It’s been a little over 2 years since my best friend passed away. On Sundays, when I pick up my ball and cleats to play soccer, listen to a song, think about my days in college and my eyes can’t stop but to turn into waterfalls. Time doesn’t heal all wounds, but rather allows us to feel, remember and live.

I’d love to share how I keep my friend, Davon, alive in my heart. They say someone dies the moment you forget about them, when they fade from your heart and mind. The word forget is foreign to me.

When I step onto a soccer field, smelling the fresh cut grass and the beaming sun on my face, I always tell my father before I kick to goal, “This one is for Davon! Top right corner!”. Next thing you know, I’ve scored a goal and exhibit the most radiant smile on my face. My dad smiles too. At the University of Maryland Eastern Shore, Davon and I would go play soccer on a campus field. It became a ritual for us after long stressful exam days. Every Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday, we would go the University Terrace soccer field and practice as if we were getting ready for the next World Cup. Sometimes are practices were intense, leaving us with bruises and ripped shirts. Still, it was fun, and we would laugh about our rigorous sessions once we returned to our room. When I score goals, I also score for Davon.

“Music is everything to me. It’s helped me get through the darkest of moments”, Davon would tell me. I would echo his words back to him, as music has been my unconscious ally. Davon and I both spent countless hours devising playlists, sharing music, engaging in deep conversation on which rapper was the best, and letting music be an accompanist to our moments of sunshine. On the week of my graduation, I was wrapping up my graduation photo shoot, but realized I was missing a quote to go along with my photos. That same week, Davon and I, while listening to J. Cole, both had lightbulbs appear on top of our heads. “We gon' take it to the Moon, take it to the stars” the lyrics read. That phrase later then became my quote for my graduation pictures. Over the pandemic, I started to collect vinyl’s from present and past artists. I figured this was a great way to express my love for music while at the same time remembering my best friend.

The saying states that college represents the best four years of your life. At the time I didn’t think it was true, but as I grow older, they were truly what I will call the ‘golden years. I’m three years out of school and over the last year, I’ve realized that worrying about the next test, project or where the next party was going to be held was far less stressful than bills. Davon would probably say the same. My time at UMES was about discovering myself. Going into school I knew who I wasn’t, not who I was. One of the most valuable lessons and gifts of my four years at the shore was the importance of friendship. I met some of the most amazing friends, most whom I stay in contact with today. Meeting Davon was the biggest blessing of them all. A natural introvert and spending too many moments in the darkness, Davon’s hand of friendship and invitation for me to belong in his heart is an experience that I’ll cherish until death. Once the pandemic brushes away, one of my short-term goals is to go back to UMES and walk the campus and revisit the landmarks that hold the memories of Davon.

I have texts on my phone that’ll never ping again and when I ever I need a refill, my mother says, to remember is to live again.

If you haven't already seen it, check out this wonderful opinion piece published last week in USA Today from Weave's Executive Director, Fred Riley. It is a truly profound and hopeful call for more weaving across our nation during these difficult times.

If we can acknowledge that we are all vulnerable now, we have a nearly unprecedented opportunity to weave community in ways that leave us stronger.

A few months ago, before the whole world changed, I moved from Cincinnati to accept a new position with the Aspen Institute in Washington, D.C. I was excited about my new role with Weave: The Social Fabric Project.

A few weeks into the job, the world came to a halt because of COVID-19. Suddenly, I found myself leading a new team from behind a Zoom screen, alone, in an unfamiliar city, anxiously tracking the health of my family and friends.

As an African American man, my anxiety was compounded when the streets of our country begin to fill with protesters because of the unjust deaths of George Floyd, Ahmaud Arbery, Breonna Taylor and Rashard Brooks.

Now our country is dealing with two plagues: COVID-19 and racism. Both plagues disproportionately affect the African American community. As a Black man, it is disheartening to know you can play by the rules, achieve success and still be looked at as threatening by people based on stereotypes. I am suffering with the communities succumbing to COVID-19; I am walking alongside protesters who shout, "Black lives matter"; I feel what they are feeling; I live what they live.

