The Hill We Collectively Climbed in 2020
This past week, working from home allowed me to tune in to the inauguration in real-time. Sitting on my couch during my lunch break, I wasn’t expecting to be so moved by the inaugural poem.
Amanda Gorman’s words were profound. Her presence, rhythmic rendition, and diction were so on point. I immediately, girl crush cyber stalked her and found out that she was a 22-year-old highly acclaimed poet. I also found out that our nation instantly fell in love with her, as well.
I know why I fell in love with her words. Besides the fact that I have recently re-taken up writing and sharing poetry (Awakening, My Brain on Pain, and My Second Grade Love Poems to My Mom), I could empathize with the story.
And that’s why I think we all fell in love with Amanda’s words. Haven’t we all been climbing a hill?
And with that realization, I was inspired by Amanda Gorman to write another poem about our shared struggles in 2020.
My poem: Our Collective Climb.
Our hills may be different, and they may vary in steepness. But one thing I know is that we are connected through this experience. We've all been living through the same global pandemic. Many of us awakened to social injustices that are systemic. We judged each other and witnessed political unrest. And so many of us laid loved ones to rest. Many suffered in isolation. But really, we suffer together as a nation. A lot of us lost jobs or reduced our income. Is there anything from 2020 that we can learn from? The thing about a hill, there's always a summit. This past year was challenging, but we can grow from it. We can look down while we're climbing-which I don't recommend. Or we can come together to mend. Climbing our hill has illuminated that we have been weak. Now, there's an opportunity to rise, to speak. We have a choice. To stay quiet or use our voice. That’s why we all loved Amanda's poem... She used her voice to show us the way back home. If you do nothing else, heed her advice. Be brave enough to be a light.
Thanks for indulging me by reading another of my poems. My learning from climbing our hill this past year was to unlearn my limiting beliefs.
What have you learned from climbing our hill?
I am sending you all my peace, love, and hiking boots.
If you’re interested in reading “The Hill We Climb” by Amanda Gorman here is a transcript of the poem as shared on CNN.com:
When day comes, we ask ourselves, where can we find light in this never-ending shade? The loss we carry. A sea we must wade. We braved the belly of the beast. We’ve learned that quiet isn’t always peace, and the norms and notions of what “just” is isn’t always justice. And yet the dawn is ours before we knew it. Somehow we do it. Somehow we weathered and witnessed a nation that isn’t broken, but simply unfinished. We, the successors of a country and a time where a skinny Black girl descended from slaves and raised by a single mother can dream of becoming president, only to find herself reciting for one. And, yes, we are far from polished, far from pristine, but that doesn’t mean we are striving to form a union that is perfect. We are striving to forge our union with purpose. To compose a country committed to all cultures, colors, characters and conditions of man. And so we lift our gaze, not to what stands between us, but what stands before us. We close the divide because we know to put our future first, we must first put our differences aside. We lay down our arms so we can reach out our arms to one another. We seek harm to none and harmony for all. Let the globe, if nothing else, say this is true. That even as we grieved, we grew. That even as we hurt, we hoped. That even as we tired, we tried. That we’ll forever be tied together, victorious. Not because we will never again know defeat, but because we will never again sow division. Scripture tells us to envision that everyone shall sit under their own vine and fig tree, and no one shall make them afraid. If we’re to live up to our own time, then victory won’t lie in the blade, but in all the bridges we’ve made. That is the promise to glade, the hill we climb, if only we dare. It’s because being American is more than a pride we inherit. It’s the past we step into and how we repair it. We’ve seen a force that would shatter our nation, rather than share it. Would destroy our country if it meant delaying democracy. And this effort very nearly succeeded. But while democracy can be periodically delayed, it can never be permanently defeated. In this truth, in this faith we trust, for while we have our eyes on the future, history has its eyes on us. This is the era of just redemption. We feared at its inception. We did not feel prepared to be the heirs of such a terrifying hour. But within it we found the power to author a new chapter, to offer hope and laughter to ourselves. So, while once we asked, how could we possibly prevail over catastrophe, now we assert, how could catastrophe possibly prevail over us? We will not march back to what was, but move to what shall be: a country that is bruised but whole, benevolent but bold, fierce and free. We will not be turned around or interrupted by intimidation because we know our inaction and inertia will be the inheritance of the next generation, become the future. Our blunders become their burdens. But one thing is certain. If we merge mercy with might, and might with right, then love becomes our legacy and change our children’s birthright. So let us leave behind a country better than the one we were left. Every breath from my bronze-pounded chest, we will raise this wounded world into a wondrous one. We will rise from the golden hills of the West. We will rise from the windswept Northeast where our forefathers first realized revolution. We will rise from the lake-rimmed cities of the Midwestern states. We will rise from the sun-baked South. We will rebuild, reconcile, and recover. And every known nook of our nation and every corner called our country, our people diverse and beautiful, will emerge battered and beautiful. When day comes, we step out of the shade of flame and unafraid. The new dawn balloons as we free it. For there is always light, if only we’re brave enough to see it. If only we’re brave enough to be it.
this [mama]. 