Precious Predilections

Category: Uncategorized

  • on the other side

    on the other side

    Imagine what it’s like to be stuck in a reality that dismantles your family, presumes your guilt based on your God-given gear ( I’m talkin’ skin color), and leaves you with a thousand sleepless nights and I will tell you what it’s like to have a Black son, brother, husband, father or friend to undergo the unwieldy American unjust justice system. Key word here is REALITY. For some the account of When They See Us by Ava DuVernay is philosophical and conversations loom around poetic pros and pithy arguments, yet I am unable to escape the striking resemblance to my family’s reality of justice gone wrong.

    So many images from this series are seared into my psyche but none more piercing than that of a pride so deep that produces prejudicial action. This is the stuff of oppressive systems. My stomach turned in knots as I realized that when they (Whites) see us, they remember her (White investment banker brutally raped). How could they not? A judge, who like most, keeps a doting picture of his (White) wife on the bench; a young, White female prosecutor; fill in the _____________. A quick substitution of the rape victim with the face of the one they love and the five black boys on trial are no longer seen as such, but as a wolf pack to protect their loved ones from. This instinctive ability to re-imagine ourselves or a person we love/care about that has been victimized is all natural. Development of my empathetic muscles has come from a place of love through proximity. So, I’ll say it – love differently ya’ll. Love different people from different places of different races with different experiences and I am certain you will no longer see a wolf pack. You’ll see a student, a friend, someone’s brother, a child, a person.

    http://www.glamour.com Atsushi Nishijima/Netflix

    On the other side of incarceration there are parents, siblings, children, friends who experience loss from a system designed to keep so many bound.

    When They See Us not only exposes what happens when justice moves away from righting wrongs to jockeying for power, but also depicts the complex choices of those “on the other side.” It highlights how the pressures of our penal system forces parents to choose between provision and purported protection. Complicated.

    Antron’s dad lost his son trying to protect him. Raymond’s dad would forever regret sending him to the same park where he would be targeted by police. Kevin’s sister is crushed by her 14 year old brother’s tear-filled plea to simply return home and signs a coerced confession. Complicated. Somehow through deep loss and grief, those on the other side are able to beautifully uphold the dignity of those they love. While it is painfully obvious during each episode that whiteness affords many the privilege of a better trial than their Black counterparts, I found a few other lessons embedded within.

    Clinging to normalcy: the return home. The return home is anti-climactic. Fathers unprepared to receive the sons they’ve betrayed by choosing absence on court dates. Sons bravely clinging to normalcy found in the days of old. Holding tightly to the culmination of belongings in a brown paper bag. Dreaming nightly of the return home only to realize that the heart’s deep love must now sync with the awkward moments of freely being present with loved ones as the muscle memory of trauma reminds everyone to restrain affection and the expression of feelings. Trauma makes normal abnormal. We must be gentle with one another.

    We are not okay: lying to survive The penal system can produce a family of pretenders. We all pretend that everything is okay post incarceration. Because how do you even begin to process that all involved have less hope in a justice system that doesn’t value our Black lives or legacy? Korey’s mom would ask him, “What is it like for you in here? Are they treating you okay?” His response was always, “I’m surviving…” or “I’m holding it down…” Responses which are echoed all across America. We may never know the entire story of someone’s trauma. For those that choose vulnerability, let them do so in their own time and in their own way. We must be gentle with one another.

    “I’m just a shadow,” says Korey Wise, one of the exonerated five and victim of horrific beatings. “I’m very empty — 46 years old and empty. At the same time, I’m talking to the kid in me: ‘I got you, baby boy. Nobody can take your story from you.’”

    Real love…I’m searching for a real love…someone to really see me. (cue Mary J. Blige song) It is real love that slowly shifts our gaze beyond bias and towards humanity. Love is less about whimsy, more about choice. It is an outright intention to choose another over yourself. It is sacrificial at it’s core. Consider those on the other side of incarceration (or providing trauma support) and ask yourself, how have I loved them? These parents, children, siblings, loved ones are often left in the shadows. Those who’ve directly experienced trauma and those supporting them need that real love.

