Rest

A couple years back, I became really focused on the power of rest. Physically, spiritually, & politically. But one of the first things that came up any time I tried to talk to anyone about it was a question that seems to have no universal answer, “What IS rest to you?” Since my therapist suggested I take the time to do some writing this week, this seems like the perfect time to work through the swirling thoughts on (digital) paper.

Currently I’m on a sabbatical to take a break from responsibilities and decisions (because that’s what I think rest is to me). Someone else has been managing my phone calls & texts; scheduling things for me; & running quick errands on my behalf. But oddly enough, asking someone to cook for me activated my adrenal system yesterday. That seemed so strange to me since, in my typical life, there are people cooking for me regularly.

So I thought, “let’s take a look at the things that activate energy in my chest.” Now sending messages for people to do quick things for me like scheduling, picking up items, and sending emails to further along the things on my agenda seems to be light. I would even say it’s something I’ve reached for. But when I was asked for my opinion on someone’s career decision, everything inside me darted into a frenzy. And I don’t even remember the last time I felt as awkward or stressed as when I asked for help making breakfast this morning.

Now, if I’m honest I can admit that sending messages asking for things to get done is work. And it’s work that I also need a break from. But it’s almost like being asked to “make the call/decision,” is so triggering that even giving advice or my opinion feels like too much to bear. And just making a request that someone do something they didn’t explicitly commit to doing beforehand agitates my entire body. It’s been over 30 minutes and I’m still unsettled.

Since this is just what’s going on in my body, I’ll call it true and valid…because it is true and has already taken place. But why did it happen in the first place?

I think I can trace it back to when my multiple traumas of abandonment & abuse met the navigation of ask/guess cultures via sudden community crisis management. Back when opening emails started giving me panic attacks. When a zoom call left me unable to speak or stand for an hour. When unnamed people rescinded funds because they found out I was involved with a community recovery effort. How many times can I be assigned the titles abusive, complicit, manipulative, or insufficient before I’d rather die than live? Because I sure as hell don’t want to be “resilient” anymore. Maybe my suicidal ideations over the last 2 years makes more sense than I thought. 2021 and 2022 were so full of traumas & triggers that just thinking about it makes me want to dissociate. I’ve never publicly spoken about what that time was actually like for me and I don’t think I’m going to do it here right now. But I honestly don’t know how I survived.

Maybe I didn’t.

That could be why I’m sitting here in a house in the middle of nowhere, on day 4 of a hospital diversion respite, and just now really thinking about any of this. Sitting here silently feeling hollow inside. I’m reminded of the days when my feelings operated like an extension cord—when they’d get so big and fierce that they’d trip the emotional circuit inside my chest and all the power would go out. In fact, I think that’s what just happened.

Oh.

Where was I?

That’s right—rest. Rest looks different for each of us, but how do we know what it looks and feels like to us? What is my working definition of rest? And do the things that fit that definition actually leave me feeling whatever my definition of “rested” is? According to google via the Cambridge English Dictionary, it involves some sort of “getting back your strength,” in exchange for no longer doing something. According to Psalm 127:2, where it’s determined to be unnecessary to work all the time, it is essentially defined as “sleep.” Although, I’m particularly fond of Merriam-Webster’s 4th & 6th definitions which are, “peace of mind or spirit,” and “something used for support,” respectively.

For me, there are so many things I could call “rest” if given no guidance so I find it more helpful for me to classify what isn’t rest. If I were to use those definitions as a grounding guide, I’d say it’s not rest if it:

• Doesn’t replenish your strength

• Challenges your peace of mind

• Unsettles your spirit

• Keeps you alert or active

• Speeds up your brain waves

• Weighs you down

• Can’t hold your weight (too temperamental or weak)

Now I came to this respite space with a few objectives: 1) to return to my body (and to myself); 2) to grieve the loss of my most recently deconstructed friendship; & 3) to rest (whatever that meant). But it seems, upon review, that these 3 things might be at odds with each other. Or at least, that the facilitation of the three is anything but linear.

Maybe that’s why sending messages delegating things doesn’t seem un-restful…because it helps slow down the brain waves that are creating to-do lists and problem-solving by outsourcing. While it’s not resting, it’s almost like it’s the precursor to resting. Like something I need to happen in order FOR me to rest. I guess that makes sense. But where is the line? Are there even lines? At some point it might just be a decision. You can’t delegate a responsibility to refuse to accept, right? You can’t pass on a weight you never held. Idk…that kind of feels reckless though; a bit removed from reality. And I don’t think that’s okay. I’m not sure I would call escapism rest since what is not real can’t hold your real weight. Then if it weighs you down after the fact, I’d say that it couldn’t be called “restful” in the first place.

As much as I would love to say I’ve received some incredible epiphany and suddenly have the perfect formula for rest…I don't. Sorry, I’m still looking too. Still trying to decipher what it looks or feels like, what it sounds like, where to get it, and how to incorporate it into my daily life. But at this moment, I, at least, have a few takeaways: 1) My experience with rest is not quite as conscious as I had hoped; 2) Rest isn’t linear; & 3) It is very possible to effectively avoid rest by trying to figure out what rest is.

So I think for now, I’ll just take the starting point of: “What can hold your weight and replenish your strength?”

If nothing else, when I read it like that, one answer feels pretty obvious:

“It is useless for you to work so hard from early morning until late at night, anxiously working for food to eat; for God gives rest to his loved ones.” -Psalm 127:2

And prayerfully, if you’ve picked well and been granted the gift of commitment, another answer might also be, “Community.”

Health?

5 Massage therapists

4 Physical therapists

3 Chiropractors

2 Primary care physicians

1 Neurologist (+ 1 NCS/EMG Technician) &

1 Rheumatologist

I am not a Christmas Carol.

After 9 years I get the opportunity to see 2 Black doctors (1 Chiropractor & 1 Naturopath). They were the most thorough in their questions & the most low-key in their explanations. The results of the tests they order make the oldest, worst, most debilitating ailment make sense.

That’s 17 White medical professionals. Then I finally get Black doctors & all I can do is shake my head.

If I wasn’t determined before, my resolve is now unshakable; I will never add another non-Black decision-making doctor to my core team again.

Never. Ever. Again.

Broken Things

Often, I feel like a broken record. Skipping, and often unable to move forward at the planned & expected intervals.

Or white board. Leaving smudges behind and never really being able to keep it moving or let anything go away.

Or piece of chalk. Still functional for awhile, but constantly falling out of hands not able to have impact for any real amount of time without a strained & hyper-forced grip.

Or office chair. Bending underneath even slight weights and struggling to stay elevated, move around a room, or even smaller spaces reliably.

And I don’t think there is really a repair for any of those things. I mean, you could decide to get your penny’s worth & keep them. But repairing them isn’t really feasible. Ultimately you have to decide to move on from them and replace, upgrade, or neither.

But ultimately what is my current refrain? “I am so tired and I just don’t know.”

So I leave myself with the following questions:

1. What if I was brave enough to stop chasing after things that required my exhaustion?

2. What if I was bold enough to truly choose individuals & villages over organizations & institutions?

3. What if I was daring enough to do less?

4. What if I behaved as if I loved myself?

And let’s see where we can go from here.

Indeterminate Wait

Everywhere I turn I seem to not be enough.

Not gentle enough, or
understanding enough, or
kind enough, or
confident enough, or
strong enough, or
frugal enough, or
caring enough, or
fast enough, or
calm enough, or
gracious enough, or
smooth enough, or
honest enough, or
happy enough, or
or humble enough, or
friendly enough, or
smart enough, or
chill enough, or
compassionate enough, or
self-assured enough, or
positive enough, or
healthy enough, or
motivated enough, or
fair enough, or
encouraged enough.

And when I’m not enough I feel like I’m just too much.

Too slow, and
too strong, and
too confident, and
too critical, and
too sensitive, and
too fat, and
too sweaty, and
too opinionated, and
too insecure,
too quiet, and
too nervous, and
too impatient,
too loud, and
too poor-minded, and
too needy, and
too bitter, and
too demanding, and
too bougie, and
too deep, and
too self-centered, and
too controlling, and
too excited, and
too focused, and
too defeated, and
too tired, and
too frustrated, and
too emotional, and
too hungry, and
too convicted, and
too convicting, and
too upset, and
too focused on the past.

It would be one thing if I thought everyone was tripping. But I agree with them—across the board.

