Reflections on a milestone reached

 

There’s a lie I tend to tell myself. I drag it out when I feel confused or unsure: Take some time to feel it. It will make more sense in the morning.

 

I think that this was true once upon a time — that I wasn’t always certain of how I felt. I needed to run my opinions through the filter of my friends, family, or journal to feel affirmed enough to speak. For years, I thought I couldn’t possibly know enough to be sure about anything. The general uncertainty of being a young Black woman in the world was compounded by my personal experiences in intimate relationships: partners who told me they didn’t mean what they’d said, what I remembered didn’t happen, or that my intuitive response was an overreaction. 

 

It feels important to note that none of these people hold a candle to the bewigged villains of Tyler Perry fare, but the near daily reminders that my emotions and opinions were best received when I’d done the work to remove any sharp edges eventually undermined my sense of self. My efforts to use non-violent communication turned the roughest parts inwards. I sanded things down until I’d taken the corners off of my feelings, my expression, my whole self. 

 

I don’t know what changed, but I have been surprised to learn that I actually know how I feel. In living, loving, and reviewing, my first feeling is usually true. If I see something that confuses me, then the feeling words are uncertain, skeptical, maybe uneasy. Sometimes confusion is the artist or actor’s intention (sometimes it’s not). I can sleep on it, I can talk about it, but chances are the feeling will persist. I’m learning to honor this. Sanding the corners made me a more tolerable daughter, employee, and girlfriend, but I am entitled to exist as a jagged interruption. In fact, my best work as a writer keeps the corners and conveys them in high-definition. The longer I wait to speak up, the less articulate I am likely to be. 

 

 

The night I got home from the anniversary celebration, I wept — in a full-throated, red in the face, tears pooling at the edge of my brassiere kind of way. I didn’t want to write about that, that unhappy ending. It didn’t match the experience I wanted to have had. It didn’t recognize the love and time people came to share with me. I took some time to feel it. Then, when nothing shifted, I talked myself into taking a month off. 40 days after the party, the only thing that’s changed is that I’ve lost some of the particulars of what I felt. The corners were softened by time. 

 

Here’s what I can remember feeling on March 1: 

 

I love this work. I feel proud of myself. And I feel surprised at what’s come true in two years’ time because it feels slow while you live it and fast when you look back. I felt impatient making all the folders of photos and text for the first version of the website. When I look at the fullness of it now, it feels like magic that it even got done. Likewise, I don’t remember seeing 28 plays, 17 art galleries, 12 museum exhibitions, 10 art fairs and festivals, 4 award ceremonies, and 3 book talks last year — but somehow I did. 

 

 

And: my work feels lonely. I am miles away from the people who’ve known me longest. As I flower, I still want to be in the company of those who knew me as a seed. I worry that without them I’ll become a version of myself that’s just a fabrication. I’m afraid that what it takes to build this as-yet-undefined thing will change me. I want my past iterations to be part of the story, too. I didn’t fall out of the sky. I am as much me now as I was me then. I don’t want to forsake these eras when I become me soon.  

 

I think these tears are preemptive, that I’m mourning something forthcoming but inevitable. I know this platform will only grow and that is devastating and enticing all at once. (I hesitated writing that last sentence, hedging with “I think” or adding a “maybe” but I really do mean know.) When the expectation of a parasocial public-facing persona begins to bear down, there will be more who know me ‘after’ than who knew me ‘before’. I am certain it will be lonelier there. But I don’t think there’s much to be done about it today.

 

 

In this present moment, which is the only thing I can control, I feel honored to be stewarding this vision into reality. I feel enchanted that the storied legacy of the Studio Museum in Harlem is intertwined with our budding story. I feel cheered on by everyone who came to celebrate with me: Rosa, Shon, Almeta, Carl, Omari, Kayla, Melvin, Rebecca, Reggie, Sarah, Eunice, Yedifer, Damon, Widly, Ronnie, Mia, Shamari, Brittney, Jaron, and Hollis. I wore nails La Erica designed and a hat Ashley crocheted. Chevon sent me a pink balloon in the shape of a 2, it’s been floating in defiance ever since. Thank you all.

 

I feel honored, enchanted, cheered on and lonely, skeptical, and trusting. It makes as much sense as it can right now. Happy anniversary and a toast to another year. The work continues.

 

 

blacklove 🖤 and starlight 🌟