Thoughts on death.

I never thought that I would live past the age of 16. For some reason as a child, I just had this feeling that I would die young. On the morning of my 16th birthday, I remember feeling like “Okay, this is it, your final year.” I vividly remember not feeling scared or anxious but rather I had just accepted that I was not meant to live a long life.

Spoiler alert, I didn’t die that year, or the year after, or the year after that. I can’t even remember the morning of my 17th birthday so I have no idea if I thought about death or dying young. I think at some point during my 365 days of being 16 the feeling that I would die young just left me.

About two months ago I was in the kitchen washing dishes and I had a thought “If I died right now, I would be fine.” I was three weeks into having daily anxiety and extreme feelings of dread. I’m less than 10 months postpartum so I’ve been keeping an eye out for postpartum depression and postpartum anxiety since having my son and when I had that thought I knew I needed to talk to someone. It wasn’t suicidal ideation but rather just this feeling that life felt so unbelievably heavy and that I would be okay with that heaviness being taken away from me in death.

I had a session with my therapist last week and we talked through the feeling what it could mean and how to approach it with curiosity and also truth. She said “Sometimes we have thoughts that mean nothing, it’s just a thought, and other times it’s a reflection of something that we’re feeling or dealing with that we haven’t confronted. which one is it for you?”

After a lot of reflection, curiosity, and grace, I can confidently say that it was just a thought. I think that a lot of it stems from postpartum hormones. At the time B wasn’t sleeping hardly at all (thankfully he’s sleeping again! BLESS!), I wasn’t eating well, I was adjusting to having my period again, I wasn’t prioritizing movement or getting out in the sun, wasn’t journaling or sharing my emotions openly. I was having all these feelings that I didn’t understand while trying to freaking survive in this world and keep a person alive as well. It was a lot, I felt so overwhelmed. So I think it makes sense for a person to think, the thoughts that I did and have the moment that I had.

I’m sharing all of this to say, that sometimes I think we approach our thoughts and feelings with a lot of judgment and fear instead of with curiosity. Where did this thought come from? What does it mean? How do I feel about that? Does it make me feel nervous or scared? Is there someone that I can invite into thought partnership with me around this? Do I need to seek help immediately or do I feel confident that this is not a thought that will lead to an action? Do I need to make a lifestyle change to make space for more moments of mental wellness?

I’m in a much better place now. I just finished the show One Day so of course I’m thinking about death and dying but not in the same way and form that I was a few weeks ago. I feel such gratitude for myself and for the practices in my life that ground me and allow me to not panic when something unfamiliar surfaces in my mind but rather to take a step back and lean into my curiosity.

I assure you that I am safe and I am well. I don’t need advice, I have an active and engaged care team. I am just sharing in case there’s another mom or anyone who has these feelings or thoughts. You’re not alone, nothing is wrong with you and there’s support for you if you need it. I wish you curiosity and wellness.

Until next time.

-National Maternal Health hotline 1-833-TLC-MAMA (1-833-852-6262)

-https://www.smartpatients.com/communities/postpartum

-https://soul2soulsisters.org/black-womens-healing-resources/

This old house.

The last blog I started is dated “June 13th 2021.” David died June 19th 2021, needless to say, I never finished that post and I haven’t written a blog since. It’s been almost three years since I occupied this space. A space that for so long brought so much joy and love to my life. I miss writing so much. Words have invaded my dreams as of late. Forming blogs and poems and stories. Floating around me like stars in the sky. Wrapping me in love and hope and possibilities. Reminding me that my life didn’t end two years and 8 months ago. That I don’t need to continue punishing myself by denying myself the ability to engage in a forum that makes me feel so deeply connected to self.

So, here I am. Writing again. Venturing out into the waters that so long housed me. That for so long held my secrets and my hopes, my fears, my dreams. I’m a different person than I was the last time I lived here. My life has completely changed. I have birthed and been reborn, I’m new. I hope that this new version of me can live here in this old house. I’m not sure if I can. We’ll see.

"Demonic Woke Ideology"

“What happened today was not justice...I do not subscribe to demonic woke ideology.” 

Something that has been the most difficult for me to navigate during the last, almost year of racial unrest, is the responses from white evangelicals. Specifically white evangelicals that at one point in time called themselves my friend and sibling in Christ. Actually to say that it has been difficult is an understatement, it has been wholly traumatizing. 

Patrick and I watched the reading of the verdict in the Derek Chauvin case live. It’s a moment that I will never forget. I felt numb. I hoped for a guilty verdict but I expected to see a repeat of what we’ve seen in the past. “We find the defendant not guilty.” It’s a moment that I struggled to process. I wanted to feel relief and to a degree relief was certainly present but I also felt such an intense level of grief. 

Grief for the ways that we devalue human life and the ways that society devalues God by looking down on those of us who (they forget) also bear God’s image. Mostly I felt grief for George Floyd’s daughter who I believe is only 6 years old. My heart breaks for her and the fact that she has to grow up without her father. I am just devastated over that and there is no verdict that can right that wrong. 

Later in the evening I responded to a comment on a friend’s Facebook page. She was celebrating the verdict and also lamenting the loss of life. After I responded a white evangelical “friend” that we have in common, responded to my comment with a laughing emoji. I messaged them to ask why because surely it was a mistake. They responded with, “What happened today was not justice,” they said a few other things that I won’t share but their message ended with “I do not subscribe to demonic woke ideology.” 

Church, when did we become the kind of people that laugh in the face of our mourning siblings? When did that become a tenet of our faith? I ended up blocking that person because I refuse to engage with someone who is void of empathy but the interaction only added to my devastation. 

What I consider demonic, is responding to pain with laughter. Seeing a person mourning as a chance for you to insert your thoughts on their pain. What’s demonic is to call someone being held accountable for taking a life, “woke theology.” I pray that we always say “No,” to an opportunity to share our perspective when it comes at the expense of us loving our neighbor well. May we always speak in love and in moments where we catch ourselves saying something that only serves us, that we stop and repent. 

I wish that the white evangelicals in my life, that I planted a church with and prayed with and stood with in the midst of their pain, would put their politics aside and stand with me in mine. They don’t mourn with me but instead they laugh at me and call my pain demonic. 

Travon Free quoted James Baldwin at the Oscars and the quote fit perfectly with this. Baldwin once said “the most despicable thing a person can be is indifferent to other people’s pain.” 

Don’t be indifferent to the pain of others especially not in the name of Jesus. We have to do better. If your opinions point to your theology but point away from Jesus then they’re surely not honoring Him. We have to do better.  

