We know the floaty feeling. Suspension of all belief, all certainty, all knowing. We prepare for it. We practice feeling it on our long walks, in conversations with strangers and friends and our closest loves.

We prepare ourselves to see. With our eyes. With our hearts.

Have we been becoming the people we want to become our whole lives?

The Sun Dog arrived, a rainbow of frozen light and suspended water molecules, on a feels-like-minus-39-degrees December 21, 2022. The rainbow floated in and out, but the halo of light remained. The sun and the so-thin-but-we-can’t-see-it atmosphere joined to create a wonder of a halo of light, on the shortest day. It called to me, “Yes, it’s the longest night of the year. Here’s some light to store in reserver in your energy body. We are all here, welcoming the darkness, facing the night visions with gentleness, decency and bravery.”

In Toronto today, road crews anticipate the moment when the falling rain and wet snow will turn to ice. Keeping humans safe on the journey is their objective.

I’ve been watching White Lotus. A white privileged woman is on the island, begging for relief from her grief, from her pain body. A dark-skinned woman with knowledge of working with pain and an expansive heart helps. In two episodes, I see myself and the help I received by being in proximity, in a circle, with Indigenous women. I see the white privileged woman’s pain is honest and authentic. I am in a liminal and painful middle ground of wondering the storyline I’m witnessing and reviewing my only storyline, “how will the white privileged woman end up playing out her privilege, her feelings of superiority, of ambition to be healed. How will she push the woman who has been such a healing balm?”

I once bought a pair of earrings from an Indigenous artisan, made with feathers. I wore them with my hair in braids. I came across a photo of me with my sister when I was 9 and she was 7. We were dressed as Indian Princesses. My mother sewed us thin brown tunics and cut the bottom to make fringe. She painted designs with yellow paint around the hem. We wore headbands.

I am in a liminal space wondering, “Am I a good person? Was I a good person? Is anyone a good person all the time? Who forgives what?

What sacrifices do we make knowing we are helping others to heal, even if it’s painful for us?

We prepare ourselves to see. With our eyes. With our hearts.

Have we been becoming the people we want to become our whole lives?