And Idk what to do about it. I don’t know how to be better; how to be more of what I’m lacking and less of what I’m too much of. I want to be better so badly. For my friends, for my chosen family, and even for myself.

So many amazing things are happening around me. I believe God is doing soooo much to care for me & my tribe. And looking forward is so incredible—I’m in awe of what God is bestowing upon us.

But that doesn’t make me any less of a mess….or reduce how much hurt I’m causing to the people and relationships and projects around me. I don’t know how to be less abusive or manipulative…but I want to…soo badly. I just want to be good to and for the people around me. But I feel like even feeling like I can’t do anything right is failing.

It’s not even anybody’s “fault” but my own. Nobody can “fix” it but me. But I can’t figure out how to effectively adjust. And I’m just so sorry to the people in my life who love me.

Thanks for not quitting on me, but I don’t know how long you’ll have to not give up on me.

Nope. Not Me.

Never ever have I ever…

What?

Did you think I would answer that question?

Who gave you that expectation
that all who begin sentences must complete them?

Finishers rarely begin.

Ha! Can you imagine?

Well today I’m thirsty. So let’s go.

Never have I ever spent 72 hours without being in the presence of another human being.

Drink.

Do you know what happens to your mind after that long? To your skin?

Never have I ever shrinked…shranked..shrunk at the embrace of someone who loved me.

Drink.

Your brain sort of forgets how to interpret sensations…how to digest presence…how to discern what is toxic.

Never have I ever missed anyone while they were still present.

Drink.

When it lacks for too long, it hurts to receive again.
Lifeblood has become
Foreign.
Painful.
Confusing.

Never have I ever run from someone I wanted close.

Drink. Drink. Drink.

Trusting feels treacherous. Temporary feels true.

Never have I ever tricked myself into believing I preferred permanent solitude.

Drink.

It’s safer there…even when you’re sick. Depletion is better than being poisoned. Neglect is better than abuse.
Right?
I mean, I think so.

Never have I ever started something I wasn’t prepared to finish.

Oh? Okay.

Never have I ever started something I didn’t finish.

Drink.

Oh.

Skin has a few primary responsibilities:
Protect. Regulate. Permit.

Protect from care.

Drink.

Regulate affection.

Drink.

Permit suffering.

Drink.

Or something like that.

Never have I ever had my heart…

Look left. Look Right. Look Left.

Drink.

Beginners rarely finish.

Ha…
Could you imagine?

Rehearsal

Self-consciousness is such an interesting term. Or at least, it’s been made into one.

I mean, isn’t being, “critically aware of,” “noticing with a degree of controlled thought or observation,” & clearly “perceiving” one’s own mind, will, actions, & intentions…kind of a good thing? Yet, I’ve rarely, if ever, seen this term used in any way that didn’t allude to it being a problem that needed fixing. A personal failure or fault. A place where “improvement” was expected. As if, somehow, being conscious of ourselves only occurs in areas where we haven’t become experts. Or better yet, that being an “expert” somehow means we shouldn’t still be aware of ourselves.

What if our insecurities weren’t inherently “bad?” What if they were merely sources of information? I imagine, then, that being self-conscious would be valuable, wouldn’t it? Is that possible…or am I just trippin’? Listen, I can tell you right now…I’m one of the most self-conscious people I’ve ever known. When I feel like something is important, I’m always hyper-aware of what I’m doing and how people are perceiving and responding to it. I don’t care what any self-help guru has told you, those perceptions and responses matter. They CAN have tangible impacts on our lives—consequences & rewards. Even if they don’t, they can have tangible impacts on the lives of others. So yeah. They matter. Thinking about them is not a waste of time.

I’ve been practicing the performing arts my entire “conscious” life. I’m sure there are videos of me center-stage in a recital at 4 years old, reading opening lines of a play at age 5, & singing solos at age 7. But dance has always been my favorite. I started really young with ballet, tap, & jazz. Over the years, I have done a touch of everything that has interested me—from swing to liturgical dancing—with the exception of Bhangra (in spite of the relentless invitations of a college dorm-mate). I kept dancing through middle school, took a break in high school, then started back up in college & didn’t stop until I was in my mid-twenties. I can still remember my mom picking me up from schools, me changing into my tights & leotard (or jazz pants) in the backseat while she was driving, & literally running into the studio like a mad woman so I wouldn’t be late for rehearsal. I have this one vivid memory of pushing my way through a sea of moms crowding the small entryway, aggressively trying to get to class because being there mattered to me. I was 3 years old.

Throughout the course of my life I’ve “literally run” into countless dance rehearsals. But for some reason I’m not quite sure of, that first room still sticks with me most. Three (3) of the four (4) walls were full-length mirrors. One side even had a section of one-way glass. So parents could see us, but we couldn’t see them. There were a couple of different ballet bars around the room, and I’m pretty sure there were only 3 of us in this particular class. Considering the fact that we weren’t even 5 years old yet, I’m not exactly surprised by that. But to this day, those are the rooms I feel the most relieved in. Rooms where I can see myself move from every angle. Rooms where uncertainty ceases and honesty flows freely—with no effort at all. Where there’s no need to guess & no illusions to dispel, because the truth is literally all around you.

In a leadership meeting about a decade ago, my apostle once said to us, “you can reveal yourself, or you can be exposed.” This wasn’t a reprimand because any of us had done anything wrong (I don’t think so anyway), but a warning to us as leaders. Becoming a teacher offers your life up for inspection. If you are leading people anywhere, your integrity ought to be tested. That’s when I began living, “above reproach.***” And for me, I think studios with mirrors on every side feel like spaces of abundant revelation.

It’s possible I might feel differently if there weren’t always ballet bars in these rehearsal studios. They’re strong and -can- hold you up, but their purpose isn’t for a dancer to place any actual pressure on them. So I imagine their comfort comes mostly from the ability to more clearly see the strength and position of lines and angles. Of course, they definitely help with the whole “not falling over” thing when figuring out how to properly distribute & hold your weight through movements. Regardless, these rooms of glass have no place to hide. And the moment I enter them, my body relaxes. Yet, I cannot imagine a place where anyone would be more forcibly self-conscious. You, and everyone nearby, can see everything.

The primary difference, for me at least, is that these are rooms where it’s actually “okay” to be self-conscious. Where it is expected.

I think self-consciousness gets a bad reputation. The idea that “confident” is the standard feels as absurd as, “giving 100%, 100% percent of the time.” Utter foolishness. Sounds like a recipe for psychosis to me.

I will -always- be self-conscious when I sing, dance, or speak in public spaces. I will -always- be self-conscious when I’m teaching or coaching or preaching. I will -always- be self-conscious when supporting people or offering counsel. I will -always- be self-conscious with what and how I communicate. I will -always- be self-conscious when meeting new people. This morning, I woke up realizing that none of those truths are “problems” I want to “fix.” Why? Because it’s a reflection of the fact that I care about essentially everything I do…a LOT. In the few areas where I don’t, I’d rather be napping anyway. And in a society where only deception, conquest, & isolation are nurtured…the questions, “did they understand me?” and “do they still want to be around me?” and “did something I said hurt them?" and “do they think less of me?” and “will they come back?” and “am I being honest?” only feel dirty because we’re instructed to keep them a secret.

In my opinion, running through my actions and conversations after they are over is no different than watching game-tape after a Friday night football game. What if it’s okay to believe we didn’t do well—or could have done something better? What if it’s okay to not want to be the punchline of someone’s joke? What if it’s okay to be scared of rejection? What if it’s okay to be unsure? What if it’s okay to care about what comes to people’s minds when they think of you? What if it’s okay to want to be wanted? What if it’s okay to desire to be understood? What if, in a world full of hubris & delusion, being “intensely aware of oneself” isn’t actually a sin, but a virtue?

Could it be…that being, being mindful of ourselves as “an object of the observation of others” is not a problem, but an indication of care? A sign that our connection to another person, place, or thing has meaning for us—one way or another? Something we respect and honor rather than hide & hold with shame? And that maybe, the only thing unacceptable about “self-consciousness” is that it is not accepted?

Imagine what love could look like if we were able to tell the truth about our fears & worries? Yes, it would probably make it easier for people to gaslight & scare us…but it would also exponentially increase the ability for those who don’t seek to do us harm, to help us see ourselves with the most clarity. I dare to say, it would help others love us in a way that we can actually feel. Well…that is, if love is more about fueling truth than feeling good.