    “All I do all day long is LOVE YOU.” — Mother of Antron McCray, one of the exonerated five boys.

  • Chronic Singleness

    Chronic Singleness

    I’ve lived a lot of life as a single Black woman and I’ve resisted writing down these thoughts for a while, but usually in my writing I find solace sprinkled with liberty and saturated with courage. Courage to share that I am nearly FORTY (yep, the big 4 0) and I have spent almost half of those years navigating life as a single woman. This is at times a difficult truth because it is far from my desire or even what I had “planned,” but that’s NOT what this post is about. This post isn’t about the difficult aspects of singleness, it’s about the silent directives whispered to women by well-meaning friends and family to be someone other than their authentic selves to rid them of this thing called singleness.

    The title “chronic singleness” is hyperbolic in nature and intended to conjure up thoughts of potential cures. Why? Because women who are single into their mid-to-late thirties begin to be treated as if their singleness was brought on by their selfishness (clearly they must be chasing a career), insecurities, high standards, or strong personality. In essence, the problem MUST belong to the woman… And of course some might say that all of the aforementioned “symptoms” are curable.

    Here’s where well meaning peeps enter the scene. They begin asking the woman about things she could possibly change about herself to garner the attention of a man. Even recommending that she change her standards of desirable characteristics in a partner to simply look like… “man with a job.” It may sound funny to some, but this is only comical through your twenties. Once you reach your mid-to-late thirties it becomes exhausting. If this sounds personal, it is. I’ve received advise from people I love dearly that varies from trying an online dating app to revealing less of my educational background to appear less intimidating to men.

    I’m exhausted fam. I have been told over and over again that I must shrink back so that the man can shine. Veil portions of my full self so that his presence can supersede mine. Why can’t we both shine together? This exhausting narrative has become awkward as I approach forty. Like, what else can you ask me to do to “prepare” for this mystery man? And why aren’t men being asked the same types of questions?

    Precious moment with my friend’s little one.

    Truthfully, at this stage, people engage me with caution as they see my love for children and family and approach me with uncertainty to ask if it’s okay to pray for my future husband. Or the look on their face indicates that they are genuinely baffled as to the cause of my singleness and long for a day where I will share in the joy of a long term relationship and family of my own. I want to thank friends and family for their concern and care, but I must also request that you all stop treating me like singleness is something to be cured. The longing in my heart persists for marriage and a family of my own, but my life is full today. I am not lacking as a single person.

    I remember the shame centered around this conversation as a woman in my mid-thirties when people who know me unintentionally communicated that I was not enough. A Christian community that idolizes marriage and gives little value to the single person often did the same. I began to embrace the idea of searching for a cure for my singleness; my chronic condition of incompleteness until I realized that I am enough. God’s design of me is COMPLETE. A change in marital status should only add to the beauty of my life as most relationships do. No single person completes another person. Periodt.

    I, like, Ekemini Uwan of Truth’s Table, now hold this desire of marriage loosely. Her post titled, Singleness: My Only Companion, beautifully expressed many of the sentiments of my heart and communicated that I am not alone. Thank you sis. This past year God has shown me the beauty in daily gratitude for every met need. As I said every day last year and will continue to say, “I have what I need TODAY, therefore I will not complain.” This includes not complaining about being single. Each year God adds new relationships to my life when I need them and for this I am grateful.

    When you see a woman in her mid-to-late thirties who is single, don’t offer her your unsolicited advice. Don’t make her feel like a leper because of her marital status. Don’t presume she is lonely or unfulfilled. Don’t even assume that marriage is a desire of hers. Remember, Jesus was single. I never hear anyone speak of his life of singleness with disdain. The Apostle Paul was single and that is never the first thing people mention when speaking about him. Peep this. All I want you to do is LISTEN if singleness is the topic of conversation. It is often more complicated than swiping left or right on an app or “putting yourself out there.” If the woman is a friend, a daughter, or colleague, listen to her heart when she shares it. Pray for her to live fully and freely in her singleness. And lastly, if she does desire marriage, pray for contentment in the longing. I believe she will benefit from those prayers. I know that I have. Life is full of unmet desires and yet God faithfully meets every need.

