I am speaking for myself and for many others, none of whom have given me permission. Get your own blog and type with your own cat sitting next to you.
Some of us were raised to believe that keeping your head down was the best way to make it to another day. That making it to another day was that hard, and it was that important, and it was all one could do when it was all you had within you.
Some of us grew up knowing those before us struggled mightily and often by sliding through cracks in the door and found the toe-holds in the wall to push off from and chart a path. That we did not have to find those toe-holds, but put in the effort and be grateful, thankful, blessed to have a path towards survival if not a path towards thriving (so long as that meant buying it all). We grew up not as much with struggle as with the ethos built from the struggle: work hard, find the cracks, keep your head down.
Some of us learned, saw, experienced, or otherwise were hipped to the knowledge that it was all systemic. All of it. And we had to learn the underlying values, themes, beliefs, stories, myths, and narratives that fueled the system. That some that came before us spent their lives in unsafe spaces to contextualize, frame, reframe, and draw a map for those that came later to pick up where they left off. That just by applying ones needs and rights as a human being with the intellect all of us possessed, souls and soles were made to walk farther than they had. Survival.
Some of us become early commits to the cause of learning what made us free and what limited our freedom, studious in the art of modifying the institutions that were built to keep us out and allow others in. Some of us revered not the big shots on the pulpit, not the speakers with the speakers, nor the coifed and eloquent and photogenic, but the workers. The engineers, the plumbers, the road graders, the organizers behind the organizers, the ones who dedicated themselves to re-engineering these institutions. To re-design them to live up to the value and commitment of freedom, not freedom for some. The sergeants with independent thought, clarity of purpose, commitment to the team and community, dedication to solutions, and loyalty to a moral goal. The builders/designers. The ones who looked at the blueprints, pointed to a junction and said "that is where we will start".
Some of us found our niche. Not just the how, but who we were, who we are, who we could become. The professor, the doctor, the educator, the policy wonk, the community leader, the mother, the father, the one of a few in an office and org of many, who carried all the water. The single member, the one of one, who knew they were going to have to suffer the slings and arrows of intentional fortune in service to providing, to living, to being. Some of us were built for elements of rugged individualism, and still sought to learn and grow.
Some of us think it's about "me", not us. Some of us committed to fully making a buck and not giving a fuck. Some of us hold an open chair at the table, for when those who have chosen to think it is about them, and making a buck, return, so they may rejoin. Some, but not all of us. You better bring some food and brown liquor when you do sucka.
Some of us became leaders to others, younger, newer, greener. Some of us sought this role; some fell into it. Some of us learned allyship, and then had to have our own privilege checked and recognized. Most of us realized holy shit, I thought I was supposed to have it all figured out before someone started seeing me as a source for answers, for strength, for guidance and peace. We thought knowing how the machine was engineered would save us, but some of us realized no, it's the story behind the machine, and why it works the way it does. Some of the younger, the newer, the greener hear us when we say "do not listen to the story".
Some of us learned to temper our emotions and feelings, but never learned how to use them as strengths in the right situations. Some of us are still sitting on decades of pain and frustration. There are many answers, not all of them are right, or even right for us. But we can't suppress what is real, and for some of us this reality is painful and difficult, and the strength we need to endure is within us, but also tempered with our feelings and emotions. Some of it needs to get out.
Some of us learned the only way to square all of this was to form community. Not some masochistic dedication to stoicism, not hyper-radicalized perspectives and action, not fully burying ones head in the sand trying to go deeper every time. No. Some of us learned our only salvation was in community, in being vulnerable and sharing and joining and venting and lashing out and fighting out and crying and writing and drinking and embracing each other. At the end of the day some of us learned the only cure for what ails all of us, and what ails us in our pursuit of justice and freedom, is love. And love, no matter where the journey started or where the journey is today, is always needed and must be cultivated. Grown. Tendered. Nourished. Committed. It is the very first thing we each must do when we start, when we are down, when we are up, and when we get up. Every day, the first thing we must all do in our struggle is to commit to love and to our love with ours. And to love oneself, authentically.
Some of us have learned how hard it is to love oneself authentically. Too many narratives, too many sources, all telling us our place is there, not Here. Who we are and must be was set in stone in a narrative, a set of myths, ghost stories, cosmic realities that are unshakeable, and those who are committed to the unshakeable all knowing truth are infallible, compass points for everyone to follow. Some of us followed, and we are now here and not There. And now we are in the same loop of false truths, of losing ourselves to the master story and never questioning why we don't get to be the lead character. "Because that's how it is, even when you play by the rules." The rules preclude loving oneself authentically.
And some of us have been just trying to be kind to everyone, and remain befuddled how others feel the need not to. Do a little more each day out of kindness, learn, grow, and realize tomorrow isn't promised. And some of these folks still act a fool.
Some of us have no time for "yeah, but..." if it isn't from a place of love, curiosity, and community.
All of us are tired. Very tired, and sore, and worn down. Waking up everyday and putting even a little bit of effort into loving yourself authentically is revolutionary at times. "There so much more to life if you just stay Black and die", said Talib Kweli. Completely true in our own ways, but the "stay" part, that's hard. Some of us have learned we need each other to stay. Not "please stay" but in order to just be, we need "we", each other.
*******
I learned recently the difference between resting and recharging. Resting is putting a plug in the bottom of the bath tub to keep any more water from draining, recharging is refilling it up with warm water. I do feel I am resting right now, just sitting with it all and trying to keep what little energy I have with me now. This blog is a small step in the direction of recharging, but recharging means being able to hold a charge. I am not there yet. I've been jamming up my drain to stop the water with enough Oscar Peterson and Sonny Clark and Bud Powell to damn up the Allegheny a second time. And it is slowly working. But I am reimagining authentic community and not just compartmentalizing this again. No.
*The painting is The Creation, by Aaron Douglas, 1935.
Comments
Post a Comment