Mass Observation: Breeann, 35, Montana

How are you living your best life in the midst of history unfolding?

Today’s Mass Observation post was written by Breeann, a fellow Substacker. She submitted her thoughts on my community prompt: “What are you doing right now to live your best possible life in the midst of history unfolding?”

Photo by sippakorn yamkasikorn on Unsplash

Paper, a gel pen, and a very enthusiastic little boy greet me as I walk out of my bedroom. I am bleary-eyed, pajama-clad, and holding my eight-month-old baby girl on my hip, the baby who only sometimes sleeps during the night.

“Mom! I’m making Ms. N. a letter!” My third-grade son says while jumping in the air.

This is my autistic son I adopted who, only three years ago, was learning to be potty-trained and learning to speak after spending the first six years of his life bouncing around in foster and kinship care. He’s now initiating writing his teacher a letter and speaking clearly and excitedly about it to me. He is nothing less than a miracle appearing right in my kitchen.

In the moment, I don’t think about how miraculous he is, though, but I do say, “Oh my gosh, that’s wonderful.”

“I need stickers, though.” I carry the baby upstairs to dig through my art supplies until I find my large bag of stickers, the stickers left over from my own childhood collection. I grab a pile of stickers of all sorts and bring them downstairs with me and the baby. I hand the stickers to my son, and he picks out flowers, tools, ladybugs, and Noah’s arks.

“I want a pink one with a long stem,” he says to himself as he peels a pink tulip sticker off the white backing paper and sticks it to his letter.

“How do you spell Miss N. you are best teacher?”

He does not say the word “the,” as he still frequently leaves out articles in his speech like “a,” “an,” and “the.” But he is asking a meaningful and clear question, and I can give him an answer. Again, a miracle.

I tell him how to spell each word, and he slowly writes these words across the top of his sticker-covered paper with his hot pink gel pen. He adds, “Luve J” at the bottom of his paper.

He grabs an envelope from the junk drawer and then folds the letter so he can fit it inside. He doesn’t fold the letter in exact thirds, so it doesn’t fit in the envelope just how he wants it to. He asks for help, and I take the letter and refold it. I slide it into the envelope and hand it back to him. He grabs his gel pen again and writes Miss N. across the front. This time, he writes her name correctly without asking me for any help.

“I don’t want to lose it.”

I suggest we put the letter in the front zippered pocket of his backpack, but he doesn’t like this solution.

“No, I’ll carry it.”

I tug his thick blue winter gloves onto his hands and tighten the velcro straps around his wrists before handing him the letter.

“Okay, hang on to it until you see Miss N. She’ll love it. That’s very nice of you. Have a great day, buddy.” I kiss him on the cheek and send him out the door.

I’m so proud of my boy for working so hard to overcome barriers caused by a young childhood riddled with chronic trauma and sorrow. He’s learned so many skills, and anyone who has known him since he was very young cannot believe he is the same boy. But mostly, I’m proud of him for being kind and loving; that’s always been true of him, since the first day I met him and even well before that.

What am I doing right now to live my best life in the midst of this tumultuous time in history?

I am digging for stickers in the art supplies at 7:30 in the morning before I do anything else so my son can bless his teacher with random kindness. I am telling him how to spell words. I am helping him fold his precious letter so it fits inside the envelope. I am adjusting his gloves so he can properly hold his letter on his walk to school. I am giving him a hug and a kiss and encouraging him to achieve his third-grade dreams. I am assisting him in being his authentic loving self so his love can radiate outward to others.

I am a daily witness and encourager to the miracle that is a boy who, despite enduring years of injustice and hardship, only wants to give love and warmth to others. Nurturing a spirit like his is exactly what I need to be doing right now. Watering seeds of love, creativity, and generosity when the world feels dark and scary is an act of bold resistance and, for me, the only path forward.

This is my best possible life.

Do you, too, have something to share about how you’re living in the best possible way right now, no matter how hard things feel? Or do you have another story to share as part of our Mass Observation project? Hit the “submit” button below or leave me a comment.