    But godliness with contentment is great gain. – 1 Timothy 6:6

  • Keep the Change

    Keep the Change

    I see the depth of my humanity at the intersection of my darkest secrets and greatest hopes.  At times I am secretly afraid and yet deeply hopeful. Teaching has unearthed a myriad of emotions.  It has been a place where great joy and great need have collided.  I believe I’ve needed the presence of students much more than they have needed any lesson I have taught them.

    Living this dream has been nothing I expected and everything I’ve hoped for.  I didn’t expect exhaustion or gaps in communicating with those I love.  I didn’t expect to see the beauty in becoming a reflective practitioner. I didn’t expect to treasure sound feedback as much as I do.  I hoped for joy filled days.  I hoped that I would not be the only teacher in the room; that I might learn profound truths from the mouth of babes.  I hoped that my discomfort would point me to Christ.  I hoped that I would grow personally and professionally; both have occurred.  A memorable student-led lesson that impacted my personal growth occurred on the first day in the classroom.

    InkedMTR Class of 2019 Residents-Vision Prep-0020_LI

    “Are you nice?” – 5th Grader somewhere in Memphis

    On the first day of school I was full of nerves; all kinds of nerves and this student “had the nerve” to question my kindness?  I should be nervous, right?  It was my first day as a teacher.  However, the candor with which this student spoke during my initial encounter with him was refreshing and taught me a lesson in token vs. true relationship.  My first day attire was thoughtfully chosen. I “carefully” selected a colorful blazer and shirt which I thought wouldn’t cause me to appear too uptight that kids wouldn’t approach me or  too casual that I wouldn’t be taken seriously.  Clearly the student could not easily decipher the type of teacher I was and therefore decided to ask.  Truthfully, his sweet candor never left me.

    As adults, quick, unfounded, judgments are made upon initial encounters, and rather than finding out more about that person (as this student attempted to do), token relationships are established.  True friendships are established as we seek to know and be known by others.  Tokenism selfishly prompts us to hold on to a relationship based on what it can provide us and only access it when it has some direct value to us.  It says, “I’ll use this token when I need it.”  It has little care for the token itself, only what it can provide.  Tokens are cheap and so are token relationships.  The first day of school encounter has guided my interactions with students and adults in a new way.  This student has encouraged me to seek to know others and allow others to get to know me.  This knowledge doesn’t imply depth, but rather an earnest attempt to connect with others in an authentic way. This posture of connection with others has caused me seek to humanize others.  It is the start of every conversation and every prayer. Game changer.  This student taught me a lesson in empathy.   For 2019, ya’ll can keep the change.  I’m not in search of tokens.

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    As a self-proclaimed late dreamer, my professional growth as a teacher has revealed itself through expressions of love.  I thought my first day in the classroom would be love at “first day,” but it wasn’t. In short, it didn’t feel like love, but it felt like I was exactly where I was supposed to be.  And maybe this is love; not explicitly a feeling, but a knowing.  A deep knowing that you are safe and that the reciprocation of the love that you’ve given will be returned without judgement.  I have been loved well by a few in this season. These beautiful expressions of love have undoubtedly reminded this caterpillar that it was made to fly.

    There is a love that liberates and a love that feels like it’s always been free.  I choose freedom.  – Queen Sugar

    Teaching has been the realization of an unspoken dream.  Dreaming doesn’t actually feel “dreamy” and comfortable, but I do feel ALIVE!  Is it possible that in the dreaming I feel more human?  Does this awakening of my humanity define what it means to really live?    Living in the tension of hopes and heartache.

    Dreaming is defined on www.dictionary.com as an aspiration; goal; aim.

    To dream is to hope.  To hope is to live.

    I now dream of teaching students more than math.  I dream of teaching them of their inner and outer beauty.  I dream of teaching them how to navigate a world which doesn’t always affirm them.  I dream of teaching them to fly.  Fly, babies, fly.  When loved well, I believe flying is the only option.

    Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but a desire fulfilled is a tree of life. – Proverbs 13:12

  • Village People

    Village People

    “You’ve been here a LOOOOONNNNGGG time, Auntie…”  – my 7 year old niece

    And by “long time” she means that I’ve been in Orlando longer than 5 weeks.  Of course, children her age have a skewed concept of time generally leading to hyperbolic expressions of events.  Her tone was sweet and endearing as she described my return home from South Africa after a 3 month stay; this account was quickly met with bewilderment as to why I wasn’t allowed to stay as I had intended.  She didn’t understand why my plans had changed.  There was joy and sadness in her voice.  Joy as we laughed and played together, but sadness because she knew that something “felt broken” in her auntie and there was seemingly no remedy in sight.  I realized in that moment the depth of my village.  It’s deep y’all.  So, this blog is one of gratitude.  Gratitude to my village.

    “It takes a village to raise a child.” – African Proverb

    I’ve been a “village person” all of my adult life.  I’ve had the opportunity to be a part of the communal support system of nieces, nephews, cousins, and children in the various cities I’ve lived.  I adore being a part of the village.  The village isn’t just something we can benefit from as children.  I’m learning, “As an adult, it takes a village to really live.”  There are things that my friends provided that my family could not.  There are thoughtful ways that my family supported me to remind me that I am more than what I do.  I am family.  The warmth of my niece’s presence and her hand-written notes with God at the center that say, “We love you God,” remind me not to take for granted her place in my village.Niece Art

    Without this village, I would have floundered upon my return from South Africa.  Instead, I’ve been able to share my disappointment with my niece from the vantage point of a diamond, not defeat.  I want my nieces and nephews to know that they can do hard things.  They can try new things and succeed.  They will also try new things and fail.  But, they must try.  Their village is strong.

    In the last 6 months I’ve experienced very high highs and low lows.  I’ve cried.  I’ve lamented.  I’ve laughed.  I’ve dreamed.  I finally dreamed.  My village came through as I took deep breaths and acted with new courage imbued by faith.  I was no longer a reservoir in the village, I had become a recipient.  This transition has brought me face to face with my need for village people.  I am thankful for the expanse of people in so many different places that I know are a part of my village and I theirs.  Thank you all for your prayers, texts, meals, couch-surfing opportunities, and encouragement.  Thank you for allowing me to do hard things; to live freely.  This freedom has allowed me to throw off yet one more chain.  The chain that links my identity to what I do has been thrown off!  What does that look like for me?  Well, I’m glad you’re interested!

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    When I envision myself really living in freedom, it takes me to a place where I am most myself; when I am teaching and in the presence of children.  Therefore, I will no longer hesitate to make moves to make this a reality.  I’m moving deeper into the village!  I’ve accepted an offer to be a resident in a teacher residency program in Memphis while completing a Master’s in Urban Education.  I’m excited to become a teacher after this year of residency.  Teaching is hard work, but I can think of no other space where I will be more alive.  I am certain there are beautiful exchanges I will have with the community of Memphis as we learn from one another.  Memphis, here I come!

    Some might describe my journey from engineering to education as steps backwards, but I would describe them as the most courageous and invigorating steps forward.  When I stand in the classroom, I know I will not stand alone.  I echo the words of Maya Angelou in saying, “I come as one, but I stand as 10,000.”   As my heart enlarges for the vulnerable and marginalized, I am compelled to do things I’ve never done before to see justice lived out in a way I’ve never seen.

    Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be frightened, and do not be dismayed, for the LORD your God is with you wherever you go. – Joshua 1:9 (ESV)

     

  • Wakanda Woman do you really want?

    Wakanda Woman do you really want?

    #Wakandaforever and ever and ever.   🙅🏾  Seriously.

    Short caveat before providing a minor critique of the response to the Black Panther movie. ~ Black Panther was such a substantive movie.  I REALLY enjoyed it and have begun to think about how I can live in such a way that Wakanda can move beyond a figment of my imagination. I’m re-imagining how I can participate in creating a world where black and brown people of the diaspora know their worth, are proud of their ethnicity, freely celebrate their culture, and have the skills necessary to drive innovation in technology.

    Caveat over.  🙅🏿

    Men, I need to talk to y’all.  Especially black men.  I need answers.  Stat! Maybe you’ll shine some light so that I can cast less shade, because I have plenty to throw right now.