Until soon, 

- N

Who should get paid for antiracism work?

You will never hear me call someone an ally but I appreciate the steps that people take to stand in solidarity with historically oppressed and disenfranchised communities. What I think is strange and what causes me to pause is when I see people, especially white people, going from being unaware, to aware and then to activists leading movements.

When I say lead in this context I mean leading on a large scale. Of course, you may need to lead the work in your family, you may have to lead in the workplace depending on the scenario. My beef is in regard to large-scale movements in spaces and communities where the people impacted by the oppression are available and willing to lead. In places where Black people are doing antiracism workshops and training but are making less and being booked less than white people doing antiracism workshops and training.

You should not and I would go as far as to say that you cannot lead movements (not well at least) in which your community, the identities that you hold, are the identities of the oppressor.

White people should not be leading or getting paid for any kind of antiracism work. Men should not lead or be getting paid for any kind of feminist work. People who identify as heterosexual should not lead or be getting paid for any kind of work liberating LGBTQIA+ communities.

I could die on this hill and talk for days about it leading up to death. It is the work of the oppressor to become aware of the oppression you're inflicting on certain communities, then spend 15 minutes learning about it, and then start getting paid to teach other people in your community about it. That's oppressor behavior 101.

It's your responsibility as the person of privilege in the scenario to amplify voices and to redirect paid opportunities to members of the oppressed and historically marginalized community.

“Well, sometimes it’s easier for white people to listen to other white people.” That’s a rebuttal that I’ve heard many times and I think it’s disgusting and racist but I understand it. That may be the case but the white person they listen to should not be getting paid for talking to them or for sharing resources with them.

Black people around the country are doing antiracism work and struggling to pay the bills because they can’t book enough gigs. While some white people doing this work are able to charge 20K per event and pour only minuscule amounts of the money they make back into programs serving the Black community.

We have to be more critical of ourselves and the work that we do to support and liberate others. Why are we getting paid for work that we’re doing to support marginalized communities? Who is paying us? How much of a tangible impact is my work and the fruit of my work, making on this community? Are resources going directly into communities because of my work? Is it comparable to the amount going directly to me?

We have to be more critical. We have to be more honest with ourselves. We have to be willing to lose so that others can gain. Are we doing the work of the oppressor and marketing it as antiracism work? God forbid. I have so many thoughts on this but this is all for now.

Until soon,

-N

I do it for mine and also...for yours.

The last thing I ever wanted to do with my life was spend a large amount of my time, writing about, advocating against, and surviving racism. Growing up it wasn’t an answer that I offered when an adult asked me “What do you want to do when you grow up?”

It’s not something that I want to do. It’s not something that energizes me or fills me with this overwhelming sense of joy or excitement. It’s not easy work, for many reasons. It’s exhausting and at times demoralizing. Often it’s dark and lonely work. It has led me to walk away from friends that I thought would be in my life forever but that I see only wanted to befriend a dim and less Black version of me. It has led to tough conversations amongst family, as my family is multiracial. It’s not something that I wanted to do nor something I even currently want to do.

So why do I do it?

Because I’m Black. Because my father is Black. Because my mother is Black. Because my five brothers are Black. Because my sister is Black. Because my nine nephews are Black. Because my three nieces are Black. Three of my sisters-in-law are Black. My uncles are Black. My cousins are Black. My aunts are Black. Because I’m Black.

This isn’t work that is done out of “want” this is work that is done out of necessity. Out of a sense of urgency because as my nephews get older and go from being seen as “cute” little Black boys to “scary” Black men, I want the world that they occupy to be safer. I want to make sure that white people that I know and that read my words and interact with me, check their unconscious and conscious bias before they interact with my family.

I want to do all that I can, with all that I can, for as long as I can, to make sure that every Black person in my family lives full and beautiful lives.

Of course, the work that I do for my family, making sure that all the people I encounter check and address their racism, impacts the lives of all of the Black people that those white people meet. If I talk to a hiring supervisor, that may one day hire a family member of mine, about unconscious bias and how that impacts their hiring practices. That not only impacts the lives of the people that I love but it also impacts the lives of Black and brown people that I’ll never meet.

I’m no saint. My drive is largely selfish and focused on my loved ones but at the end of the day, I’m fighting for and rooting for everyone Black. I’m trying to live a life and move in a way that causes no additional harm to Black people. A life that does not make the plight of a Black person more difficult or challenging UNLESS they’re perpetuating anti-Black racism and in that case, I plan to give them hell as well.

I think that for most Black people, this work that wakes us up in the middle of the night is not done out of desire or want. It is driven by the question “if I don’t fight for us, who will?”

I will. Always.

Because I’m Black. Because my father is Black. Because my mother is Black. Because my five brothers are Black. Because my sister is Black. Because my nine nephews are Black. Because my three nieces are Black. Three of my sisters-in-law are Black. My uncles are Black. My cousins are Black. My aunts are Black. Because I’m Black.

-N

If you spent half as much time talking about racism...

If you spent half as much time talking about racism as you did the dangers of critical race theory…

If you spent half as much time talking about racism as you did the difference between Black Lives Matter the movement, and Black Lives Matter the phrase…

If you spent half as much time talking about racism as you did the video that Lil Nas X made…

If you spent half as much time talking about racism as you did the so-called “stolen” election…

If you spent half as much time talking about racism as you did a person’s right to choose…

If you spent half as much time talking about racism as you did prophesying that someone would win the election…

If you spent half as much time talking about racism as you did Black on Black crime

If you spent half as much time talking about racism as you did defending the domestic terrorists that stormed the Capitol…

If you spent half as much time talking about racism as you did trying to disenfranchise voters...

If you spent half as much time talking about racism as you did villainizing Colin Kaepernick…

If you spent half as much time talking about racism as you did saying, “well if only they would have complied…”

If you spent half as much time talking about racism as you did pretending that it didn’t exist, I wonder where we would be.

How much Black death is too much?

How much Black death is too much?

How much does it take?

To change a policy?

To change a law?

To change the police?

How much Black death is too much?

How much does it take?

Before Black people are seen as human?

As deserving of happiness?

As equals in society?

How much Black death is too much?

In a country where a boy killed at 12 in a park isn’t enough.

In a country where a man killed on the street with a knee isn’t enough.

In a country where a man killed in the back of a police van isn’t enough.

In a country where a woman killed in bed while she slept isn’t enough.

In a country where a woman hung in a prison cell isn’t enough.

In a country where a man killed while grabbing his license isn’t enough.

In a country where a boy killed by a neighbor isn’t enough.

