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.

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

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.

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.

People & Pain

"I'm not going to be light-skinned anymore."

Probably the last words I expected to hear walking down the halls of a middle school in rural Milton, Vermont. And yet--they managed to be some of the first yesterday morning.

In a place where the minority population equates to about 5 non-white children per grade (there's been a lot of growth over the last 8 years), the light-skinned/dark-skinned fight is not something I anticipated finding traces of. But here they are, sticky and not exactly sweet. It would be easy for me to make this about race, but that's not what's nagging at the nape of my neck today. The simple fact is: Where there are teenagers, there will be the pain of self-disdain--accompanied by obscenely unnecessary amounts of poorly-blended makeup & Axe body spray. But what bothers me today is that so many of those teenage girls & boys become 50 year old men &women who can't seem to stop apologizing for and attempting to blot out who they are. At what point do we finally realize that we don't have to atone for being human? That having flaws, feelings, & fears is not only acceptable, but a huge part of what makes our lives and experiences unique.

In today's society, it's a challenge not to buy into the popular notion that we must be the definition of "flawless." So no scars. No tears. No weakness allowed. But where does that get us?

This just in:

Failing at an endeavor does not make you a failure.

Perfection and perfectly you are not the same thing.

Emotions serve a purpose.

No one has the qualifications or authority to appraise your life besides you.

So many times in our lives we perpetuate the false truth that falling short of perfection is a reason to be coated in shame. But no matter how many times I hear it--even from my own lips, I refuse to believe it. If for no other reason than the fact that it's just not true. I mean yes, it's a conscious choice--to not agree with the affirmations. And it's one I have to make. Because coating something in shame is like coating it in silver. It draws all the attention from the item itself to its shiny coating, but stops allowing it to move forward. It freezes it in time so it can no longer grow or develop. And then it rusts.

Now I don't know about you, but I have no desire to be a rusty, underdeveloped thing people look at as a discussion piece, but remain unable to engage.

I'm a person, and as much as I come with creativity, beauty, & joy, I also come with pain.

Be Intentional

This week I celebrated my birthday--25th to be specific. So it seemed to me the perfect moment to pause.

I know it's common for people to get reflective around the beginning of a new year.

And I'm no exception. But January doesn't do much for me. For me, my "Man in the Mirror," moment always happens right around my birthday--my personal new year.

I believe there's power in that.

Like any other garden, pruning and weeding are an important part of the process, and if it's not done regularly, growth is not only minimized, but health of the overall crop is often impacted negatively.

And I think it's fair to relate a life to a garden, and not just because it involves constant attention. Like a well-planned and maintained garden, its quality is measured by multiple rubrics of value. You see, the part of a garden filled with tomatoes, corn, and zuchinni might not be as visually attractive to everyone as one filled with orchids, tulips, and lilies, but it is just as valuable (and difficult to maintain). Life needs both beauty and utility to have balanced worth. After all, what is a house on a hill if you can't throw a party in it?

If we're not constantly reassessing the things that are impacting our environments and wellbeing--including what we do and do not allow of ourselves and those we deem colleagues, then we run the risk of self-sabotaging our character via neglect. I don't claim to speak for anyone else, but I've found my most important and life-changing decisions have happened right around my "New Year." I also have yet to regret a single one of them. And I have a theory for why that is. You see, I'm a big "goal-person". Whether I achieve them or not, I'm always working towards goals based on the overall vision I have for my future. That way, when I make plans or important decisions, I have something to check them against to see if they're in my best interest for now, later, or never. But as much as I would love to be able to say that happens every time, I can't. However, as my year winds down, I re-evaluate things, which causes me to take another look at my plans, see if they're moving me towards my goals, and re-adjust accordingly.

There is a prayer in the Book of Psalms in the Bible found in the 90th Chapter where Moses is asking God to "Teach us to number our days carefully so that we may develop wisdom in our hearts." (Ps. 90:12). And I do believe a mindset like that is important, because it speaks to remaining focused on ultimate goals to keep from being lost in and bogged down by immediate ones. Not getting caught up in monotony, but remembering the greater purpose within each day's labor. Perspective does wonders for progress, and without it, it becomes easy to forget that the ultimate goal of tilling soil isn't to plant a seed of grain, or even grow a garden--but to feed a family.

Now I can't say for certain I know what the future holds, or even who I will be 10 years from now. But this I know for sure: it will be intentionally crafted with care. Life is not an accident. So while I can't control every piece of it, I refuse to let it "just happen." My journey is not one of happenstance. I was created with purpose (and so were you for that matter).

So I'd like to encourage you--be vigilant in your self-development on all fronts. Because the most fruitful (non-GMO) gardens have always had the most tending.

“It’s not my thing.”