    Never have I seen black women who are bald or have short hair and darker skin praised for their beauty AND strength by…black men.  Black men have praised plenty of black women that have long, straight (or minimally kinky) hair, with lighter skin as beautiful. This type of praise is unconventional in the American black culture.  However, since Black Panther so brilliantly displayed women with such phenotypical features, they pretty much have gained goddess status.  Bruhs are like… “Nakia, Okoye, and Shuri, are my new standard for beauty…”  As a woman of dark skin who’s not always experienced this type of affirmation from black men, I appreciate that! My contention is with the “new-found way in which you’ve presumably embraced my strength as well.

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    Letitia Wright, Lupita Nyong’o, Angela Bassett and Dania Gurira photographed exclusively for Entertainment Weekly by Koury Angelo is Los Angeles on January 30th 2018 photographed exclusively for Entertainment Weekly by Koury Angelo is Los Angeles on January 30th 2018

    STRONG BLACK WOMAN – not new, so let’s not treat it as such

    While Wakanda itself is a fictional place in Africa, the Dora Milaje Warriors of Wakanda are not.  Arica L. Coleman, of Time, recently wrote an article, “There’s a True Story Behind Black Panther’s Strong Women.  Here’s Why that Matters” that provides historical context.  Many black women are unofficially given the title of “strong black woman” and it carries with it unbelievable weight, often to the detriment of emotional, physical, and spiritual health.   Peep this book from Dr. Chanequa Walker-Barnes, Too Heavy a Yoke: Black Women and the Burden of Strength, if you desire some freedom here. This is not the strength that beams from my sistahs on the screen of Black Panther.  It is not the strength that simply ignores pain.  Not the strength that forsakes self-care for the care of everyone else in their tribe.  These women are physically and intellectually strong.  They are beautifully portrayed as women whose strengths are not seen as a threat, but as an additional weapon in the protection of a nation they all love.  Think asset not liability.

    Here’s why I’m salty.  I’m salty because my social media news feed has been full of posts and comments from black men that are practically giddy with the portrayal of women in this movie.  Especially commenting on their strength and beauty.  Well, guys, there seems to be a contradiction in what your social media post say and what I’ve experienced in life as a real-life Dora Milaje woman.  Yep, self proclaimed Milaje woman.  Here’s what’s been communicated directly and indirectly to me by men as a strong black woman:

    Your strength is intimidating, so tone it down and don’t have too many thoughts on the issue. 

    Be anything but assertive in the presence of men.  Too much sauce is too much sauce.  Minimize your intelligence at those times. 

    You are so much more beautiful if you have hair extensions that make your hair straight or very long.

    Regardless of your education and experience, your voice is always less valuable than any man in the room.

    Your dark skin is exotic.  You are not beautiful enough to be pursued in relationship, only observed.

    The list could continue, but the point is not to be exhaustive, but to challenge this notion that black men really do find the Dora Milaje warriors, Nakia, Queen Ramonda, and Okoye attractive with all of their strengths.   As a friend and I discussed the movie, she brought out the perspective that because T’Challa’s black panther suit was brilliantly designed to absorb kinetic energy with each bullet fired at him and later reused in his own defense, she often wanted him to take “more hits” so that his defense would be even stronger.  Such an interesting concept with parallels to black men across the diaspora.  Black men have been taking hits for a long time.  They’ve had a shield that absorbed a lot of the blows for them; the black woman.  Black women are still absorbing daily blows for black men.

    As we close out another Black History Month and a month that celebrates love, I ask men again, Wakanda woman do you really want? Many of you already have women with the strength of the Dora Milaje warriors as family members, colleagues, and friends.  Hug these women.  Protect these women.  Walk through healing with these women.  Help facilitate the dreams and gifts within these women.  Love those women. #InWakanda, strength is only a threat to the enemy, not family. We are all family in the African diaspora.