In a country where a man killed while he runs isn’t enough.

In a country where a man killed while eating ice cream on his own couch isn’t enough.

How much Black death is too much?

In a country that feeds off of Black death, how much is too much?

A little Tuesday morning update.

Hi friend! I hope you’re doing well. I’ve been taking a break from posting on social media. A necessary break, for a few reasons:

1. The Derek Chauvin case started this week and I just can’t deal with that BS right now. Posting about books and my relationships and everyday life, just feels so insignificant in the light of what’s going on.

2. I’ve been dealing with some feelings of jealousy and comparison lately. I’ve always been a mildly jealous person. Jealous of other people calling my parents “mom” and “dad,” mostly but lately it’s evolved to a jealously that makes me uncomfortable. It makes me uncomfortable because I know that it’s rooted in me feeling like because of COVID, my life has paused in some ways and it feels like life for other people has not paused. It feels like others are traveling and just living their lives as normal but I’m not. That makes me both upset and jealous. I’ve also been comparing myself to others a lot. Comparing the number of followers that I have, comparing how they look to how I look…etc. I don’t like that. So I’ve been stepping away and spending time processing that so that I can reengage with social media soon but in a healthy way.

3. I’ve been reading a lot lately. I’ve read 21 books so far and I’ve been posting about them and giving a little review on what I liked about the book and if I recommend it to others. The response from followers has been really interesting. A lot of the responses have been super positive and people thanking me for the review and telling me that they plan to check out the book and other responses have made me feel weird. People asking questions like “how is it possible that you read so much?” or “Do you have any hobbies or friends? Or do you just read?” I feel like those responses are so unkind and unnecessary. I think they’re rooted in some weird jealousy but also this bias and shock that a Black woman is reading so much. It bothers me and I had to step back from posting to just process it.

So yes, I stepped back from posting on social media and in connection to that I stopped blogging. I haven’t missed posting but I have missed blogging. Blogging has always been such a large part of my life. It’s something that helps me to feel grounded and have clarity in my life. It helps me to process my feelings and to communicate big ideas and thoughts in a really focused way. Blogging is a part of me and it doesn’t have to stop because I’m not posting on social media.

So here I am, blogging again and not posting about it. It feels like I’m returning to days of old where I had a blog for 4 years that I didn’t tell anyone (except for a very small group of people) about. I wrote almost daily and I think that it helped me more than I’ll ever truly know. It helped me so much.

I’m excited for what’s in store for this space and I’m excited to share with you in a way that feels more spontaneous and free. I hope that you are taking the space that you need, to breathe freely and to live authentically.

With love,

-N

No, you can NOT touch my hair.

*Reminder: Black people are not a monolith. Some Black people don’t mind their hair being touched, others do. This is my take on the topic.

A few years ago I was out of town with a big group of people for a friend's birthday. We were out dancing and I remember feeling two hands on my head and I felt them grab two fists full of hair and pull my scalp. Someone whispered in my ear “I’ve been wanting to do that all night,” and then they kissed me on the neck and ran away. It was a total stranger. A random guy in the bar that was apparently watching me all night. I was disgusted and so were my friends. Someone offered to find him but I told them to let it go, I didn’t want to make a bigger scene. 

Once when I was working abroad, a colleague of mine asked me if she could touch my hair. I wanted to say no but she asked me in front of a lot of other people and I just felt so awkward so I said yes. She touched it and I remember she had a really surprised look on her face. She looked at me and said “wow, your hair is so much softer than I expected it to be.” 

“Can I touch it? Wow, I love your hair straight! You should do that more often, it’s so much prettier than how you usually wear it.”

“Can I touch it? I don’t know how you deal with having hair like that. It just looks like so much work. You’re so tough.” 

“Can I touch your hair? So are these braids your real hair? Cause your hair was short and like bushy, last week but now it’s long...so how does that work?”

“Can I touch your hair? Man, I wish I had hair like yours, it’s so wild and soft. I can’t believe it’s so soft, I expected it to feel coarse and dry.”

A lot of people have touched my hair. Strangers, friends, associates, colleagues and extended family. Some have asked me before they touched it and others, as you can see from the story above, have touched it without permission. I wore my hair straight from the age of 12/13 to the age of 21 and during that time frame no one ever asked me if they could touch my hair. I don’t remember my hair ever coming up in conversation, it was just my hair and nothing else. 

In 2011, I chopped all of my hair off and started wearing it natural. Almost immediately, people started to ask questions about and touch my hair. It was something that I thought was flattering and a compliment for a long time, until I noticed that it was primarily white people asking to touch my hair. I noticed that I didn’t see white people touching other white people’s hair. I didn’t see them approaching other white people in the grocery store and grabbing their hair, examining it and asking questions about it. It was behavior that I saw white people only directing towards Black people and mostly Black people who did not have straight hair.

I started to feel some type of way about it. I talked to my friends about it and I saw that it wasn’t only happening to me but it was happening to them too. 

The phenomenon of curious, intrusive white people putting their hands in the hair of Black people is not new and it’s not limited to me and my friends. At the end of this post I’ll share some blogs where other Black people have shared their stories and feelings around this hair touching pandemic. 

When a white person asks to touch my hair, I immediately feel othered. It usually happens to me when I’m occupying a space where I’m the only Black person, sometimes the only person of color in the room. It’s so awkward and uncomfortable and it’s often done in front of other people and I feel like if I say no, I’ll be considered difficult or aggressive or angry. I’ve actually been called angry before when I told someone they couldn’t touch my hair. One of the other people in the room said “Nicole, it’s not that big of a deal. Don’t get mad just let her touch it.” 

It feels like my autonomy is being taken away from me. It feels intrusive and invasive and it always results in me feeling excluded. My sense of self advocacy has increased immensely over the years and I’m at a place where I can either say “no” without hesitation, or ask “are your hands clean?” Both usually lead to my hair remaining untouched by the intrusive and curious white hands. 

Some Black people in your life may have told you that they’re okay with you touching their hair but I am not. Even if I have said yes in the past, I am now revoking permission. The only white person I want touching my hair is my husband and even he rarely touches it. 

There is so much history and context behind the feelings that Black people have about their hair and how it’s perceived in society. Context that I don’t feel like laying out but that you, if you’re white, would benefit from researching. So, no you can not touch my hair. Not today, not tomorrow, not ever. Don’t ask and don’t even think about asking. This is not a museum, I am not a pet, keep your hands away from my hair. 