As a leader throughout many communities, over many years, I’ve witnessed a lot of relationships implode. I’ve come to believe that sometimes…that’s actually okay. The regular connection of people in love doesn’t have to last forever to be nourishing and meaningful and true. In my case, it can actually become nourishing, meaningful, & true in different ways. As one of my best friends over the last decade reminded me earlier this week, I would still drop everything tomorrow to show up for the few people in this life who have completely shattered my heart, if they needed me. Not in an attempt to replace what was, but because of what will always remain—“what bears all things [regardless of what comes], believes all things [looking for the best in each one], hopes all things [remaining steadfast during difficult times], endures all things [without weakening]”—and that is love**.

It's my ability to see where they are/were self-conscious that has made that a real possibility over the years. It’s in those areas that truth*, when applied, can set us free. Regardless of whether that means being able to see where we’ve hurt someone, or seeing where we’ve been hurt. It’s also the case when all of our self-conscious assessments are correct! Affirming someone’s reality is grounding, even when it means they’ve failed or won’t get their desires fulfilled. We all have areas of our lives where our reality could use a bit of grounding—our self-consciousness tells us where that need is a bit greater than others.

I don’t know…maybe I’m just a fool. But I believe self-consciousness has value. That could be because I’m so self-conscious. If so, I’m okay with that too. I am able to communicate with the people in my life where I need the most honest feedback—even if I don’t necessarily want to hear it. When done with care & tenderness, critique can be one of the greatest forms of love—even when it’s scary or painful. If we are willing to -accept- our self-consciousness as a place where perspective is most important to us, rather than a place we need to stop looking at so hard, a lot of us “over-thinkers” might be relived to find that we are in very good company.

The sharing of our painfully self-conscious places is an invitation to be seen, felt, & supported where we desire it the most. It’s like inviting someone into the studio with us. Those locations matter because the mirrors in those studios are hardest to see clearly ourselves. For whatever reason, those mirrors are cracked or smudged or smoky or warped. It’s possible that will always be the case, and trying to swap out the old mirrors for new ones might actually cause us to lose something valuable in the process (forced obsolescence is rampant in this stage of global capitalism). So if we find ourselves in places where those studio invitations are rejected, it is likely time to find a new company to dance with anyway. How else would we have known? Can you imagine how long would that have taken!?

Self-consciousness is developed. Through a process. For a reason. Fun fact: our minds don’t hate us. They care for us and protect us. It’s our choice if we are going to hate them in return. It’s up to us whether we accept their gifts or not. Self-consciousness is one of many it gives freely. Ultimately, no matter how many studios we can access, or how vivid their mirrors, we are the ones who decide to show up for rehearsal or not.

As for me, though…dance remains my truest love.

***1 Timothy 3; self-controlled, sensible, respectable, hospitable, able to teach, etc
**1 Corinthians 13; profound thoughtfulness and unselfish concern for other believers regardless of their circumstances or station in life.
*John 8:32; truth-[regarding liberation from ignorance or illusion], free-[from the penalty of working against God’s desires for our wholeness]

Never

I am very insecure.

The beginning of my 30th year of life was marked by my mother telling me to, “have a nice life,” because she was done with me.

The beginning of my 20th year was marked by someone who I was so close with that they said God told them we would be married one day…dating another person. This shortly after my best friend saying, “sorry, I don’t think we should get coffee. We’re really different people now & I think it’s best we go our separate ways.”

The beginning of my 10th year was marked by the death of my grandmother—whom I spent 80% of my non-school time around.

So when someone says, “I’m not going anywhere,” in the realm of their relationship to my life, I tend not to believe them.

I have felt broken, wrong, incomplete, abnormal, & disposable my entire life. Whether it was my grades being not enough because I, “could do better,” or me working 80 hours a week & still not being able to keep up with my $700/month rent. My cells have absorbed the information that I am insufficient—always have been & always will be.

What is Necessary?

You know, some days are really tough for no logical reason at all. Yesterday was one of those days. All the working Tuesday & Wednesday went so well! Great pace—even with plenty of hiccups & plan adjustments. And then yesterday happened. It would be easy to say we hadn’t gotten enough sleep or had too much to do. But truthfully, neither of those were true. It was just…exasperating. Every single little thing was hard for no reason. And the things that should have been difficult happened with ease all within 45 minutes. But everything else? Damn near painful. After it was clear several of us were struggling during check-ins at a community meeting I attended at 6:30pm, an elementary teacher who was present even led us in some breathing exercises. Then when we were asked, “how is everyone feeling after that?” someone I had spent the day with responded, “my goal isn’t to feel better because I just can’t take failing at anything else today.”

But you know what? When 11pm hit, we looked around to see that everything, somehow, had gotten done. Great food had been made & eaten. Dishes were done & spaces were clean. All the errands were finished in time. Scheduling for the next 2.5 months had been completed. Emotions were settled & even laughter was all around. The best part? We all got to sleep before midnight! Somehow, after an incredible day of ridiculous struggle—we arrived to the night whole & full.

Then this morning, all were rested & energized. And for the 1st time in a really long time, I began my leisure day with energy & peace. This, in spite of the fact that I woke up 10 minutes before I had to leave the house for my chiropractor appointment 20 minutes away.

And that gave me some perspective.

So often we wade through what feels like annoying, unfruitful, pointless struggle. And sometimes that’s true. But maybe whether a struggle is pointless isn’t actually about why it’s a struggle. It’s just dawned on me that maybe there’s more than two kinds of struggle. Maybe the idea of good struggle & bad (unnecessary) struggle leaves the valuation of some struggle invisible. And striving for only one or the other removes the possibility of unexpected fruit? Yesterday didn’t feel like good struggle—and yet our willingness to struggle rather than give up left us with meaningful progress that supported the full quality of my rest & everyone else’s labor today. Maybe it’s not as easy to determine whether a struggle is unnecessary as I’d always thought.

When I think about the past 4 days, I can’t help but make the connection to liberation work. Some days the struggle feels purposeful & fruitful. But just because it bears fruit, doesn’t necessarily mean it feels purposeful while we’re in it. And I’ve seen so many relationships & projects die because of that—because it feels “unnecessarily” difficult. I’ve been after when people have abandoned efforts & seen them come into miraculous abundance & discovery!

If we’re truly laboring to build a world we’ve never experienced except for in our dreams, how do we even know what “unnecessary” labor feels like? Our gauges of vital vs. vicious are set by global dominance & exploitation. Our minds & bodies have been socialized by a standard of suffering. So how can our judgements of what cultivates freedom be anything more than unskilled? How do we decide whether we ought to quit or keep pushing through any given struggle except from the other side? How do any of us know if something feels pointless because it doesn’t further our efforts of freedom or because it doesn’t strengthen our service of capitalism?

I think the honest answer is we don’t. I’ve been immersed in trying to figure that out for the last 5 years. Then there were all the unintentional part-time efforts for the 5 years before that. And I’m not sure I have any more of an answer now than I did when I started out.

These days I’ve learned not to interpret easy as right or difficult as best. Just as I’ve learned happiness is no better an indicator of wholeness than brooding is. Declaring something as “different” is not a valuation—it’s an assertion. And “worth it” will always be an estimate.

When I started out, I wanted to release every unnecessary struggle to focus on the ones that were important. But when it comes to figuring out which struggles are progressive & which aren’t, I think it’s time to consider a change in approach:

My goal isn’t to only be committed to “good” struggle anymore, because I’m not interested in failing at anything else right now. And maybe, somehow, after an incredible life of ridiculous struggle—I’ll arrive to the night whole & full.

Calling

In my line of life, we talk a lot about production. About the tools & resources we use to produce something. About the way we produce something. About the impact of what we produce—and when we decide not to produce. So I frequently think about my role as a leader within my community; about how we define leaders as teachers who teach teachers. I consider the role and responsibility teachers hold: “to inspire and ignite the production of thought and understanding.” To accurately contextualize our experiences for the production of new ideas and innovations. Overall though, I believe the primary objective of any teacher is to produce perspective for the sake of integral connection. And being tasked with this honor is something I describe as a calling. Yet even those of us with that charge don’t always recognize how much faith, risk, and bravery it demands.

To be called to the lost means you are seeking people who knew a clear path to a particular destination. Otherwise their ambling would not cause notice; it would be their expected traveling movement.

To be called to the captives indicates that you are helping people find release who knew freedom. Otherwise their limitations would not be a hindrance; they would be self regulation.

To be called to the broken-hearted reveals you are serving people whose heart knew a more complete standard. Otherwise their pieces would not expect reconnection; they would just be.