I know a lot of people who say politics isn’t their thing & they don’t really like reading or learning about history.

And I could say that’s fine and well because we all have our interests–but it’s not. I don’t like math, but unless I want to trust all the handling of all my finances to someone who “likes” math, I’m darn sure going to learn how to count. Not because I think numbers are cool, but because my livelihood and prosperity depend on it. It’s simple wisdom.

I truly believe that as a millennial adult you cannot hold someone else responsible for the problems caused by your willful ignorance.

So Dear America, please stop choosing to avoid World History. Because, like arithmetic, if we ignore the precepts found therein, we’re doomed to be duped by someone who paid attention.

With Much Love & Respect,

K. Marie

I, Too, Am America

In my lifetime I’ve seen planes fly into multiple major national buildings.

I’ve seen wars launched discreetly and indiscreetly.

I’ve seen communities unite like never before only to turn on themselves again with paralleled fervor.

I’ve seen schools, churches, playgrounds, & hospitals become home to gunfire.

I’ve seen riots over painful mishandlings of power and poor executions of justice.

I’ve seen churches burned to the ground.

And that’s only in my country.

I am a part of a generation who’s either grown up too quickly or not at all.

I’ve experienced felt terror at levels that are numbing and remained standing.

I’ve witnessed every odd stacked against me and found hope to hold onto.

And as a lower middle-class, multi-racial, female, millennial adult, I’d like to have it noted that I, too, am America.

Charleston, SC

I’ve been struggling all day to find any words to adequately express how I’m feeling.

Grieved doesn’t seem heavy enough, but I can’t think of a word that describes this torment my heart is enduring any better.

I am not in so much pain today because these victims were black, nor because they were Christians.

I am in mourning today because there were ten human beings whose humanity was ripped away from them at the hand of the senseless hate that was allowed to quietly take hold of a young man in a society that gave him the gift of freedom of belief without the responsibility of morality.

Because of an age that taught him to do and be what he wanted fearlessly with no concern for the consequences. Because of the generation that gave him the courage to take a stand without the requirement of socially accountable intentions.

We’ve done a flawless job of teaching the ideology of independent freedoms & self-sufficiency, but failed at teaching to love one another in unity. A soul so passionately consumed with hate is already dead. There are ten souls today I grieve for, because my Savior taught me that all lives do matter–regardless of my judgement of their worthiness.

We’re in this together, and the cycle of hate-inspired hate must end today.

Drained v. Destiny

What is it you do, that even on your most exhausting days leaves you energized & full of life & joy? That even during its worst seasons still has you making the same choice to come back each day?

A musician I know said to me tonight that when they get done playing gigs, they’re exhausted. And yet, they’re the CEO of a company & can work on that into the wee hours of the morning with not much more than a little dissatisfaction.

The book of Matthew tells us that where your treasure lies, so does your heart. And Proverbs & Luke tell us that all that we are & do flows straight out of our heart. So I think it would be reasonable to conclude that our “treasure” or “place of passion” is what I’d like to call our sweet spot. The one place we not only can do more than makes sense, but WANT to. I believe that when we’re operating in an anointed place of destiny, the more we pour out, the more we’re filled. Because our gifts make room for us & our talents (peep that wordplay) are multiplied the more we use them.

What I DON’T believe is that a place or assignment which only drains you & doesn’t refill you, is a place you’re meant to stay forever.

While in Egypt, the Hebrews learned so much. Although so greatly oppressed, they learned community, they learned resilience, they learned patience, they learned how to trust & rely on their God. They learned the power of their spirit & the strength of their faith. And something I think so many people miss--they learned how to build in such a way that centuries later their work still stands before all men to see. The reason that I can say for sure that, although difficult and unfair, it was truly their destiny to be there while they were, is because the more they were afflicted, they more they increased. Although weary, there was a grace upon them that allowed them to endure & remain standing when every one of them should have faltered as their spirits were broken.

But none of that happened.

I’d like to suppose that there are some of us out here who are living in our skill set rather than walking in our destiny. We’re getting distracted by the places that we’re comfortable, getting exhausted in the places we know we do things well simply because they’re second nature.

You see, manly assignments leave us drained & empty.

But destiny leaves us full & ready to come back for more.

Writing with Pen

There’s just something about touching pen to paper when you’re inspired that does something inside of you.

Something different than typing or even writing with pencil.

There’s something about the permanence of releasing an idea through a hand, onto paper, with a pen that moves something in you. Because, even greater than a word spoken, is a word written in ink.

It cannot be misheard or edited without trace.

It cannot be muted or changed once the liquid seeps into the fibers of the page.

The concept of cementing an idea into reality is grand enough, but the actual practice of doing it–well, it changes you forever.