigami herself.
Certain spontaneous things, like jumping in the lake, can be challenging for people me. My disability can require a lil planning for the stuff that requires assistance — such as another person’s able hands.
So when I can seize a sweet moment with another adventurous soul, it’s just that much sweeter.
I expected to be rolling back to my car with a T-shirt on and my pants draped over me — getting dressed in public in a wheelchair, not so easy.
But once again, collective care and small town community to the rescue. My friend Kyra was at the park with her dog and came over to help us.
So Anpo and Smokey ran around, while the three of us wrangled wet limbs and sweatpants. Thankfully, we won.
I made my back to my car — bra and panties flying in the wind off the back of my chair, and not a care in the world.
What is collective care?
Collective care is ultimately the way we get through this chaotic existence together. It’s a technique for both surviving and thriving in this world.
We’ve all heard of self-care, it’s become all the rage. People are profiting BIG TIME off of the self-care trend, often misrepresenting what the essence of self-care truly is. However, done well, as a sacred and mindful practice, self-care is absolutely vital. But it’s not where care ends, it can’t be.
Collective care is an expansion of how we are taught we should or can exist in this world. It shifts our focus from individualism to interdependence, and shows us that, in fact, giving and receiving care in authenticity, courage, humility, generosity and compassion can bring us all more meaning, joy and abundance.
The article titled, Be Careful With Each Other, credits queer, disabled, and Black feminist organizations for introducing the concept of collective care into our communities and overall culture, describing it as:
“seeing members’ well-being – particularly their emotional health – as a shared responsibility of the group rather than the lone task of an individual. It means that a group commits to addressing interlocking oppressions and reasons for deteriorating well-being within the group while also combatting oppression in society at large. It places an emphasis on joint accountability, with the aim of collective empowerment.”
When it comes to collective care, we have an opportunity to expand the concept of community into an action, a lifestyle.
The thing about the tiny island where I live, is that collective care survives organically as a part of the very fabric that makes up this place. Maybe because we know we can’t do life here alone, and we surrender to that fact.
We have no other choice. There is a village mentality, a real sense of community in that we feel more of a responsibility to each other. There’s a thriving culture of care here.
We need each other, we appreciate each other’s contributions, and it shows in the way we care for each other.
We show up. We ask for help. We offer help. We find where we’re needed and we fill the gap.
But it’s possible to achieve this no matter where we live, especially through our relationships. Friendships can take on a deeper meaning through collective care, by asking ourselves, ‘how we can care more deeply for the people we care about.?’
“Acts of care are acts of resistance in a society that is designed to dehumanize and divide us.” — from this eye-opening TedTalk on collective care in the workplace and beyond.
Where we start:
How can we…
Can we ask for help without guilt or shame?
Can we offer help without expectations?
Can we look for help in unexpected places?
Can we challenge and stretch ourselves in terms of what it means to care for others?
Can we step outside of convenience to really care?
Can we challenge ourselves to try new things, and to receive in ways that nurture us?
Can we expand our ability to receive the opportunities for joy in our lives, or to share joy in our lives?
Can we imagine this being easier, more joyful, more collaborative…
How did you experience collective care this week? Last week? Last month? How do you long for collective care? Share with us!
Big love, and remember to use your imagination,
Kels
Share this post