Xo, 

N

Additional thoughts from other writers -

https://fashionjournal.com.au/beauty/what-it-really-means-when-you-ask-can-i-touch-your-hair/

https://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/articles/58psLDd9GGWf5SQKSLmmdjD/why-is-black-hair-so-political

https://www.chaosandcomrades.com/story/2019/2/12/touching-black-hair

"I'm sorry," in the work of anti-racism, is never enough.

A few years ago Patrick and I attended a small church in Denver. I was a member of the launch team before the church started, so I knew the pastors pretty well and had been around for a while. One evening during our weekly small group, I don’t even know how it came up, one of our pastors said “some people say Black lives matter but I think that all lives matter.” 

When she said it I remember feeling hurt and taken back. (It’s important to note that at the time I did not have the tools that I now have, to advocate for myself and to speak up for myself in response to macroaggressions.) I thought that my pastor, of all people, would know better. I was sad and confused but I wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt, so I let it go in the moment. I didn’t say anything but rather made a note to follow up with her the next day. 

The next morning, as I walked into work, I texted her and asked if we could schedule a time to have a call and talk about her all lives matter comment. I shared that her words hurt me and that I wanted to discuss with her why that phrase is harmful to Black people. A few hours later she called me and I missed her call but she left me a long message. The message that she left stuck with me and is just one of the many, and I mean many, instances that has led to this blog. 

In her message she apologized profusely for what she said. She was crying while she spoke, you could hear it in her voice, and she told me that she knew what she said was hurtful. She told me she was sorry that she said it, and that it was something her Black friends would have called her out for. She ended it by saying that she valued me as a team member and that she was so sorry and she would see me at church on Sunday. 

We never talked about it again. I still wanted to have a conversation but it felt like she had put the topic to bed and I didn’t know how to wake it up. We never discussed the phrase “all lives matter” and what it means, and why it’s painful. All that happened was I sent a text and she called me crying and apologized and then she moved on and didn’t give me space to do anything but move on with her. 

That was not the end of prickly things that she said or did, but it was the beginning of a pattern that I’ve seen in so many of my interactions with white people. Something harmful/prejudice/racist is said, the person who said it is called in and they immediately apologize and try to move on. There’s no accountability. There’s no real change or growth that happens. There’s just an apology and the harmer feels better while the harmed is left feeling confused. 

I used to think that if someone apologized it was a sign of major progress but now I see that “I’m sorry” is not enough. Especially if that’s where the conversation ends. Growing up my mom used to say “sorry is a sorry word,” and I always thought she was so strange for saying that.(haha, sorry Mom!) Now I see that she was teaching me a very valuable lesson; that words without actions, words without changes, words without accountability, are just empty words. 

If someone invites you into a space of learning because of something that you said, an apology is absolutely appropriate but there’s also work that needs to be done. Think about what you’re sorry for. Consider what led to you saying what you said and is it a reflection of a core belief that you hold? Is that belief prejudice? Is it racist? What can you do to rid yourself of that belief? 

I wish that my pastor would have called me to apologize AND to schedule a time for us to talk. I wish that the following week, when we met as a group again, that she would have publicly apologized for what she said and shared why it was inappropriate and not Christlike. I wish that instead of this being a story where someone assaulted my Black experience, that it was a story of my Black life and feelings being affirmed. 

If someone calls you in, apologize but don’t stop there. Have a conversation, if one is requested. Acknowledge your wrong doing in the same manner that the wrong doing occurred. Do the work to make sure that you don’t make that mistake again. Ultimately just remember that “I’m sorry,” is not enough and if you stop there, you’re not truly committed to the work of anti-racism. 

Until soon, 

-N

When you police us.

When you police us, you remind us of where you think our place is. 

When you police us, you remind us of what you think our worth is. 

When you police us, you remind us of how you see us. 

When you police us, you remind us that our lives mean absolutely nothing to you. 

I belong to a group on Facebook that is committed to advocacy work. It’s a group of alumni from an organization that I worked for in my early twenties and in the group description it says that we’re committed to “racial equity, with a primary focus on Black lives.” I joined this specific group after a much needed break from all things related to the organization. The break was driven by my exhaustion following the murder of George Floyd and the countless prejudiced and racist comments that emerged on Facebook from the larger alumni body in the main alumni group.

When I was invited to the new page and after I read the description, I found myself excited about the opportunity to participate in this space. A space committed to equity. A space where tough conversations could be had safely. A place where I wouldn’t need to convince someone that Black Lives Matter was an important/necessary movement. A place where I wouldn’t have to do the emotional labor of convincing someone that Black people have a valid reason to not have positive or necessarily warm feelings for cops. A place where I wouldn’t have to engage with someone who thinks that Black death is an interesting topic of debate, instead of something that directly impacts my life. (All of these are conversations that occurred on the main alumni page, hence my exhaustion)

Things were going well until this week. I noticed a comment that felt a little prickly to me. I engaged with the person in an open and thoughtful way and invited them into a space of learning. They apologized for the way their comment came across but overall dug their heels into their position. After repeatedly inviting her into a place of learning and having her gaslight me, it got to the point where she needed to be called out. In response to me, very clearly, showing her how her comments were rooted in racism and classism, she reported my comments to FB and my comment was removed. 

Her responses, which included harmful comments about Black people, people who are poor, and people who are undocumented were left, untouched. 

When I got the notification that my comment had been removed for “harassment and bullying,” I was so angry that I started to cry. I don’t think white people understand how exhausting it is being a Black person in white spaces. It’s exhausting having to appear happy and upbeat so that you don’t call us “aggressive” or “angry.” It’s exhausting fielding questions about our hair and culture like you don’t know how to use Google. It’s exhausting to have to muster up the energy to address something racist that you said. It’s exhausting to think about all of the potential responses that we might get and the ways you may retaliate against us. It’s exhausting to have to deal with the gaslighting that often follows when we’re told “it’s not that big of a deal,” or “You might not feel safe here, but you are.”

It is wholly exhausting and honestly, rarely refreshing.

To add insult to injury moderate white people, to borrow from Dr. King, you often pretend like you’re interested in growing. You lie to us and to yourself and say that you want to do the work. You put yourself in situations where we (Black people) have been invited to open up and fully share our truths and call out oppression. Spaces where our guards are down because we think we’re safe. You act like you too are a safe person committed to doing what is necessary...but that’s not true. You’re “safe” until someone shines a light on your prejudice and then you’re not. You flip like a switch and you become someone who wants to be vindicated. Someone who is willing to weaponize their privilege in order to feel better, no matter the cost.

