I stepped off the basement stair headed to the washing machine when I saw it. A tiny snake. It was shorter than my foot, and already dead, but those facts did not stay my scream. John is less squeamish and was willing to dispose of it discreetly. 

 

Last December I invited our extended relatives to a zoom, in order to keep a thread of connection. After check ins, I asked a question.

 

"When have you ever been in danger?"

 

There was a pause while my nieces and nephews thought about how to answer. I knew they went rock climbing, and traveled in third world countries. Then I remembered. Their mothers were on the call too. 

 

Appendectomy aside, I cannot think of any instances when I was in peril. I have never been held at gunpoint, or gone white water rafting. I am mostly home after dark, and have not been tempted to learn fire spinning, as my sons have. 

 

This year I've sought to deepen my awareness of the risks that have plagued marginalized peoples for centuries. Jews, and those courageous souls who hid them suffered terribly. Blacks have been terrorized both outside and within the law. Immigrants who are escaping violence in their own countries face grave risks in pursuit of the safety I swim in every day. Homeless persons, and those plagued by mental distress suffer in ways I only observe through a thick veil. 

 

And yet there is a threat that lives in the basement of my mind that is very much alive. 

 

When I hiss in my thinking, or let my words snap I sink far lower than the battered persons who are so often the target of contempt.