How can something be broken unless it was once whole; be bound unless it once had less restrictions; or be found unless it once belonged somewhere?

Many with a desire to produce, or create & develop, anything want to start building with things that have clean slates—devoid of even their own fingerprints. Myself most definitely included. Because we want our productions to be flawless. But our creations will always reflect us…and no matter how exceptionally we shape them, or how pristine they begin, they will still be imbued with our influence. And we are all amalgamated works, molded by those who have had influence on us.

For anything to be perfect it must be both eternally complete, and not influenced or impressed upon by humanity.  Something influenced by nothing & no one must, by definition, exist in its own sovereignty. The only entity with that capability is God—the creator of all things and the very standard by which we measure perfection. With all of that said, what’s the point I’m trying to make here about leadership?

Demanding, expecting, or waiting for perfection in order to begin stewarding something can, in no circumstance, bear fruit. If for no other reason than the fact that it means waiting, expecting, or demanding to have authority over that which is God. Oh what arrogance do our desires reveal, while we feed this illusion of pressure? But thankfully we do have a saving grace found in truth and humility. Because serving imperfectly can restore what they steal, and abolish our exhaustion masquerading as pleasure.

So who, how, & what are we teaching?

Holding…On

I wrote this about a week ago (Feb 7th) in a group thread where we all share our biggest struggles & how we’d like to be responded to. It took awhile to share here. But here goes.

Mmk. My turn! So mine comes with a photo-essay. 🙃😔

After 2 months of full court battle things have finally stabilized. The 4 of us in the core of have all turned the last major corner. There's still a lot to be done, but the triage is complete & there are clear, viable paths forward. The emails & messages of hate, distrust, & betrayal have more or less stopped. The barrage of “how are you doing's” & “how can I help’s” have ceded—which means far less navigation of who is asking out of loyalty & cadre support or investigation to utilize against me. And for that I'm grateful.

Now that most everyone has gone back to their regularly scheduled program, I'm finally able to catch my breath. The adrenaline has done its job. I'm finally not in crisis—which is so great & what has made it possible to release so much crippling anxiety & fear over the last week or so. Plans & paths of operation are ready to be chosen & followed. It's beautiful.

And.

Now I’m able to feel the actual restrictions to my chest & weight on my breath. Now I can actually feel the exhaustion that I've survived & the blood dripping from cauterized wounds & bruises. Before when I said, “I'm not okay,” it's because I couldn't feel anything. Now it's because I can. It's frustrating to me that it's taking so much time, energy, & capacity to move through this season…and yet it doesn't feel like I can really do anything about that.

At the end of last week I was so overwhelmed I was metaphorically paralyzed. Now that the fire had been safely suppressed, there were seemingly a million questions I needed to make decisions on before taking another step. So at a dear friend’s suggestion, I said them out loud. 40 Questions, 7 Confessions, & 13 “What if’s” later, the reason for my overwhelm became clear: I am going into this new beginning not with the excitement of starting to build something, or even the energy of a fresh project, but absolutely exhausted.

I'm so tired y'all. So damn tired. When everyone else goes home & back to their “other” worlds & spaces, this has come home with me every single day. When everyone else goes home, it’s just me & it hanging out in my living room & kitchen. And now that my sensitivity is returning I can feel it too. I don't have any more thoughts for it—just feelings in my body now. All I want to do is lay down & not get up. Not to eat, not to watch TV, not to go for a walk. And I'm pretty sure the only reason I've done any of that is because a friend has been here staying over with me on Tuesdays - Thursdays each week. Now I don't even want to do that. As things are expected to start ramping up, I feel like I need to power down. But I know from previous seasons of therapy that I don't actually do well when I power down—it only makes things worse: it's like a car during a snow storm—if you ever fully stop, there's a good chance you won't get moving again without serious injury. Even changing lanes is dicey.

This space is more important to me than it's ever been before because it's keeping me from getting dragged into the vortex of the neoliberal leanings that came with this project. And as you've probably gathered from my falling asleep in meetings, I'm so tired.

As I was talking to one of the other 3 in the core of this last week, a new knowledge began to settle for me. So here it goes. Imagine an explosion (like an IED for example).

There are those who felt the ground shake & had concern, many of whom gave great commentary on CNN about what they saw of the incident, speculations & “eye-witness” accounts tangled up with reporters doing all they could to get some photos.

Then there are those who were thrown back by the blast—some of whom may have been hit with shrapnel. Most of those folks will have trips to the hospital or urgent care in their immediate future. Many may even need some recover time from surgeries or whatnot.

Then there are the people who had their feet on the IED when it went off. And the people who were holding their hand as they were jumping off. Those people lose limbs. Those people all have forever injuries to the point that nothing about their body's movement will ever be the same. Even after years of PT, a prosthetic hand will never grip things the same. Those people will likely live the rest of their lives with night terrors.

And that last group is the category I'm in. Only a lot of people are also convinced I helped plant the IED in the 1st place, or at least helped disguise it so others couldn't tell where it was.

There's not really a solution or a direct ask here, except maybe to continue holding me with grace? Please don't give me a pass on things, but confront me with gentleness maybe? Cut me off if I'm talking too much because stress gets me rambling. Please don't try to make me comfortable, or give me what I want because you feel bad. Refrain from pity but do try to remember compassion through this long haul struggle. Because it's not going away or just “for awhile.” But consciousness feels really critical right now, and I cannot imagine anything worse than people making decisions or doing things they felt emotionally manipulated into doing.

With deep love & trust,

K. Marie

Ujima

To build and maintain our community together and make our brother's and sister's problems our problems and to solve them together.

I feel like the totality of my life work over the last 4 years has been in the name of ujima. Actually, I think that ujima captures the spirit of the struggle for Black liberation perfectly. All in one word. What is solidarity, if not to share one another’s problems? If not the recognition that none of us are free until all of us are free? And the Black component here actually feels critical, so I’m not suggesting to transplant Kwanzaa as a “movement” thing any more than I would expect Chanukah to be transplanted onto gentiles who have not even accepted the offering of “adoption” into the family of Abraham as heirs & joint-heirs.

Because, as with all things Black—it’s the only thing that actually invites progress for everyone else. A rising tide doesn’t actually lift all boats in a way that is meaningful—no matter how blue it glows. Thinking about it in this moment, it just dawned on me that lifting some boats might even result in capsizing. Every boat can’t handle the same tide. But what is true, is that no boat of any kind can move forward & accomplish that which it was made to do without first lifting their strong, critical, sunken black anchor. Until then, it’s just wobbly land. And that’s what comes to my mind when I see movement strategies that don’t center Black liberation. It doesn’t actually matter how beautiful, expensive, or tricked out a boat is if it can never leave the shore. As is also true, in my opinion & assessment, for social “justice” work of any kind.

The struggle of the African people is not, by any means, new. Nor are African peoples the only people who have faced oppression. Neither do all African consciously know suffering (regardless of the trauma found in their bodies). It feels important to qualify that when I say Black freedom struggle, it’s not because I believe white folks, or anyone else not of African descent (pre-settler colonialism), should suffer or be oppressed in our stead. What I am saying though, is that a commitment to one another will have revolutionary ramifications—regardless of what anyone chooses (or not) to do.

As always, easier said than done. But what might happen if we all took responsibility for building and maintaining the integrity of our community? What would accountability look like? What would we no longer, “just let go?” Where might we offer more grace? What would happen if we, as the African diaspora, chose to eliminate the phrase, “not my circus; not my monkeys,” from our vocabulary when it relates to one another—whether we are “in control” or not? How much warmer & rested might we be if we chose to recognize the lights within one another & stoke their fires rather than throwing shade? What if our love for one another could be strong enough to offer all of us a path to returning to right relationship with community—no matter the offense? To set boundaries in love, but not take that as license to disregard one another in times of need? How many conflicts might be settled in conversation rather than rising to mandate public call outs? I truly wonder what would happen…what would be the side effects…if we actively chose not to profit from one another’s mistakes, offenses, or suffering.

If we choose to relate to one another with shared effort and responsibility for our care, I believe there’s no limit to the amount of ground we might be able to cover. Today is Tuesday, December 28th, 2021. It may be decades since the birth of what we now call the Pan-African movement began, but I do believe that a free Africa will enable a free world.