    After Wakanda, it appears I no longer must choose between beauty and strength.  As a dark-skinned woman with thick kinky hair, it’s always been one or the other.  Men, I hope my real-life experience begins to match what’s on your social media feed. I hope to see board room dynamics change.  I hope to see many of my beautiful and educated, black friends change their status from “single” to “in a relationship” this year.  I hope they will no longer be despised for their strength, but fully loved amid it.  Brothers, if there was ever a time to shoot your shot, it’s now.   Maybe elements of Wakanda will become a reality sooner rather than later…

    “Gender roles and strength don’t counter each other at all.” –

    Thought on Black Panther from Michelle Higgins of Truth’s Table

  • Late Dreamer

    Late Dreamer

    I was a late bloomer.  Late to learn to drive.  Late to receive an invite to the party.  Ok, I was never invited to high school parties.  Late to dream.  Definitely late to dream.  In fact, in the very literal since of the word, dreaming has never been a constant reality in my life.  I rarely “recall” dreams.  I go to sleep.  I wake up.  Repeat.  Metaphorically, I’ve lived most of my life without a real consideration of the need for dreaming.  I figured.  I have shelter.  I’m employed.  I’m in good health.  I have healthy relationships.  A family that loves and supports me.  I spent the early part of my career ignoring the deeper ache to work in an industry where I would no longer be linked to the golden handcuffs of corporate.   That was eight years ago.  The second half of my career has been in the non-profit sector and has brought me great joy.  Yet, an ache persisted.  Three months ago I took another step of faith.  I decided that I would actively move in the direction of a dream I believe that God put in my  heart.   If you’ve been following my blogs, you know I moved to South Africa contingent upon landing a job.

    dreamsa

    What am I to now do when the dream doesn’t look like what I imagined?  I never imagined I would be back home and living with family at 38.  I never imagined that I would be without a vehicle at this phase of life.  When I decided to move to South Africa by faith, it was all or nothing.  Either I trust God or I don’t, right?  I gave my car away along with other things.  There was incredible freedom in being able to give generously without regret.  Let me be clear, there is still no regret in giving away any of the items that I did.  There was something scary and beautiful about trusting God in this new land.

    Now, I am back in my homeland.  Orlando, FL.  There’s something scary and beautiful about trusting God with my future.  This feels different because it is different.  Wouldn’t you know that God continues to write my incredible story without much of my input regarding timing, but always considering my heart’s cry?  God knows me.  He knows me well.  He knows me best.  I always take comfort in this truth.  Is this what dreaming feels like?  Because I’m a late dreamer…

    Our society has romanticized the idea of “going after one’s dream” just as it has racial reconciliation.  Or the idea of justice.  All take longer than 3 months to achieve.  Honestly speaking, I bought into the lie of this microwave production of my future.  Never before had I been so public in taking a risk.  Never before had so many people publicly provided support.  Never before have I felt like such a failure.  And never before have I wanted to conjure up a response to the question, “When are you going back?”  Is this what dreaming feels like?  Because, you know, I’m a late dreamer…

    To make this journey a little less romantic, I’ve spent my first 2 weeks back in America reminding myself that most of what I am currently experiencing are inconveniences.  Having a car was convenient because there’s public transportation in this city.  Having my own place is convenient, but I am thankful for shelter with family.  Having a plan work out perfectly is convenient, but most dreams take years to realize. Some days depression comes in like a wave and other days, I soar above my circumstance.  Is this what dreaming feels like?  You already know, I’m a late dreamer…

    Dreaming has been hard, but going after my dream has been even harder.

    I’m not chasing after this dream with debt and zero savings.  I don’t know that faith and wisdom have to compete with one another.  To prepare for this adventure, I have saved money because I expected some bumps along the way.  The 3 months I spent in South Africa were incredible, but also freeing because I did not have the stress that comes with debt.

    I’m not chasing after this dream to prove anything.  I’m chasing after this dream because I now know my worth.  I didn’t believe I was worthy of a dream.   Knowing differently changes everything.  Is this what dreaming feels like?  Because, you know, I’m a late dreamer…

    There are days that I hate that I spent three months in South Africa because of what I witnessed and yet I love South Africa because of what I witnessed.  It is impossible to un-see what I have seen.  This past Sunday I wept as I worshiped with other believers here in America I could only think of some of the conversations, connections, and complexities encountered during my time there.  I must return.