And y’all think we’re the dangerous ones? When you’re the ones that police us constantly, in all of the spaces that we occupy. You’re the ones that refuse to let go of your systems of oppression. You’re the ones that chase us down and shoot us. You’re the ones that refuse to let us live.

I know why that white lady reported my comment. She did it because I made her uncomfortable and she wanted to remind me of where she thinks my place is. She thinks my place is below her. She thinks my place is somewhere where I can be seen and included in the diversity shots but not heard. Somewhere where I can provide free labor and free resources but not where I can address the very real and dangerous belief systems present. Somewhere I’m told to contribute but when I voice very real concerns and how interactions impact me, I’m told to “chill.” She wanted to remind me that she, as a white woman in America, is the one that holds the power and if necessary she’ll use it to keep me in check.

When you police us, you remind us of how unhinged you are.

When you police us, you remind us of how unpredictable you are.

When you police us, you remind us of how dangerous you are.

When you police us, you remind us that our lives mean absolutely nothing to you.

When you police us, you remind us that you’re racist, like we needed the reminder…. It’s impossible to forget.

-N

My skin is not light. My skin is dark, my skin is deep. I am Black.

My skin is not light. It will not remind you of a pearl, or frothy milk or of sand. It will remind you of dark brown sugar and of perfectly roasted almonds. It will remind you of rich soil and deep dark chocolate. It will remind you of the riches of Africa and the revolutions of Haiti, this dark skin of mine. My skin is not light. My skin is dark, my skin is deep. I am Black. 

What does it mean to write a love letter to your skin? To wrap it in words reminding it that it is wanted, that it is loved, that it is desired. Serenading it with sonnets and playing it a melody from the most beautiful line of the loveliest song ever written. Telling it that it’s worthy of acknowledgement and recognition. Telling it that it’s worthy of affection and celebration. Telling it that it embodies so many of the things that make life wonderful. My skin is not light. My skin is dark, my skin is deep. I am Black. 

My skin does not hold hints of red and blue. It will not remind you of roses when I am embarrassed or grapes when I am terribly cold. It holds warmth and light. It will remind you of the sun on a warm summer morning. It will remind you of a fire on a cold winter night. It will remind you of the comfort of a hug and the beauty of a smile, this dark skin of mine. My skin is not light. My skin is dark, my skin is deep. I am Black. 

What does it mean to be loved and wanted, as a person wrapped in dark brown skin? Wanted not by a lover or a spouse, but more than anything wanted and loved by God and by yourself. Wanted so deeply that if you had to choose to look differently, to be adorned in lighter skin and to have a different life, you’d laugh at the offer. Skin so deep that it matches the earth. My skin is not light. My skin is dark, my skin is deep. I am Black. 

My skin is not light in color or shade, it is composed of light. This dark skin of mine is made of stars, outlined in moon and coated with sun. It is a reminder of the riches of Africa and the revolutions of Haiti. This skin that I love. This skin that I cherish. This dark skin of mine.

My skin is not light. My skin is dark, my skin is deep. I am Black.

Great...for the first time.

I fully know the realities of this country that we live in. This United States of America. I know the history. I know where it began and why. I know about the thirst for freedom and new lands. I know about the transition from oppressed to oppressors. It was so fast. 

I know about the enslaved and how long their wrists held chains. I know what happened when the chains were removed. I know about the reconstruction era and the Civil rights movement. I know the story of Japanese internment...I don’t know it all but I know. 

I am rarely surprised by the things that are birthed from these United States. I was not surprised when the Capitol was stormed but I was disturbed. I feel these things often in my body and I was visibly moved. My hands, shaking, not from fear or nerves but from anger. I was livid. I had to stop working and all I could do was watch the news. 

At some point I started to cry. At some point I stopped.

Today, one day later, I found myself sitting at a table playing Uno with my 5 year old nephew. I looked at his beautiful dark skin, the same shade as mine, and deep dark eyes, the same color as mine, and I was overwhelmed with joy and love. “This sweet, gentle, loving, hilarious, intelligent boy is my nephew,” I thought to myself. I’m so lucky to be his aunt. One day he is going to grow up and I want the world that he sees to be better than the world that we’re seeing right now. He deserves that. I deserve that.  

I fully know the realities of this place, this country that we live in. The evil that it spews. The injustice that it perpetuates. The privilege, that it lately, has tried to market as oppression. I know that it values whiteness. That it makes excuses for whiteness. That it measures all by their proximity to whiteness. I know this. 

I know that the “it” is whiteness. I know that the “we the people” is whiteness. I know that the “one nation under God” is whiteness. 

What I also know, is that my nephew deserves to grow up in a better world than what we’re seeing right now. When he’s old enough to fully comprehend history and the world, I hope that he looks back on yesterday and says “I can’t believe that’s how the country used to be.” 

If you are white and you’re reading this, it is your duty to do what you can, with all that you can, for as long as you can, to make this place better. Make it better and not better again but rather for the very first time. You want to live in a great place? Make it great and not great again, but for the first time. 

A Thought on Earning Rest.

You are deserving of rest. 

Right now. 

Where you are. 

Full to-do list and all. 

You don’t have to work for it. 

You don’t have to earn it. 

You are deserving of rest. 

The other day I stayed in bed until 11am. I woke up at 8:15 and I decided that I wanted to just stay in bed, so I did. Multiple times I had to resist the urge to jump out of bed and do something productive. I felt like I could be spending the time writing a blog or producing content or cleaning or planning for my work week. Who cares what exactly as long as I was doing SOMETHING and not just laying in bed.

But instead of listening to that voice, I did in fact stay in bed and I relaxed and I rested. It was beautiful, magical even. It started off as forced but the more that I resisted the urge to get up and “do” the more that I was able to just rest and be. At one point Patrick said “we’re so lazy,” normally I would have agreed with him. This time I surprised myself and I said “we’re not lazy, we are honoring our bodies and our minds and allowing ourselves to rest.” 

How often do you intentionally do nothing and just rest? How often do you resist the urge to act, to do, and instead just allow yourself to be?

Growing up we observed the sabbath. Which meant that every Friday night at sundown until Saturday at sundown we didn’t watch tv or do anything that could be considered work. We didn’t wash dishes or clean or do yard work, we went to church and we rested, that’s it. When we transitioned from being Pentecostal to non-denominational we left the tradition of observing the sabbath behind. I look back on that time and I now realize that holding space for rest isn’t denominational or even religious but rather intrinsically human. 

Humans need rest. We need it. It’s not something that we need to work for or prove that we deserve. It is not something that needs to be earned. It’s a part of the package deal. Rest is a concept that is grandfathered in. It’s not normal to work and work and work. The idea of the constant hustle isn’t sustainable. Rest is supposed to be a part of our regularly scheduled programming.