Feeling crushed under the weight of it all, I recently lamented in a phone conversation with my mom, “I feel like the world is going to come to an end.” To which she replied, in the style of one who has seen it all, “Shut up, that’s not happening.”

My mom bore witness to the murders of John F. Kennedy and Martin Luther King Jr., to the young lives lost in the Vietnam War and the protests triggered by that conflict, to the civil rights clashes of that same time period. She lived — and lived through — these experiences, alongside her family members, friends and neighbors in the American South.

What did that time feel like? “It felt like the walls around you were caving in,” she said.

How did you get through it? “People loved a little more, hunkered down a little more, supported each other a little more,” she said.

Change started in grassroots

As my mom experienced it and remembers it, societal transformation didn’t come from the top and then trickle down to her neighborhood. Instead, people in her community started working together on the things plaguing them. Slowly, they started climbing up together out of a tumultuous — but transformative — period.

Fast-forward to now. Communities of color are disproportionately ravaged by COVID-19. Communities of color are also bending and breaking under the weight of decades of structural racism — our country’s “unfinished business” — which impacts not only how policing and criminal justice are meted out but also how our educational, economic and health systems function by design.

At the same time, we know that the health and economic toll of this period will cut a wide path across America, leaving vulnerable communities of all colors and stripes in its wake. At times like this, facing multiple perceived threats, our local communities and our country as a whole may struggle mightily to secure and strengthen our “bonds of affection.” It’s natural, it’s human, to let fear divide us. It takes heart and courage to tap the deep waters that connect us.

We're all vulnerable now

But if we can rise to this moment, if we can acknowledge that we are all vulnerable at this time, we have a nearly unprecedented opportunity to weave community in ways that leave us all stronger. It starts with committing to see our neighbors as our ourselves. To love those with whom we disagree. To respect those whom, frankly, we may not like. To embrace the simple, humanistic principles that all human lives have inherent value, and that more unites us than divides us.

At the Aspen Institute’s Weave: The Social Fabric Project, our work aims to support the many thousands of people who are quietly living this value in their communities, seeing others fully and showing up fully for them. We want to inspire others to become weavers of a strong, inclusive social fabric.

Weave and the National Conversation Project have launched #WeavingCommunity as a social campaign, inviting Americans into honest conversation, authentic human connection and meaningful civic action in their communities. If we want a stronger, more connected America, we have to work for it. It won’t come easy in this time of pandemic and protest.

Among other actions, we are inviting people into small group video chats with neighbors to share times in their lives when they have overcome challenges. They talk about how those lessons might help them strengthen their communities in today’s challenging times. Opening up like this takes courage.

When I attended church as a kid, our pastor would always say before Communion, “You need to reexamine yourself before you take up this holy time in church!” Those words ring in my ears today.

This is a holy time, a sacred time, for our country. With so many societal issues laid bare, each of us is called to reexamine our roles, our beliefs, our values and, most important, our actions.

I am convinced that we will rise together if we “hunkered down” — to borrow my mom’s words — on discovering what it takes to move communities forward. Hunker down on building the skills needed to be effective weavers and bridge builders in our neighborhoods. It starts with us making brave connections. As we say in our #WeavingCommunity campaign, “#LetsGoThere.”

Frederick J. Riley is executive director of Aspen Institute's Weave: The Social Fabric Project. Before joining Weave, he served as chief advancement officer for the YMCA of Greater Cincinnati. Follow him on Twitter: @frederickjriley

We are honored to have Triston B. Black, a citizen of the Navajo Nation and community member of Tsaile, Arizona, share his thoughts in our newsletter and blog for National Mental Health Awareness Month.