I can’t speak about anyone else, band I won’t attempt to today, but I’m committed to messing around and getting free. I am convinced that is something that can only happen through the cultivation of a collective consciousness. Being in meaningful relationship with one another is the only way for any of us know if any African anywhere is oppressed, exploited, enslaved, or wounded in any way in their humanity. And from my study and experience, the only way to maintain that connection, and those relationships beyond moment of externally-imposed, shared, struggle is through a an active commitment to not abandon relationships (and by extension, people). They must, of course, change in manifestation—evolving as a part of development and evolution. But our commitments to restoration of connection must last beyond seasonal cooperation.

And to put it mildly, that is one of the most difficult practices I’ve ever endeavored to build. It’s one thing to say our problems are connected in an empathetic sort of way. But to solve them together is a whole other story. In a society where the natural order is exploitation and extraction for the sake of profit and power (whatever that looks like in a given context), to make it your business to approach all of our village’s individual issues as group projects is the most absurd thing I’ve ever heard. That makes it impossible to exploit one another. Because if I exploit you, then your problem is that you’re being exploited. And now I have a responsibility to help you solve that problem and to use my power and influence to do so. Which negates my decision to exploit in the first place. See how that works?

That’s kind of the point though. We must acknowledge that those of us whose lineage flows through to mother Africa have a shared spirit flowing through each of us. To engage one another as people whose problems we must work together to solve gives us a vested interest in not creating or instigating any of those problems ourselves. And to assume shared responsibility for our culture and structures means there’s no benefit to finding or assigning blame. Encouraging us to prioritize the embodying of lessons over the finding of fault. While this approach to existing among one another doesn’t mean individuals aren’t called to endure consequences for harm they most instigate, but just the opposite. It makes accountability possible. If the point is applying the lessons we’ve learned to future behaviors, rather than going over every single “wrong move” one has made, transformed engagement is much more likely and possible. It might just be the nudge of a difference between asking the question, “how do I adjust this plan to not get caught next time?” and, “how do I prevent this situation I’m in from happening again?”

I’m not viewing any of this with rose-colored glasses. But I am speaking to the possibility of a world I’ve never seen, based on what I have. And within that kind of communitarian society, I see the ability of our Black bodies to move forward together, rather than succumbing to any steps backwards. So I’d like to submit to you that from this day forward, we cease our hash-tagging community—and be one. If we gonna be out here, we might as well be out here, out here.

Je crois qu’un peuple instruit, ne sera jamais soumis. El pueblo unido, jamás será vencido. Khetha ubuntu.

Kujichagulia

Self-determination. What does that mean anyway? As someone who grew up racially ambiguous in a couple of really different environments, I’ve always struggled with that. At least, since I started intentionally celebrating Kwanzaa a few years back. I don’t think I had ever really heard of it before then actually. But I guess it’s just hard for me to imagine a world in which anyone has any control over defining or naming themselves, speaking for themselves, or even creating for themselves. I was taught those were always activities that were to be done, “a certain way.”

Black, white, African American, bi-racial, brown, colored, mixed, high-yellow, mulatto…just a few of the identifiers I’ve been given over time. Over the years, it hasn’t seemed to matter how I defined myself. I imagine that’s probably why I had never really given it much thought until I started doing racial equity work back in 2017. And even now, many people still give me names I never gave myself. Lazy, weird, off-putting, polarizing, kind, mean, manipulative, generous, inconsiderate, charismatic, graceful, outgoing, gentle, rough around the edges. It’s not just limited to how I am either—but what my roles or vocations are too. Singer, community organizer, motivational nurturer, activist, teacher, evangelist, preacher, elder, leader. So most days, the idea of defining myself seems like a pretty big waste of time. Even something as simple as acknowledging myself as an introvert—someone who recharges privately & is drained by large groups of people, is typically met with a, “no you’re not!!” As if they are somehow inside of my body and can discern what makes me tired and what doesn’t.

Only recently has the work of defining & naming myself become something important to me. And I use the word work intentionally. What I’ve discovered is that it’s actually much easier to let someone (or someones) tell you who you are and how you should be. Because self-determination actually requires self-awareness. And frankly, many of us just don’t reflect on ourselves or check ourselves out in the mirror outside of measuring the consequences of one stylistic choice over another. We’re too busy trying to keep food in our bellies and gas in the tank to be concerned about anything other than what we need to know to survive. Developing self-awareness is a luxury given by time and space. Time and space that most of us don’t have to give to anyone—least of all ourselves.

There’s a bible verse in the first chapter of James that talks about looking in the mirror and, after you’ve walked away, forgetting what you look like. The context is someone who is given instruction and doesn’t follow them. Or someone who has been given knowledge and wisdom, but doesn’t apply it to their lives or allow it to impact their actions or decisions. But like, who has time to look at their face in the mirror unless they are altering it in some way? No, but really. Who does that?? When was the last time you saw someone over the age of 5 just look in the mirror at themselves. Not to figure out what to fix or how, but just to look and learn. For me, I think that might just be never. And if so, I definitely don’t remember it.

Maybe it’s because I’m poor and spend most of my time around relatively poor people. But taking a moment to look at myself, then another few to think about what I’ve seen, then a few more still to name what it is that I’ve seen, is not a regular practice of mine. And when I do it metaphorically, it’s typically because I’m replaying a conversation over and over and over again in my head to see where I may have offended someone, or how I could have done a better job to articulating what I was thinking. How I should have paused longer before responding to a certain question. How I should (or shouldn’t) have made a certain look with my face. What questions I failed to ask. What many may refer to as my “self-awareness” is probably more accurately named my “self-critique.” Because I’m never actually looking to learn. Never looking to bear witness. I’m looking to improve or fix…because the one name I have cemented in my mind is “not good enough.”

To create with consideration of my own joy, rather than making something that might be most appealing to others, rarely crosses my mind. So when I think about doing any of these things myself, the first question that comes up is, “with what energy?” Quickly followed by, “but how??” Yes, I can use my physical vocal cords to say words, but how do I choose which words to use if not for what others would most like to hear? How do I decide what to name or how to define myself, if not for those who have the greatest power over the resources I need to survive? And okay, even if I can figure out all of those things, do I then code-switch so that I don’t become a source of discomfort for anyone else? There’s already enough tough stuff in this world—I don’t want to contribute to it being harder for anyone else…right? In a society of manufactured scarcity, it all just feels like too much.

But then…when I think about kujichagulia as something built upon the umoja of a particular people, that load seems to lighten. In my mind at least, it becomes for feasible to figure it out if we’re holding one another while we’re doing it. If we’re all connected, then have enough diversity to be able to discern the ways in which we are the same. To identify the pieces we share—and use our collective intelligence to give it a name. From that perspective, I suppose it doesn’t even really matter which word we land on. Because we’ve developed shared understanding along the way. It stops being about perfection & choosing the “right” word, and becomes more about cohesion, and strumming our common threads. What if defining, naming, speaking, & creating for ourselves isn’t four separate things—but one? What if it’s not word smithing, and thinking, and doing, and brainstorming? What if it’s not conferences or meetings? What if it’s bringing out some instruments, opening some space on the floor, and seeing what happens? What it it’s being present for what room looks and sounds like after an hour?

As a people, it’s so hard to bring us together—let alone get us to agree. I mean, have you seen the fights that break out when we try to discuss how to properly eat grits?! But at an individual level, it seems completely unrealistic to do all the naming, speaking, defining, & creating ourselves. (And then there’s the question of what do words matter if we don’t have a shared understanding of what they mean, but that’s an esoteric post for another time.) So we have to do it within the context (and with the support) of community. But I’ve found that if you play music loud enough for everyone to hear, somehow there’s no limit to the number of people who can do the electric slide in unison, regardless of what kind of music is being played. All you need is a couple of people to start it. Then it doesn’t even need a leader. And if someone who doesn’t know how to do the dance happens to be around, you can typically expect they’ll know by the end of the 2nd verse.

At this point in my very short life, to me kujichagulia is actually less about the specific acts of using a voice, pen, or paintbrush to express who we are. It’s about, as a community, finding the beat of our drums that is aligned with the beats of our hearts, playing it without hesitation, and vibing together. And individually, it’s about finding the way my body twists and turns and slides to the beat. Then it’s doing it with my eyes wide open, smiling at my people all around me. These days, when words mean so little and are more likely to become reasons to fight than unite, it feels more important than ever to find one’s tribe. The place, I’d say, where your self-determination is aligned with those around you. But I don’t think that has to happen through discourse. If the path to self-determination begins with self-discovery, maybe we don’t start with lifting the un-liftable loads of identification, synthesis, reflection, & experimentation. Maybe it begins by breathing into our own rhythms, and riding the beat home—wherever it leads.