 Rest is ours to have. It is ours to cherish and the voice that tells you that you have to work for it is mistaken. You are deserving of rest. Right now. Where you are. Full to-do list and all. You don’t have to work for it. You don’t have to earn it. You are deserving of rest.

A Thought on Confronting My Anti-Blackness.

My platform has largely catered to white moderates. I created a space where white people could feel comfortable and safe. A space where they could do just enough. Be challenged a little bit but not in a way that actually brought about foundational change. 

I’ve molded my author voice to be attractive to them. A voice that makes them feel like they have a “woke Black friend” A voice that leads them to call themselves an “ally” even though I’ve never called them that. A title that neither myself, or their other Black friends, ever gave them. 

I’ve embodied anti-Blackness. I’ve sat comfortable in it and the friends that orbited me during that season of my life are a reflection of the beliefs that I subconsciously and consciously held. I’ve called Black women loud and ghetto. I’ve alluded to Black men being dangerous and thought that immigrants, apparently forgetting that I’m a child of one, were intrusive. 

At this point in my, so far five year journey of love of self, deeper love of Christ and love of Blackness, I am at the stage of the journey where a purge is necessary. I need to purge my life, as much as one can while living in a racist society, of all anti-Blackness in order to truly walk in freedom. This space that I’ve created has evolved. It’s grown with me and now there is less coddling whiteness and more confronting it but there still needs to be a purge.

So what does that mean? What do I mean by purge? I mean ridding myself of the need to coddle whiteness ever but specifically at the expense of advocating for Black people and Blackness. So going even further, what exactly does THAT mean? What does that look like? For me that means confronting my own anti-Blackness. I wrote about this a little bit in a previous post but it’s calling myself out and calling myself in.

Calling myself out for the ways that I at times mentally align Black people with stereotypes and caricatures and how I attach that to an idea of that person being unworthy. Calling myself in by giving me the necessary grace that one needs to be able to rid oneself of the lies that not only impact the way you view others but also the way you view yourself. Reminding myself of the messages that are all around me. The messages that I see on television and on billboards, in movies and in music videos that tell me white is the beautiful, desired norm, and Black is whatever else is left. 

Purging also includes removing the filters that I’ve put in place. Filters that I’ve used in order to not hurt white people’s feelings. Filters that constantly fail me because they don’t allow me to fully speak up about the plight of Black people because I’m entrenched in worry about the feelings of white people. I’m purging myself of that, slowly but certainly surely. 

My space is first and foremost a space for Black people to feel safe and free and loved. I am so very sorry for all of the ways that I haven’t centered our liberation and have instead centered the fragile feelings of white people. I am ridding myself of the anti-Blackness that saturates our society and has permeated my being. It’s not my fault and it’s not something that I’ve actively fed but like all anti-racism work if I don’t actively uproot it, it won’t leave. 

So as my voice continues to evolve and become more clear, I hope that you’ll start to feel safer here. I hope that you’ll know that I’m writing for us, about us, with the goal of always centering our liberation. I invite you to hold me accountable if you see me slipping back into a place of filtered white coddling. I love you and I’m for you and I’m excited that you’re here. 

Xo, 

N

A Thought on Lamenting.

Lament (noun) - a passionate expression of grief or sorrow.

Today we lament 

We lament who we thought our neighbors to be

For the truth of who they actually are.

Something that has grieved my heart deeply this year is how long the fight for equity and inclusion has lasted and likely will last. When I think about the beauty, worth, love, joy, and brilliance that I see in the Black community I am grieved thinking about the fact that others don’t see that when they look at us.

I lament for the long road that I see ahead of us. I think about the closeness of this election (at the time that I’m writing this the results are still not clear) and I lament the fact that someone so awful can be chosen by so many. I remember growing up and being so unaware of politics and violent police and racist losers and I lament the fact that the Black and brown young people of today don’t get to live in that bliss. 

Today I lament. Even if I wake up to a Biden victory my tears will be a mix of happiness and grief, joy and sorrow, excitement and disappointment. We lament not because we’re surprised by the blatant racism in our society but rather for the journey we have before us as we continue to fight it. 

I lament for the Black joy that is lost to racism. I lament for the Black families that are torn apart due to racism. I lament for the Black men that are murdered in the street by racism. I lament for the Black women who are disrespected, stereotyped and taken advantage of by racism. I lament for myself. I lament for you. I lament for us. 

Today we lament. 

We lament who we thought our neighbors to be

For the truth of who they actually are. 

A Thought on Politics and Black Participation.

Dear White America, stop asking Black people to save you. You don’t own us anymore. We’re no longer chattel. We’re free.

There is a narrative that has been pushed hard this election season from white people to Black people. This narrative that we all need to vote in order to get ourselves out of this. The narrative that this is the most important election of our time and that our liberties are at stake. Whose liberties exactly? That sentiment sounds a lot like Make America Great Again to me, great for whom exactly?

It’s been said before but I think it needs to be said again, It’s not Black people that America needs to be worried about it’s white people. 

People of color aren’t the ones that put Trump in office, white men and white women elected Trump. I think it’s my duty to my ancestors to vote because they fought and bled for my right to do so but when people talk about it being my duty as an American, I vomit a little. Black men and Black women don’t owe this country anything. I do not owe white America a darn thing. 

I’m not texting my Black family members or my Black friends and asking them to vote because Black people didn’t get us here. Black people should not be expected to exert energy in this racist dumpster fire to get us out of this mess. Stop policing Black people asking them to create a better world for everyone when the one you created no longer serves you. At the end of the day both candidates hold anti-Black beliefs and ideals and regardless of who wins Black people will still be fighting the same fight. 

At the end of the day Biden and Harris, if they win, will be taking over a power structure that is racist and sexist by nature. A power structure that is functioning the way that it was designed to. In a way that favors the rich and the white and that perpetuates the marginalization of the Black, the brown and the poor. 

I’m exhausted but this blog isn’t coming from a place of anger, but rather grounded reason.

I’m not weary from the fight for Black liberation or from advocating for what I think is right but I am tired of talking about Donald Trump. I am tired of talking about Joe Biden and acting like he’s not just another mediocre white man. I’m tired of talking about old white male politicians. I am tired of this so called democratic process that doesn’t give us well rounded options and doesn’t actually hold our leaders accountable. A system that does not work to make sure this country is a safe space for all and that is satisfied with the racist, sexist, homophobic, xenophobic, all the isms and phobics, status quo. 

