On the door of my office is a Post-It note that says, “When things are bad, scrub floors.”
The line belongs to Emma Goldman, a Russian-born anarchist and labor organizer who immigrated to the United States at 16. Her opposition to World War I and her anti-draft activism spurred J. Edgar Hoover, then director of intelligence for the U.S. Justice Department, to push for her deportation in 1919. After over thirty years of organizing, she said in her deportation trial that her love for this country was like that of a man enchanted by beauty with his eyes open to a woman’s flaws.
Opinion
I look at Goldman’s words as often as I cross through the threshold of my workplace. It’s become a touchstone after tough days.
My tough days are no different from most. They’re made by way of overfilled calendars, tense conversations and a fight to keep my worn-out body in the community-building game. Sometimes tough means another grant funding denial or broken toilet, and other times it’s a jarring medical bill or more breaking news of a worrisome policy passed.
As primary election day creeps closer, the anxious buzz of “What’s next?” is palpable. The mailbox stacks higher with near-daily mailers that read as if they’re the handiwork of schoolyard bullies. A sticky tension fills the dry, wildfire-hazed air. I look to my peers and wonder: What happens when these offices are filled? Has the strain and tension only just begun? No one really knows.
However, I do know how to scrub the proverbial floors. And I believe, to do so, is as nourishing for me as for the house.
When I was young, I remember waking up in the night and finding my mom deep cleaning the hallway closet. She’d move all the coats and bins out and tidy the space spotless before going to sleep with the rest of the house. Then, I thought she’d lost her mind. Now, I know what it’s like to feel the relief of easy sleep after a restless rumble with a task.
When my colleagues find me tidying file archives or Xerox toner tubes, they know, as much as I do, I’m doing it for my weary heart. When it feels like you can’t win, you can always organize your pens.
This week we’ll learn what’s ahead for us on November’s Election Day — in our city council chambers, on the state House floors, within the offices of our federal representatives in Washington.
If we’re lucky, we’ll all be greeted with a victory worth celebrating. A trusted candidate will move forward, and a yard sign may proudly stay rooted in the lawn. And also, we’ll likely learn the news that something didn’t go the way we’d wanted. We’ll console a losing opponent, or realize we must now begin our due diligence to pick the next-best representative for us.
When I discovered that this month’s publication fell on the weekend before primary election day, my first thought was one of sheer panic. What do you say to the state you love so dearly as this season unfolds? How do you mourn your community’s integrity while staying hopeful for change?
Goldman herself didn’t have much faith in the ballot box. But this week, that’s precisely the tool we have.
My hope is that during this important week ahead, you do two things.
First, you vote.
Second, you look around you — across your downtown streets, school classrooms, community gathering spaces and beyond — and give something some love, whether you pull sidewalk weeds, pick trash from the alleyway or help a stranger carry their groceries to the car.
To scrub the floors of your place is to tend to its future well-being.
As we wait for what’s next, let’s tidy and clear the debris of what’s gathered, knowing, like in any home, it will return to be scrubbed once more.