Umoja

Kwanzaa is my favorite holiday. Actually, it’s the only one I celebrate. It’s so rich and beautiful and wholesome! How could you not love a holiday that’s all about building the strength & celebrating the value of community?! I still feel a bit torn about where the appropriation line falls around it. But as a Black woman descended from enslaved Africans on Turtle Island, I don’t really have to think about it too much. Thank God. The day after Xmas is the day when my breath begins to expand from all the happenings of the previous year. Whatever ups & downs, victories & losses, celebrations or days of mourning. I wake up on December 26th the way a lot of people wake up on December 24th or 25th. Filled with excitement & energy from the spirit of the day. But for some reason this year is different.

I’ve been avoiding lighting the first candle of Kwanzaa all day. It’s 11pm and I just lit today’s candle. The first night is my favorite. Not because it’s the beginning of the celebration, but because it grounds me. And at the end of a typical year for me, that’s something I desperately need. It’s also because the first night is the night the Black candle gets lit—the foundation upon which all other nights stand. It represents the people. As someone who believes in living a life of service, I try and make my people my north star in all that I do. Beginning every decision with, “who am I accountable to,” is not an uncommon practice for me. Not only is it the day that the Black candle gets lit, but it’s also the day whose sole focus on the unity of our people. That’s what keeps me energized and anchored throughout all of the struggles (represented by the red candles) of the year. And it’s from the people that I find my hope (represented by the green candles) that moves me through the year. Even when I can’t stand them (us).

As I look at my kinara from across the room, right now, I can’t help but notice something peculiar happening. Somehow, the Black candle is tilted just slightly in the direction of the red candles. And it’s causing the red candle most near it (representing the creativity born in struggle) to begin to melt as well. And as it melts, it’s begining to lean towards the next red candle (representing cooperative economics as a way of surviving through struggle). I’m also just now noticing that my kinara is backwards—the green candles are on the left, with the red on the right. But for some reason, I feel like I shouldn’t move it. I’m not particularly surprised by either of these events, but I do find them interesting. You see, I keep my kinara up all year long—resting right on top of my altar, with my mkeka resting underneath it. And recently I re-structured and updated my altar to better reflect who and how I am today. It really has been a transformative year. So I updated the photos that hang on the wall behind it, which represent the people, events, places, and even versions of my former self that have shaped who I am today (for better or worse). I also shifted some things around so that my most beautiful set of Bible books (yes, a set; it’s split into 5 physical books) stands right next to it. And, the thing that probably is having the biggest impact on the impact that the burning is having, I don’t change my candles every year either. I only change them when the center candle is too short to last all seven nights. So it’s not exactly shocking that it may have been mis-placed upon its return to the table.

What’s most curious to me, though, is the impact of having the candles of struggle being positioned as future, with the candles representing hope in the past. It’s a bit off-putting actually. And I pray to YHWH it’s not prophetic (LOL)! No…but seriously though, it’s 2021. Can we keep as much red in the past as possible please?! I’m sure I’ll re-orient the kinara tomorrow when any hot wax that drips tonight has dried. But in this moment, it feels appropriate.

As I began to shut things in my home down for the night, I knew it was time to light tonight’s candle. “It’s now or never,” I said to myself. But the moment I stepped into the living room, I began to cry. I cried as I returned the wall hanging that sits to the left of my altar to its home. I cried as I opened the kitchen drawer to get the lighter out. I cried as I lit the candle. I cried as I went to get a box of tissues. And I cried as I went to get my computer so I could write and hopefully let my fingers tell me why the hell I was crying so hard. And so now I’m sitting here, on the opposite side of the room from my leaning, backwards, kinara, with my computer in my lap as the brightest light in the room. Typing this, I realized I should turn it down…so I just did.

And as I take a deep breath, followed by an equally deep exhale, I know that the reason lighting this candle brought me to tears tonight is the same reason I’ve been avoiding it all day. It’s because when I think about the people—my people, my Black people, all I can do is cry. And to light a candle that represents the unity of our community breaks my heart because I feel like few things are further from the truth in this moment. I think of community leaders publicly denouncing one another without any direct conversation. I think of the divide and conquer us approach that has us biting each other on the way to get a taste of funding for our projects and lives. I think of elders who people have given up confronting because they no longer have ears willing to hear—only defend. I think of the isolation that keeps us so familiar with being alone that we can’t seem to figure out how to be together without competing. I think of the fact that we don’t hold one another unless it’s convenient. That we don’t knock on one another’s door unless it’s most profitable. I think of the fact that the generational divide never seems to end. And yet most of us posted a photo or essay saying “Umoja!” on our social media accounts today.

I’m not excluding myself from the “we” & “us” here. But that doesn’t make the heaviness on my heart any lighter. I sit here crying because my brother now sits in prison. A brother who tried so hard to be accepted by the Black community, but was turned away because he was “rude,” “weird,” “off,” “ignorant of his privilege,” etc. But in a state where there are less than 8,000 of us, how could it be that he rose to “community leader” alone? Without a group of brothers surrounding him & checking him? Without a group of sisters backing him up? He was working to build an incredible program that would pull the next generation of Black folks in this state together into relationship with one another. And regardless of his motives, shouldn’t that be something we all flocked to support? Shouldn’t that have been something we all were involved in? Shouldn’t it have been easy for him to find an oversight board when he called out to the Black folks here, rather than people barely even signing up to be engaged in the program (if at all) and never following through? It’s so easy to throw someone under the bus after they’ve been accused of horrible violations of trust—but where were we when he was asking trust of the white parents of Black children across the state? What were we doing that was so important we couldn’t take 4 hours out of our month to help a Black child in our community not be the only Black person they knew outside of the face in their bathroom mirrors?

What is unity of the Black community if we leave the uniting of our generations to one person—or worse, to chance? Over the last several weeks, my days have been filled with talking to white parents who are begging me to keep this program going. Somehow, they recognize this program of uniting Black children with Black adults as absolutely critical for their children. To them, they recognize that there is something they can’t be for their children—empathize with some of their struggles and simultaneously pour light onto the fire of their joy. Meanwhile, mentors are encouraging me to run for the hills to, “not be associated with it, because articles about this scandal are going to be the first thing people see when they look it up on Google.” Yes, those words have shown up in my inbox. What I’m writing here isn’t actually about my brother. It’s not about what he did or didn’t do. It’s not about his role as an abuser or survivor. It’s not about maintaining his humanity or vilifying him. It’s not even about what has happened—it’s about what we do next. It’s about our community’s responsibility in this moment to rise up and embrace these children across the state with care so that they don’t feel alone. So they don’t feel there was only one Black man in the state who thought they were worth making time for.

These kids don’t need our money—they need our time. Not our grand gestures, but our consistent, focused, energy. In a state like this one, our gatherings cannot be limited to those Black folks who see each other regularly or live in shared neighborhoods. And certainly not to those who fit our aesthetic. And we simply cannot afford to avoid, minimize, or sidestep the conflicts we have with one another. Our commitment to each other must be stronger than our desire for our own comfort. Our agape & phileo love stronger than our egos. The care of our community must be more important to us than the care of our individual reputations. So when I think about lighting a candle to celebrate the unity of Black people of the African diaspora, to me at least, crying seems the only appropriate response. A mourning for what has been. And as I sit alone in this room, a mourning for what I feel all too real. Just as strongly for my 13 year old self as my 30 year old self today.

Tonight, as I blow this candle out, there will be tear-stains dried down the length of my face. But before I do that, I have decided to honor it’s lighting as a prayer. Tonight and every night for the rest of this year’s Kwanzaa celebration. A prayer for unity when unity and strong, lasting, connection feels absolutely impossible. And since this prayer is much easier written or spoken than actualized, we might just need a bit more creativity than even faith before we see it while we’re awake. Tonight my spirit leans a little more towards struggle than hope. Yet, hope remains. We will all get through this moment, this season, this life, one way or another. The only real choice is if we’re going to do it alone or together. And so tonight, there will be no fanfare, no social media post, no catchy phrase. But I choose to respond to the question, “Habari Gani?” with a quietly whispered, “Umoja.” Let us know ubuntu more than we know anything else.