I stopped listening to white voters when they said that Bloomberg was a viable option for president. I stopped listening when they told me that I needed to “vote blue no matter who,” even if that meant voting for someone like Mike Bloomberg who has ruined the lives of countless Black Americans in this country. Y’all seriously looked Black people in the face and said “I know this guy has shown himself to be extremely dangerous to your population when in power but think about the rest of us.” Why? Point to a time in history when you thought about us? When you prioritized Black and brown needs over white comfort.

At this point in my journey as an American, as someone that pays taxes and votes and pours into society, I’m tired of pretending like the system will eventually work for all of us. It won’t. It wasn’t designed to. It was, like I said earlier, designed to favor the white and the rich, and with so many systems in place that continue to rob Black communities of wealth, we’ll never fall into the favored category.

This place doesn't value Black women and Black men, it doesn’t prioritize us or put our needs at the forefront YET it says that it’s OUR fault when a person that you don’t like wins a second term in office. A person that bothers you and that is potentially a threat to your values and beliefs. A person that at the end of the day is no different than every president before him except for the fact that he doesn’t hide his misogyny and racism. He doesn’t hide his disdain for people who don’t look like him and who have less than he does. He’s more vocal but in every other way he’s exactly the same. 

So if you’re not Black hush about Black people voting and about how we all need to participate to get us out of this mess. We’re going from one big mess to slightly smaller better wrapped mess. I vote for my ancestors, not for this country. I vote to honor the Black bodies that were broken on the street for me, not for this country. I vote in honor of the legacy of bodies at the bottom of ships chained together, not this country. 

Regardless, at the end of the day I’m a part of a group that makes up 13.4% of the population and 1 out of every 13 of us can’t even vote. So please be quiet about it being our fault that Trump may win another term, look in the mirror, it’s yours.

A Thought on Voting and Atomic Habits.

I recently started an incredible book by James Clear called Atomic Habits. If you’ve been around here for a while you know that I love books. Right now I'm primarily interested in books on Black liberation and outside of that fiction, so it’s rare that I read self help or self improvement books. I’m glad that I broadened my horizons and checked this one out. This read was recommended to me not only by my therapist but also several of my friends. I’m only a few chapters in but Atomic Habits is incredible. 

When I was reading it the other day a point that the author made really stood out to me. On page 70, Clear talks about a strategy called Implementation Intention. There are multiple layers to the strategy but Implementation Intention is essentially the idea that when you map out something that you intend to do, make it plain and obvious, the odds of you implementing it increase. 

Half way down the page Clear continues by saying “Researchers have even found that voter turnout increases when people are forced to create implementation intentions by answering questions.” He then goes on to list questions like “What route are you going to take to the polls?” and “At what time are you planning to go?” all related to creating a plan for voting. 

When I read that I was reminded of the many posts that I’ve seen on Instagram and Twitter, I’m sure you’ve seen them as well; posts that read “What’s your voting plan?” or “Have you created your voting plan yet?” I’ve had people tag me in posts about creating voting plans. I receive texts from random numbers, almost daily about voting plans and how to route one out. Oddly enough, this book was the FIRST resource that talked about why creating a plan was/is important.

I think I’ve been clear about my feelings in regards to voting and democracy, so texts and reminders in general aren’t necessary for me. I’m absolutely, without question, going to vote. For sake of the discussion though, let’s say that I was someone who was not as engaged with the democratic process and wanted to vote but did not have a deep conviction that I was committed to. 

If that was me, I’m not convinced that any of the messages that I’ve encountered on Instagram or received through text would have led to me creating a plan. Why? Because none of them explained the “Why” behind it. They all expressed the “what” and gave steps on how to do it but only Clear explained why a plan is important.

I think that if I came across something like this that it would have been more helpful;

“Let’s talk about Voting! It’s important to create a voting plan because by creating a plan I’m increasing my chances of actually voting and by writing out a plan, research shows that you too can increase your chances of voting. My voting plan is that tonight, I’m going to fill out my ballot and tomorrow at 7:45am I’m going to drive to my local elections office. At 8am when they open, I’m going to take my ballot inside and put it in the drop box.

So now that you know my plan, what’s yours? Take a second to write it out and make it plain because again, creating a plan will increase the likelihood that you’ll actually accomplish the task. If you need help coming up with your plan I would love to connect with you by phone or DM, to talk about it.” 

I think that if I encountered a post as blatant as what I wrote above and I was someone that would benefit from making a plan, that post would be very useful for me. A lot more useful I think than just someone telling me to vote or to create a plan without explaining why or offering to support me.

I think that we could all learn a lesson or two from Clear. It’s not enough to just tell people what to do, we have to tell them the reasoning behind it. We have to share with each other why the “What” is important and allow the meaning to motivate the masses. As we get closer and closer to the election, we’re less than two weeks away, I don’t think that we can afford to be so vague. 

If you are in the process of creating your voting plan and don’t know where to start, I would love to support you. You can either comment below or send me a Direct Message on Facebook or Instagram and I’ll follow up with you.

Humbly,

N

Marriage, Traditions, and Changing Last Names.

Two and a half years ago, I got married. My husband’s last name is Casey and my last name is Magloire. At the start of our engagement we discussed both changing our last names and becoming the Magloire Casey’s. As time went on and our interest waned we realized that it actually wasn’t that important to us. Sharing a last name didn’t make us more married than we already were, it didn’t make us a family, we were already a family. 

I was in college when I first encountered a woman that didn’t change her last name after marriage. She was my professor and when I became aware of her decision I remember thinking that it was really cool but “not for me.” At the time I liked my last name but I didn’t love it. I was looking forward to the day when I would get married and I could change my name to, hopefully, something shorter and easier to say. 

As I got older and began to learn more about my heritage and became more comfortable correcting people when they mispronounced my name; I started to fall in love with being a Magloire. Then when I met Patrick and marriage became a serious topic of discussion the idea of changing my name was no longer attractive to me. I began to wonder “where did this tradition even come from?” 

So I started to ask questions. I started to challenge the idea that a cisgender woman in a heterosexual relationship (I can only speak to my identities and the norms attached to them)  needed to change her name when she got married. That it was an essential part of the institution of marriage and that without it, the sanctity of the union would be compromised. I saw that the tradition was deeply embedded in our culture. To the point where multiple people I talked to asked me “are you and Patrick even legally married?” since I didn’t change my name. 