Ashinéé’ shiyázhí, or “I’ve missed you my grandchild,” are the first words you hear when your grandparents see you. The love and comfort of our elders give us strength, warmth, and a sense of belonging. Our elderly women hug us and talk about how much we have grown, and our elderly men are glad to catch up with us and see what we have been up to. The COVID-19 pandemic has had a devastating effect in our tribal communities.

It has taken parents, grandparents, and extended relatives. It was heart aching to hear of loved ones taken from us, but now is the time to take care of our mental health. Now is the time to reconnect with our family, friends, neighbors, and continue to be a good relative to all in our community.

In the Navajo language, our relatives tell us, “Nitsíkees baa áháyą́” which means take care of your mental health. After a good conversation or a chance meeting at the store, we always hear “Ádá’ahwołyą́”, or “Take care of yourself.” Self-care is very important to be a good relative and nurtures our mental well-being. There may be things we are going through or times we need to talk to someone, and it’s always good to hear our relatives out and take the time to listen to them.

Every time I leave home, my grandparents and mother remind me to keep in touch with them and always pray for a safe journey. As Indigenous people, we are always being watched over by the Diyin Dine’é or the Holy People. Everywhere we go, we are constantly protected and blessed with emotional, social, physical, and spiritual strength.

We breathe the sacred breath of life and acknowledge our surrounding environment. For instance, when we go for a walk, we may cross paths with birds, plants, trees, and the natural elements. All these essential beings greet us, sing to us, and weave throughout the landscape. They are happy to see us, just as our elders are happy to see us.

One of the first steps in improving our mental health is taking care of ourselves. I encourage you to take time and breathe. Call or video call an elder, parents, or an extended relative. Take time to remember that our community members are our relatives. You may not know them, but you may make someone’s day by giving them a smile.

These past two years have been tough, but now is the time to heal and continue to be a good relative. Our Indigenous youth prioritize their mental health and build our communities up. What is your call to improve mental health for your community? I say to you, - Ádá’ahwołyą́ - take care of yourself.

Artwork by Joelle Joyner (Meherrin, Cherokee Nation, and Blackfeet) Creative Native Call for Art Category Winner.

Hi All. I am an American therapist, living in Sai Gon (Ho Chi Minh City) Vietnam on diplomatic mission with my partner. We have to move every few years for his job, so creating community is always a priority as soon as get to our new place. I see there are some consultants & other therapists who seem to be also using their skills and knowledge of humans to build community. I have a private practice and I just started dabbling in consulting, which focused on improving well-being overall (increasing community, inclusion, and conflict skills). I'm super excited that more people are recognizing the power of community and finding ways to create it. Community is a priority in my house and work. I do some structured events and some less structured ones. We host open hours every Tuesday where any of our friends are welcome to stop by.

I'll be going back to Washington DC in a year or so, for a year or two and then we'll head to a new country. I'd love to find ways to deepen my community building skills and to bring community everywhere I go. I've signed up for a circle, and I'm excited to get more involved with WEAVE as I move around. I've never lived in DC before, so I'm super excited to be able to connect with that chapter while I'm there.

Image description: Downtown Sai Gon at sunset. There is a river and some foliage in the foreground and skyscrapers with lights on in the background.

I have recently interviewed Stephan Helary, founder of Terres D'Afrique, a cosmetic brand based on rare African botanicals and care for these indigenous plants and the communities that live among them.

Stephan tells us how the Himba tribe in Namibia behaves, how they are connected with nature, and how they "think together" when answering questions or proposals.

You can find the podcast interview with Stephan here.

It's worth listening, since Stephan has direct experience with the tribes, and share some of their wisdom and culture.

I'm Michael Brown and I live in San Marcos, TX. I'm an educator and am committed to the well-being of my family and community. My immediate goal is to become more familiar with Weavers and to help connect my wife and a couple of neighbors. We'll see how it goes from there.

Platform test-- Learning a new platform without morning coffee?  Not such a good idea.  -- HANSON