For years, I meditated alone. Exercised my breath solo. It was my time to be myself with my self. It was challenging. And annoying. It was time in solitude for a solitary figure. I needed the time alone to do the breath work and I needed the meditative practice to be apart, resting and recharging ahead of further social endeavors.
In that time I met and connected with many beautiful souls, passing by on their own journey into the wonderful. The more verbose among them loved to talk about holding space, holding a small circle of trust, of community, even if only in passing. It was only much later that the trees melted from view and I finally saw the forest — the space.
We do not hold much space for others, not in our schools, not in our jobs, not on the road, and only rarely on planes. The skies used to be my favorite place to connect before seat-back screens, smartphones, and iPads displaced human connection as the best use of our time on planes. It felt like a last refuge, and it, too, was lost.
And then, in pushing my partner to pursue an active interest in her own practice, I ended up in my first breathworks workshop. Once again, I was told space would be held. I should be free to tear, cry, laugh, or fart. Whatever spirit possessed me, let it in and out, like Frank Herbert suggested we all do with fear.
It took almost a week for the connection to click. We have outsourced the emotional, psychological, and intellectual space we once held for once another to professionals who cannot hope to provide the individualized treatments we need, because they do not travel with us over time, through lives that are complex and must not be reduced to one party’s retelling from a fallible and impressionable mind, often victim to its own flaws, environmental factors, and the body’s own whims.
We have outsourced communal support to certified bureaucrats who hold space for us because we pay them. They serve a valuable role given the breakdown of our society and our inability to show up for one another because the rat race drowns the slowest runners. But our slowest runners are drowning, and we should stop to consider how we failed them, what role we play in our friends and family falling behind in a race rigged in favor of those with multilevel advantages, whether by birth, circumstance, or both.
We need to start holding space for one another. Every lasting civilization has known the community is only as strong as our weakest link, because we are all connected. Every civilization has placed exile as a punishment worse than death, because being alone, cast out from your people, is a festering wound that can never be cleaned.
We need to hold space for one another, or there will be no space left, for anyone.