With Love,

K. Marie

Confronting Truth

One day, after a confrontation about the racial experiences of my youth, some people that meant the world to me looked me in the face & said, “I’m done; have a nice life,” followed by, “you need to leave, right now.” And so I left in tears. In the months that followed, no one one else in that community stood with me, or stood up for me. And I discovered I’d never actually had any allies there to begin with.

And that’s okay. But I can’t erase their fingerprints from my life. I honor them because they taught me how to share all you have even when everyone calls you a fool. How to help people even when you’re pissed at them. How to show up even when nobody else will. How to make the hard calls and stand your ground even if it means getting in the way of what’s convenient. Members of that community taught me that there is nothing more important than the presence & care of the people who love you.

And even thought I haven’t entered rooms with them since, my ritual of publicly honoring them at the beginning of every gathering, lecture, speech, presentation, & project stands just as it did before. And I can’t imagine it will ever change. Even though the people who taught me the most are no longer even there, that community shaped me into the person I am today. So today, I honor them still.

The commitment to tell the truth in love, even when it offends everyone in the room may have cost me their fellowship. But that unapologetic commitment is what brought me into relationship with the community I have today. A community that fights alongside me, even when it’s unpopular. A community that doesn’t throw anyone away, even when we deserve it. A community that will fight with me—loud & passionate & real. A community that cares for me, as I am, in word & deed. A community that isn’t inconvenienced by my needs, but treats them as their own. A multiracial community of loving, sincere people, & mostly poor people who will show up when I call & save the questions until they arrive.

And so, as painful & heartbreaking as that day was just a little over a year ago, I consider myself lucky for that confrontation. Because, now the curse of crying in pain on the most important, special days of my life has finally been broken. My birthday this year was the absolute best I’ve ever had—and it was my 30th! Beloved community isn’t just the imaginary things of dreams; it’s now my reality.

All this to say, I couldn’t possibly be more grateful for those I’m gathering with season. They’re the reason I can step into the most difficult role of my life, while reeling from a tragedy I could have never imagined, & still walk with grace. Ubuntu—now & always. I truly am humbled by love. Onward together; no stepping back. Joyeux Noël mes amis.

Incredible things ahead,

KMB

Favorites—an Ode to Maria

Not checking emails & getting massages,
taking a nap & then hiding my watches.
Silencing my phone to stop all the rings,
these are a few of my favorite things.

Baths that last hours & warm weighted blankets,
slowly brewed herbal tea & meditations.
Hand-written letters from friends across seas,
these are a few of my favorite things!

During work days, paying taxes,
when I’m feeling sad…
I simply remember my favorite things, & I don’t feel so bad!

Nah, I’m Good

You can keep your, “Hero’s Journey”
your, “badge of honor,”
your, “female version of a hustler,”
your, “Black girl magic,”
your, “upgrade.”

Wait…let me slow down…
Take a breath in…let a breath out…
Take a breathe in…let a breath out…

I was so young the 1st time someone called me, “perfect,” I don’t even remember it. But I wasn’t even in high school the first time someone said to me, “we can’t all be perfect like you,” as an insulting retort. I’ve never claimed to be perfect. I’ve never wanted that label, but I’ve suffocated under the weight of it for as long as I can remember.

I don’t want to be anyone’s, “goals, or “guiding light.”
I don’t want to be loved for what I do,because then what happens when I can’t anymore?
There’s nothing wrong with being someone people admire, but only if that admiration doesn’t cost me the ability to breathe.

Growing up the 96th percentile wasn’t enough if “my best” was the 98th. Being called “brilliant” at 8 years old is not a compliment.
What I wouldn’t give to just “be.” Yes, I’m a leader. I DO want to be heard, seen, & felt. But not at the expense of my ability to ever acceptably be “average.” To need to rest…to need food…to need space…to need time…to need community…to need to cry & scream & pout & be completely irrational. To be mean & angry & frustrated & irritable.

I don’t want to be the “strongest person” anyone knows. I don’t want to be punished anymore. And that’s exactly what it feels like—my punishment for being “excellent” is that a 90% is an insufficient & an 8 out of 10 is a failure. “Anything less than your best, “they said, “isn’t good enough.” “Be twice as good to be given half the respect,” they chant in every leadership circle. How does nobody see the problem with saying that to a 12 year old?! At this point, I have enough complexes to be a freshly gentrified city center. In every room, community, & space being either too much or never enough.

Inhale…in
Exhale…and out
Inhale…in
Exhale…and out

I wonder if I make sure everyone is happy, will my “extra” suddenly become acceptable? If all their needs are met, will they be willing to help me get what I need? If I can just make sure they’re all comfortable, will I still be a burden? Or will I finally be someone worth making room for? Then when they count the cost, will they keep me around, even if it’s at a loss?

Rest isn’t just of the body?
Safety isn’t just a feeling?
Being born doesn’t give you a family?
Survival doesn’t mean we are living?

What makes a breath worth breathing?
What makes a view worth seeing?
Must it be the strongest & brightest?
Or can its value lie just in its being?

“Contribute,” they say.
“Stand up,” they say.
“Don’t quit,” they say.
“March on,” they say.

But if I can’t, how long will they carry me before I just become dead weight?
If their expectations create my reason for being, how much of that does my resting negate?
So I’m supposed to discern fiction from fact? Why does the bridge have to be called my back?
When searching for answers free of all lies…questions of truth are all that I find.

Individual Collectivity

Yesterday I was a part of a collective decision-making process for a group of about 60 people.

It was absolutely horrible. And incredibly educational.

I'll try not to touch on too many details, because they aren't really the point. But after taking the last few hours to process both independently and with a colleague, I'd like to share. There were several super valuable things that were highlighted for me during this 3 hour process. I can't make any promises, but I'll try to summarize them here. Here we go.

1) The quality of a decision will always be affected by the conditions under which it is made.

As much as we would like to say that the ends justify the means, the reality is that the means *impact* the ends. They can poison or prosper a decision or result that may have otherwise been healthy--even if the decision is the same. Asking someone to make a choice or come to a conclusion under duress or coercion reduces its integrity. We must combat the demands of "perfection" and urgency for urgency's sake with empathy, forethought, patience, and understanding.

2) Intent & purpose are best served explicitly.

If we don't make clear our "whys", the door remains inevitably open for everyone to assume their own "why." This would be great if we were all psychically linked. However, we're not. And where there's room to assume, there's room to folks to assume *differently.* And when we're making collective decisions by way of consensus--that, my friends, is a problem.

3) The how is important from the beginning. Process can't be an afterthought.

Yes--many of us have "built planes while in the air" and survived. But would any of us, after counting the actual cost, recommend our next flight be taken the same way? Of course not. Because as much as experience is a great teacher, it's easier to use a saw on the ground. As much as many of us would love to throw process to the wind and just "do," that's not only highly ineffective, but leaves equity to chance and typically hurts a lot of people needlessly in the process.

4) Equity is the result of intentionality.

Guess what? In 2018, capitalist "modern" society, we've all been conditioned to destroy equity and humanity. So if we aren't intentional about establishing equity, it's not going to happen. Imperialism has become imbedded in our DNA so marginalization is our default y'all. We know this.

5) The erasure of individuals is impractical & unhelpful.

As much as I appreciate the commitment to collectivity, condemning conversation that is not almost strictly "we" is problematic as well. In fact, the use of "we" when it should be "I" is used frequently to speak on behalf of those who haven't actually voiced their position. Taking responsibility for our own experiences actually requires the appropriate use of "I" statements and not assuming we have the ability to speak for others without their involvement or consent is a key piece of healthy communication.

Also, a healthy, authentic collective understands the value of the individual within the collective. The the full expression and realization of the diversity of each individual is why many of us are fighting for liberation. So as much as we embrace the "one for all" mentality, we cannot neglect the beauty of "all for one" either. While this typically slows processes down and is, for many, counter-intuitive, we have to remember that many of our intuitive behaviors have been molded by oppressive systems. Our determination to challenge our "norms" and choose equity over equality is what saves us from "mob mentality."

6) People are triune beings--mind, body, & spirit. And our decisions are impacted by all three.

Pretending we can be all knowledge and action leads to escapist (often self-harmful) choices and mental breakdowns. I have often heard the phrase "hurt people hurt people," when discussing the reasons for people making inconsiderate or harmful choices that negatively impact others. I'd like to take that a step further with, "Broken people build systems that break." If we do not do the difficult work of deconstructing our own internalized oppression as a priority than whatever we build 'after' we conquer this oppressive system will only serve to oppress in new ways. Our histories and trauma enter into every decision we make, so we have to not only be aware of them, but actively work to heal them. Oppressive systems have worked to dehumanize people for centuries--this includes the devaluing and lack of acceptance for our emotional and spiritual experience. If we are to truly work to see the humanity of all beings restored, we must begin with reclaiming our own as we do the work, not afterwards. That is what liberation looks like.

