Keep The Pace
Notes on survival and what caring for each other might look like in daily life practice
Our neighbor salted our driveway yesterday evening. His wife texted me to ask if it was okay. Before I had a chance to respond, he had already rung our doorbell to say hello and started shaking the crystals on the steps. He doesn’t get fully down the sidewalk before our other neighbor runs over; I hustle to grab their food, which the delivery driver mistakenly gave to us. This neighbor and the first have daughters about the same age. They play together sometimes; often in my driveway because I keep chalk in the garage for them. Because my dad keeps everything and kids have keen eyes, they often find other small treasures, pulling dusty hula hoops and forgotten, half deflated bouncy balls from twenty years ago out from nooks and crannies.
Even though I would say that A (age 7) and C (age 10) are the kids I feel the most responsible for because I have the deepest relationship with them and their parents that I have built over the last eight or nine years, I make it my business to know any of the neighborhood kids they’re around. I know their names, and at least what house they belong to, even if I’ve not met parents. If anything should happen, I know where to go.
They know that if something should happen, and their parents aren’t around, I am another adult they can ask.
I built this up by being present. By being around. By saying yes to coming outside when they wanted to play. They almost never actually want me to play with them, they just want me to be out there with them. They’re fine if I bring a book, or my laptop, or my crochet project and sit in a lawn chair while they draw with chalk or ride their bikes, but they appreciate when I show them how to draw dragonflies or help them figure out how many wings an airplane has. (I mentioned that six in the middle might be a little excessive, but I appreciate the imaginative spirit.)
I built this up by spending 45 minutes a week reading to them from books that I like, books that they like, and anything in between.
My neighbors know that my dad has limited mobility and my mom and I might not remember to salt our walk. They also know that I bring home books for their kids about Black superheroes and Duke Ellington, a Caribbean Cinderella and Kwanzaa. I do my best to tell them what I know, to share with them how much there is to be proud of in our cultures. They know that I will bring them a plate of baked goods in December, remembering everyone’s dietary restrictions. They know that I will sit with the kids in an emergency, and happily play games with them that I lose, fair and square.
And in return, they will give my mom a ride to the hospital to see about me. Keep an eye on my dad if mom and I have to run out. They will make beautiful backdrops for my very first book signing, set it up and take it down for me.
They will make sure to salt our walk.
There are so many more important places to turn your attention in this moment. Far more important things to do, far stronger, more learned voices to center in this moment.
What I do have to offer is this:
This moment, like every other difficult moment in history, requires us to hold many things at once, and it is unwieldy. We keep our eyes on a future where a new world is possible, even if we aren’t sure how we’ll get there, while also tending to the very real emergencies of the now.
A few threads of a very complex tapestry that is worldbuilding keep me grounded: we have to keep the pace. We must be here tomorrow, continuing to put one foot in front of the other. All of our emotions, however powerful, however delayed, however they come out, matter. There are many ways to contribute a thread to the tapestry. It is always useful to help someone or an organization you already know is doing things you value. It is always useful to know what you have to share—some people have time, some people have money, some people have information. I often have time and information. Who do you already invest that resource in? For me, it’s young people. I’m a teacher. I naturally invest time and information into young people. I also have care. I am quite good at creating spaces for my loved ones to retreat into before they go back into the world. I make sure I know my neighbors, so that we can build safety beyond individual houses, and into a larger ecosystem together.
It is labor that requires creation stitch by stitch often. It is quite lucky that I am a fiber artist and I find such pursuits satisfying.
So I do that.
I keep the pace.
There are so many things you could read if you need some words. Honestly, you could get almost anything from Haymarket Books and find a good starting point—plus, they’re always running really deep sales. (Also, find titles and check them out at your library.)
Two books I’ve reread a lot were Mariame Kaba’s We Do This Til We Free Us: Abolitionist Organizing and Transforming Justice (2021) and her co-edited book with Kelly Hayes, Let This Radicalize You: Organizing and the Revolution of Reciprocal Care (2023). I also am someone who has always been interested in how you can use the digital as a tool, so on the academic side, I’ve spent time with #HashtagActivism: Networks of Race and Gender Justice (2020) by Moya Bailey, Brooke Foucault Welles and Sarah J. Jackson. I also often reread Toni Morrison’s essay “Racism and Facism,” which you can find collected in The Source of Self-Regard (2019).
This is also a really great opportunity to tap into zines published by local community organizers. I know lots of zinesters share info online, but if you have a local independent bookstore or comic book store near you, they might also carry informative zines from local organizers. If you’re in the 757, I have seen these types of zines at Eleanor’s Norfolk and in the 804, Resist Booksellers in Petersburg.
If you’re new here and you don’t want to do all that clicking to find out what I’m about: I’m Dr. Ravynn K. Stringfield, a writer, editor, artist and former Peanut Fest Queen from Suffolk, Virginia. I am the author of two novels for young adults, Love in 280 Characters or Less (Feiwel & Friends, 2025) and Love Requires Chocolate (Joy Revolution, 2024). I am a product of Virginia public schools (Suffolk Public Schools) and universities (University of Virginia), all the way up to my PhD in American Studies from William & Mary. I’ve been published in a variety of venues for the last six years—book collections, magazines, scholarly journals—but most importantly, I’m a life long reader and a maker of beautiful things.
Its lovely to hear stories of community and children playing outside.
Thank you for this, Ravynn.