ABC7 NY wrote an article about this in 2019 and reported on a poll that was conducted by an outside organization. In that poll 70% of respondents said they believe that women should change their last names when they get married. 50% of respondents said that they believe that it should be mandated by law for women to change their names after marriage. When asked to explain why, a common response was that “women should prioritize their families and children above themselves.” 

At this point I’ve lost count of the amount of times someone has asked me when I’m changing my last name or why I haven’t changed my last name. I’ve lost count of the times someone has assumed that I'm newlywed and asked me “how is the name change process going?” Or the amount of times someone has asked me “what does Patrick think about you not wanting to change your last name?” 

I can count on one hand the amount of times someone has celebrated that decision or asked me to share more about my reasoning and why it’s important to me. 

Through this experience I’ve learned that often traditions are pushed onto us. They’re passed down through history, from one generation to the next seamlessly without many people interrupting the inheritance and asking questions. Traditions that, most people that I’ve talked to, can’t even identify or explain the origin correctly. Traditions that in some ways perpetuate sexist and misogynistic ideologies. 

This is not to shame women that have changed their names. Rather it’s me dissecting a tradition and thinking critically about this societal norm that I’m often confronted with. One that has people challenging the validity of my marriage and asking intrusive questions. 

So where did the tradition of women changing their last names after marriage come from? Well women used to be considered the property of their father but when they got married there was a transfer of power. At birth, women received their father’s name and after marriage their husband’s and with the name change came the exchange of property. Women couldn’t do things like enter into contracts, make property purchases or engage in business without their father or their husband’s permission. In Tennessee, until the 1970’s, women couldn’t register to vote unless they took on their husband’s name. 

Thankfully people protested and laws were instituted to ensure that women had rights and that they could engage in adult activities without their husband or father signing off. The ideology has evolved and the institutions have too but the tradition has persisted. Which I guess is fine, if that’s your thing. What I think is not fine and what bothers me is how many women I meet that say “the thought never even crossed my mind to not change my name, I wish I would have considered it.” 

I really could go on and on about this. It’s something that I’m passionate about. I find it fascinating how many of us have negative associations with women not changing their names. How many of us thought that a name change was a requirement of marriage. The number of us that never considered the alternative option. It’s fascinating the amount of people who think that men that are married to women who didn’t take their last names are weak. The amount of people who believe women like me are crazy feminists who aren’t committed to their marriage or their family. 

The truth is that I don’t like doing things that don’t make sense to me and I just really like my last name. It’s French and I got it from my father, who is Haitian. Haitian history is rich and beautiful and filled with stories of Black liberation and Black excellence. I like being a Magloire, it’s a name that I want attached to my being for the rest of my days. I want to write it on forms and sign it at the end of emails and messages forever. Nicole Rolande Magloire, it’s a great name, I think I’ll keep it. 

A Thought on Bipartisan Community.

(To start this post I want to be transparent with the political views that I currently hold and a reminder of my identities. I am a Black Woman of Afro Caribbean descent living in Pennsylvania. Many of my views are progressive and align with The Green Party and I will be voting for Biden in the upcoming election. Now, let’s get started.)

Last week I started a discussion on social media. It was about being in community with people who believe differently than we do. The post stemmed from a thought that has been on my mind, off and on, for the last three years. We’re familiar with the narrative of “not talking to or being friends with,”  people who believe differently than we do and I wanted to hear from people with the opposite opinion. 

I didn’t expect for the post to get as much attention as it did. A lot of people shared their thoughts and opinions and all of their comments aligned with two trains of thoughts. Thoughts that didn’t actually answer my specific question but that did enforce a few things that I already believed to be true. Here are the two main sentiments that I saw in the comments;

1. That we can disagree on trivial  things but if we disagree on things related to what we consider to be human rights issues then we can no longer be in relationship/community with each other. 

2. That we think it’s important to be in community with people who believe differently but don’t know how to have those conversations without it leading to an argument. 

Both sentiments I understand. The second one I think is self explanatory. The first one, I used to adhere to religiously and is one that I still prescribe to in some ways and with some people. My thought behind it is, I don’t think that we ALL need to entertain ALL conversations. We don’t ALL need to be friends with ALL people. Sometimes we have to have boundaries and protect our mental health and peace by limiting the things that we talk about with people and limiting the people that we’re friends with. So that’s partially where I stand. 

With that being said, my beliefs have evolved a lot in the last few years. When it comes to the idea of not even associating with people who believe, on a foundational level differently than we do, I find myself concerned. I am concerned that our friend group, our group of associates, our workplace, is not bipartisan. When I say bipartisan I mean it in the truest context of the word. Composed of people who have beliefs that are on opposite sides of certain issues but can still come together in agreement. 

I am concerned that we may be living in echo chambers and surrounding ourselves only with people who mirror our beliefs and values. 

I am concerned by this because I think it’s harmful. Not just harmful to us in the way that it can impact our ability to see humanity in other people but also extremely detrimental to our society.  I don’t see how that strategy leads to societal growth. I’m concerned because I don’t understand how minds can be changed and belief systems reevaluated if they’re never challenged in love. I don’t see how we can grow and add depth to our morals and values that way. 

I don’t see how we expect to see laws pass through the House and the Senate that way. I understand where the sentiment comes from but I just don’t understand how it’s effective in making our country a more equitable place. 

Unpopular opinion; there is humanity to be found in opposing views and the people that hold them. I think that when we approach someone with curiosity and not judgement and they do the same for us, we have a chance to understand the root of their belief systems. Again, I’m not talking about hateful, racial slur slinging BIGOTS. I’m talking about people who voted republican that you don’t like because they voted for Trump. I’m talking about people who voted democrat that you don’t like because they voted for Hillary. 

I’m talking about the democrats that you don’t like because you think they support babies being “killed.” I’m talking about the Republicans that you don’t like because you think they support children being separated from their parents at the southern border.

I’m talking about people who are voting in a way that they think is the most moral and humanity affirming way and yet it’s different from the way that I’m voting or that you’re voting. 

Is it possible that the opposing view (the democrat view, the republican view) is not always rooted in the hate that we believe it to be? Is it possible? I would like to find out. I am interested in seeing what happens when people with good intentions and strong morality, that plays out in vastly different ways, agree to see and affirm the humanity in the other.

I am interested in seeing what happens and if it leads to people understanding things better and voting differently based on that new understanding. I’m interested in seeing if the curious search for humanity can lead to a person changing the language that they use because they discover that it is hurtful to someone they’re now in relationship with. 

I think it’s easy to just believe that people are selfish and hateful and I think many are but I truly believe that most aren’t. So...what does that mean? What does that lead to? I’m not sure but I’m interested to find out.