7) Bias will never be eradicated, so we have to keep good track of its location.

Even those of us with the best intentions of "balance," have bias. Every interaction we have with human beings and media shapes and develops our preconceived favor or misgivings about a situation or person. That's how we're wired for survival! So trying to achieve this unattainable goal of "impartiality" or "unbiased" anything isn't just unrealistic, it's problematic because it offers the illusion that "unbiased" is something that it's actually possible for a human to obtain. What's far more helpful is that we are able to quickly assess where our bias lies when entering a situation so that we might have the ability to filter the words we say & decisions we make through that lens to ensure that our reason for doing something isn't solely our bias for or against something.

8) Words matter. Clear communication doesn't happen by accident.

It may "all be semantics," but semantics actually has an effect on things. If we all agree to run to the nearest store in a little bit, but for some people that means a gas station within the hour and for others it's a Walmart in the next 5 minutes, we're not likely to end up at the same destination at the same time--if ever, together. As a friend of mine likes to say, "Words mean things. And people believe them." So we have to be intentional about what we say because we are certain to develop feelings/ideas and eventually act upon them. And ain't nobody got time to build houses based on misunderstanding the instructions.

Ultimately, culture is everything. All I've just said falls secondary to it. So we have to build and mold our communities with who we want to be when we arrive at our destination at the forefront of our minds. As many a cultural consultant will tell you: "Culture eats strategy for breakfast." So we can't just talk it and occasionally walk it, we've got to live it.

Good things ahead y'all. Leggo!

<3 K. Marie

Aim Wise

They should have killed me when they had the chance!!

If you’re gonna shoot your shot—shoot straight. There is something to be said for when focus meets commitment. It’s a rarity to not be distracted by this disaster, that atrocity, or the video footage of both happening at once. Because it’s so tempting. Especially when it seems that the “low hanging fruit” has solutions that won’t mandate we wait 6 months before we can bake a cake. Hell—we’re hungry now!! Or even better, why not just pick the apples off the ground, right? It’s already fallen and that requires zero reaching upwards. We could bake a cake within the hour!! But can we pause for a minute and ask ourselves, “How would that taste?”

So is it with the initiatives and projects many of us begin with on a quarterly basis. Oftentimes we get so caught up with achieving results today that we neglect to count the cost of a work done too quickly. Not considering the sickness that comes with making pies from dirty apples. But can I lose the analogy for a bit? Why is it really that we are so easily distracted? Why is it that just a little bit of glitter can have us giving up on gold? (I guess I’m worse at putting aside metaphors than I thought.) Is it—perhaps, that part of us wonders if it’s really worth all the work? All the late nights, the fasting & praying, the tears, the self-discipline, the brutal work, the patience. What if none of them are actually going to be worth it? I wonder if the reason we are so quick to give up or get distracted isn’t because there is a part of us secretly thinking, “It’ll all fail anyway, but at least I can walk away with *something* accomplished.”

But what if the only thing keeping it from working is the fact that so many of us keep giving into that thought? What if the problem isn’t that no one listens to the radicals, but that the “radicals” aren’t radical enough to actually BELIEVE it can work? What if we are simply finding more security in our problems than in our progress? Because these problems sent by our enemies are things we know how to keep from killing us. Meanwhile, life without them is a wild card—something we’ve never experienced before. What if our oppressors were right all along? What if we can’t handle our freedom?

Are these thoughts winning in the battle for our minds so much so that we have nothing left with which to fight for our souls?

Hmmm….can I make a recommendation?

Let’s just shoot our shots. Let’s look forward, arms swinging, legs pumping, eyes focused. Let’s not slow down. Let’s not look back. Let’s be so engrossed in our work that we remove all room to discuss “if it fails.” Let’s be so committed to its success that it only fails over all (not one) of our dead bodies. So that as long as there is breath in any of our lungs, we’re all still breathing. Let’s be so connected to one another that they can push on 50 million of us at once and not one of us fall.

It’s a lot, I know. It’s terrifying. But I, for one, can no longer accept that there is anything we cannot change. You see, they’ve tried to kill me already. They did everything they could to take me out. And their shots made contact—internally and externally. But somehow they missed their target and didn’t quite get to my heart. They could only hit me at an angle and now I’m still breathing. What a mistake they made. Because in their attempt to take my life the only thing they actually managed to remove was my fear.

So dare to be radical with me—for real. They’ve already taken away the authenticity that made everything else valuable. So at this point, we really do have nothing to lose but our chains.

#ForwardTOGETHER, Not ONE step back.

Katrina Marie

Speak Life

Words matter.

The way we arrange and inflect them matters.

Who, when, how, and why we share them with matters.

Because the moment we give them our breath they have power.

It goes so far beyond "political correctness," "mindfulness," and "the law of attraction." Each human being can affect and be affected by the influence of words. They not only shape our perspectives and emotions, but our thoughts themselves and how we decide to act on them.

Especially the big ones: change, acceptance, can't, relationship, love.

What these words mean to us, and how we choose to use them accordingly impacts our entire reality.

Recently, I realized that the way I had been choosing to use words, at some point between when I began writing this on January 24th and when I published it on March 19th, stopped reflecting the responsibility that I know them to hold.

I'd used them for my own devices and vindication. I used them to express frustration, up to the point of "getting even," under the guise of "balancing the scales."

I've used acceptance when I really meant weakness. I've used change when I really meant move. I've used can't when I really meant won't. I've used relationship when I really meant usefulness. I've used love when I really meant comfort.

But, as I said in a recent email regarding a precarious situation regarding law enforcement, "lack of clarity & understanding of purpose often makes just enough room to pave the way for further standards of harm."

And when we use words like love and acceptance when they aren't actually what we mean, then we're not using synonyms--we're using powerful words of healing to cause harm, and diluting their innate power for positive, transformative impact.

So consider, when you speak to those you know and love (or "hate" for that matter), as well as those with whom you may only ever hold one conversation with--that your words have the power to do things far beyond your expectations (or limitations). So when you do open your mouth (or keep it closed)--choose wisely. You never know what could be accomplished as the result of your choice to (or not to) speak life.

With (full, care-taking, covering, supporting, accountability-holding, sacrificial) Love,

K. Marie <3

A Reactionary Tale

A few years back, Facebook did something to expand on the previously all-encompassing “like” button—they added something called “reactions.” This came to users in the form of additional emoji-esque options that could be selected once you hovered over the like feature—love, haha, wow, sad, & angry. While the inconsistencies of those naming conventions does cause a bit of a flinch in this administrative mind, I can’t help but find it interesting how well the full range of human emotion can be encapsulated in those 6 images (although my own personal set doesn’t quite feel complete without an eye roll or side-eye reaction).

We spend so much of our time offering reactions—even to the point of reacting to someone else’s lack of a reaction. Now this isn’t a new phenomenon in human history. It certainly existed pre-facebook. One would imagine it goes back to the pre-historic era, the time where pretty much all humans did was react—to our unexplained shifting environment, to animals, to each other.

And yet in the year 2017 AD, we still spend so relatively little time learning to manage them.

To be clear, in this context, I’m not referring to Newton’s 3rd Law of Motion. More like I step on your brand new cream-colored Yeezy’s and you start swearing at me like a sailor her first day with skurvy. Taking a look at many of our families, businesses, social circles, customer service interactions, and even our charity work will often all tell the same story. We don’t like to initiate—but we love to react.

Don’t believe me? Consider the question, “Where do you want to eat?” How many memes or comic routines include a bit involving Person A asking Person B for direction, being told “I don’t care, you choose,” then having to essentially list all 26 food choices in a 10 mile radius while having each of them denied one by one? Coming up with the ideas is boring, but shooting them down is almost a sport!

Now this, in itself, is certainly not the end of the world as we know it, albeit a bit exasperating for Person A. But if this is what we do for the simple things, what happens when the stakes are raised even a little bit? How much love is never shared because no one wants to be the first to say, “Will you be mine?”

Imagine if people reacted to the implementation of racism as they do being called racist.

Oh what a day that would be.

Don’t wait for an invitation. Step up. Step in. And get to work.