    South Africa provided a small taste of freedom.  It fuels the dream. 

    Although I was frustrated with the number of closed doors in South Africa during my time there, it could have been a much worse experience.  Such rich experiences there and beautiful memories found in the midst of rejection. Thank you to everyone that supported me in prayer, finances, and otherwise.  For the dreamers that have gone before me.  Thank you.  Enkosi.

    “The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases;
    his mercies never come to an end;
    they are new every morning;
    great is your faithfulness.
    ‘The Lord is my portion,’ says my soul,
    ‘therefore I will hope in him.’”       – Lamentations 3:22-24

  • Bubble Trouble

    Bubble Trouble

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    The beginning of the new year is generally bubbly; literally and figuratively.  Bubbles can be deceptively dangerous, distorting our perspective, limiting our impact, and diminishing our hope.  Yes, cute, friendly bubbles.  Bubbles look stunning from the outside.  Their iridescent color captures the eye.  Their ability to beautifully reflect exactly what is in front of them is impressive.  This is the allure of the bubbly perspective; it mirrors back to others your view in its best light.   The view from the inside of a bubble creates a fishbowl effect, most closely resembling that of tunnel vision.  And this is where the trouble lies, most of us live our adult lives inside of a bubble.  And what we see is not the full picture.

    Bubbles are troublesome because we don’t often realize that we’re encased by them.  Facebook recently projected that I would marry a White man.  Facebook projections are often outlandish, but whatevs. No prob with me because I’m open to marrying a man who’s outside of my ethnicity.  When I shared this “projection” with a friend, she stated, “Why would you want to go through all of that trouble?”  Her statement was a reference to some of the natural conflict and misunderstandings that she and I have in our friendship because we differ in ethnicity.  I jovially replied, well, if that’s the case, I probably shouldn’t have any friends outside of my ethnicity at all, right?  We both laughed and realized how much our friendship has enriched each others lives and knew the “trouble” had been worth it.  I’m glad that we can speak honestly to one another, but that perspective was down right bubbly.

    As one who grew up in poverty, I used to presume that safety was only found in the burbs, but a faulty presumption it was.  The first and only time my home was broken into was when I was a resident in the suburbs.  As a former resident of the suburbs, I found that it became increasingly easy to live in my bubble of lattes and chic eateries.  That’s what the neighbors were doing.  No one really left the bubble unless they had to.  For me, living like this certainly narrowed my view on social justice issues and lessened my conviction to respond politically or otherwise.   I don’t have an aversion to the burbs, but I had to find new ways to remain proximate to issues I care about.  To those things that keep me up at night else I knew the bubble of passivity (cloaked in apathy) would lure me to sleep.

    I realized a truth that Bryan Stevenson learned from his grandmother and so eloquently expounds on in his book, “Just Mercy,” when he recounts her telling him often, “You can’t understand anything from a distance, Bryan.  You have to get close.”  How could I say that I care so deeply about the marginalized and have such little interaction with them?  I had been living in a bubble.

    There is nothing like the disruption of life in your thirties to aid in the bursting of bubbles.  Life quickly moves out of the space of black and white when family and friends die of cancer.  An 8 year old child commits suicide.  Job loss occurs.  Home foreclosures for some and short sale for others.  From abundance to poverty.  In earnest, I lived in a bubble for most of my twenties.  While there was some struggle in college and thereafter, my life during this time was mostly euphoric.  I had a rude awakening, but an awakening nonetheless in my early thirties.

    The perspective from inside of a bubble is incapable of presenting the full picture.

    Bubbles are superficial and protect no one.

    They provide a false sense of security.

    Bubbles are going to burst.

    ant-pushing-a-water-droplet
    Photography by: Rakesh Rocky  http://onebigphoto.com/ant-pushing-a-water-droplet/#

    My hope as 2017 draws to a close and a new year begins is that I don’t let fear drive me to create bubbles that keep others out, magnify my own worldview, and blur the experiences of others that are right in front of me.  It takes more effort to recognize a bubble than to burst it.

    In 2018, I want to broaden my perspective, increase my impact, and not lose hope as I think outside of the box and live outside of bubbles.

    Join me.  Let’s go.