In today’s vernacular, “good” is a word devoid of specific meaning, if you ask me. While it generally, definitionally means something is going well or is desired/approved of, it’s also the opposite of bad…and I think in many cases when someone says things are “good” they really mean “not bad” as opposed to “favorable.” It’s as if “good” isn’t indicative of any positive circumstance, but rather it’s used to signal the absence of a negative one.
That’s ok. “Good” keeps us even—we’re neither too high nor too low, we’re avoiding any wild swings of emotion. “Good” gives us perspective—things are fair to middlin’—could be better, but could be worse.
But let’s face it, none of that really means anything meaningful.
So today, for example, I don’t feel particularly good about what I’m feeling good about, or how I’m feeling good. I mean, it’s definitely better than the alternative, but still…
“What is she talking about?” you’re probably asking yourselves. “And what is all this B.S. about ‘Feel-Good Friday?’ if feeling good isn’t even a good thing?”
Allow me to explain a bit about from where I come.
I was so busy at work on Tuesday that when Kerri swung by my home officecloset and announced that they had reached a verdict in the Chauvin trial, she really was breaking the news to me (so rare in this day and age!) and I was taken aback, caught off guard. It was 4ish, giving me an hour to wrap up the work day and perfect timing since that was about when the verdict would be read…but my mind immediately started spinning while my stomach and heart took off like two unaccompanied and not-quite-tall-enough-to-ride minors on a rollercoaster ride without safety harnesses. My breath got shallow. I was hot. I was cold. Where should I watch? What did they decide? They have to find him guilty, right? But oh my god what if he walks oh my god. I kinda felt like puking, mainly because I couldn’t stomach what it would have meant or done to the world if the verdict were in Chauvin’s favor. I wasn’t borrowing trouble, I was reacting in the moment, considering a very real possibility. I time traveled back to a day in October 1995 where, over lunch at Amelia’s in Marina Bay when my friend and co-worker Shawn, a colleague visiting from Belgium, and I heard the OJ Simpson verdict read live. That was a trial that went, IMO, the wrong way…flashing back to that day reminded me that the “wrong way” happens…all the time…
I finished up what I needed to finish for the time being, and decided to take advantage of the warm temps and watch out back. After more back and forth than it should have taken I settled on ABC as my viewing network of choice. I like David Muir, and his gravitas felt right for the circumstances. (Point of fact, full disclosure, last Saturday morning, eyes of the world on Windsor Castle, I did not choose Davide Muir. Instead I went with Savannah and Hoda to give me play-by-play of Prince Philip’s funeral—I needed a bit of sensationalism and drama for that. But not for this.)
Then I chose a beer deliberately and carefully, hoping upon hope that “Let the Light In” would be the perfect drink for this moment in history.
I slowly poured it into my new plastic IPA “glass” (which was—yay!—patio safe, patio perfect, a really good thing). Then I sat and waited, feeling nervous anticipation and dread and calm. Texting with a friend, speculating. The same friend I watched the OJ verdict with, Shawn. I thought how nice it is that we’ve been such good friends for so long. I thought that if Chauvin was getting let go, no way it would have happened that fast. And before I had any more time to think, they cut to the judge.
Guilty…guilty…and…guilty.
A very subdued “phew.”
(Much-needed) light. Let in.
But then I didn’t feel much after that. Relief but not satisfaction. Hope but not happiness.
Social media helped me reconcile my feelings and understand more about what this verdict meant. I learned that real justice wasn’t served. If the world were in fact just, George Floyd never would have died.
This was about this one trial, the accountability of this one defendant. It was a single verdict, not sweeping policy change. And while the verdict may have let a sliver of light in, and maybe sent a small signal that the tide someday might turn, it did absolutely nothing to dismantle the beast of a machine that is systemic racism. Without 17-year-old Darnella Frazier and her recording, well, I’d ask “who knows how this might have gone?”, but the sad fact of the matter is we all know how it would have gone.
The system continues to coddle privilege, at a very very high cost. A cost that far too few people are willing to acknowledge. And that fewer still are willing to get involved to drive change.
The ink on the Chauvin verdict was scarcely dry when we learned that 16-year-old Ma’Khia Bryant had died in a hail of bullets in Columbus, OH, a few states down and to the right of Minnesota. In a weird way, I’m glad that news came after we heard verdict…it gave us a very short moment in time to feel hope. I know there’s a lot to that story, and that there’s a lot to every story, but I am hard pressed to believe that police need to shoot a girl with a knife at all let alone four times. I know officers have to make split-second decisions, but I wonder whether we can train them to deescalate differently…and to make better split-second decisions.
Life is about taking the good with the bad, and the verdict in the Chauvin trial is something to feel good about…but good is used very relatively here. And that’s ok…this realistic, relative use of “good” allows us to appreciate the moment without losing focus on the big picture, without losing sight of our destination. Some people get distracted by small wins and forget about the larger “battle.” Almost 80 people have been shot and killed by police since the Chauvin trial started. So if you think with the Chauvin guilty x 3 verdict that justice has been served, think again.
Enough on that (for now).
Here are some things I feel good about in a purely positive sense right now:
The prosecutors in the Chauvin trial, who were fantastic. They were professional and pro-police. They were even-keeled and tried the case without sensationalism and theatrics (e.g. unlike “if it fits you must acquit). They stayed focused on the facts and didn’t stray into controversial tangential areas. And the ending of the closing argument by Jerry Blackwell was sheer brilliance. George Floyd did not die of an enlarged heart, he did not die because his heart was too big…
Post-Tai Chi Thursday Dinner with Mom is back on. She came home last Friday and here she was at the dining room table last night. A delicious and perfectly chilled dry Riesling followed by steak dinner…and her homemade brownies and Jeopardy for dessert. Per-fec-tion.
My new Igloo Playmate cooler. I feel good about the cooler itself as well as my ability to—when I was asked (rightly so) whether we *really* needed *another* cooler—describe its varied use cases as if I were in a large auditorium defending a dissertation. (Not something I’ve done but def how I imagine it.) Bottom line, we definitely need this cooler…when the quantity of cans manageable, convenience and ease of access is critical, and long-term temperature control is of low to moderate concern. It’s so important to have the right cooler for the right moment. Cold brews make or break so many moments.
Continually finding joy in everyday places, in everyday things. And even though I take one (almost) every day, some showers just are better than others. I had a great one on Wednesday, not sure what made it so great, but boy did it feel good. And speaking of showers, I am really close to getting a decent towel turban locked on my head post-shower. Soclose.
The vaccination. We’re getting there. Good job. (Regarding J&J, well, everyone who has ever seen a TV commercial for a prescription drug has heard the laundry list of possible side effects, from rashes to internal bleeding to exploding anuses to death…so rare blood clots are awful, but they aren’t entirely abnormal.)
My atomic in-development bed-making habit. I’ll be honest, in the past some days the bed got made, some days it didn’t. Who cares? Not like anyone’s in the room during the day anyway. But every day the bed went unmade, the sheets got more untucked, more tangled, and getting into a messy bed was annoying, not relaxing…enough was enough. Now, after I brush my teeth, I make the bed. And only then do I go downstairs for coffee. (Thanks, James Clear and Atomic Habits.)
And one last thing to feel good about today, and also to end on lucky number 7, is the very fact that it’s Friday. (And if you live where I do, the sun is shining…bonus!)
And since I just heard that Shock G died, might as well Humpty Dance into the weekend…have a great one, and I’ll see you Monday with a fresh Maiku. Thanks for being here!
You can never have enough coolers....ever!