On Being a White-Passing Black Person During a Period of Protest

My racial ambiguity means I fit into an interesting friendship niche for a lot of white people. It's relatively obvious that I'm not completely white, so folks get to pat themselves on the back for being "woke" because they're friends with me. However, I'm also white-passing enough that I don't make anyone truly uncomfortable in the way a darker-skinned black person might.

My whole life, I've been assured that this was a positive thing by black people and white people alike because I get to have it both ways. I can be proud of my blackness and claim it as part of my identity, but I can also slip into white circles without causing too much of a stir or bothering anyone.

Perhaps most importantly, I only really have to take what comes with being black when it's convenient for me. The rest of the time, I'm free to keep my mouth shut and just let people think I'm something much less threatening -- Hispanic, maybe, or Meditteranean like my ex-husband assumed I was when he first met me. And for most of my life, that's exactly what I did because it was easier for me and more comfortable for others. Who wants to make trouble for themselves when they don't have to, right?

All of the protests and riots that have been going on lately have officially found me tired of doing that though. I've always been a proud person, but that pride has officially reached a place where it extends to my racial identity as well. Yes, I'm proud to be Irish and Scottish. I'm proud to be German and to have that tiny little bit of South Asian in there too, but I'm realizing I'm just as proud to be black. I'm proud to be a part of the black story because it's my story, and I want others to know it. I especially want other black people to know I'm standing with them.

Many Departures

I never feel like I have that much going on in my life until I actually sit down to blog when it's been a while. It really makes me realize the extent to which time flies. My cat died not long after my last post. She was on the older side and hadn't been doing that well for a while, so it wasn't completely unexpected. It managed to be wholly devastating anyway though. 

I'm not the sort of person that supports wallowing in emotions like grief or disappointment -- or at least not to the point where it starts to feel like it's doing you more harm than good -- but I can't lie. This has been really hard for me. I've had many pets over the years, but Ched was just special. She's pretty much the only living being I've ever known that I can honestly say never seemed to feel anything toward me but love. It's done me so much good to know that any living thing could really embrace me unconditionally like that because it's certainly more than I can say for even the best humans in my life.

And as tough as it can be to feel sad for the loss of both big and little souls that touch lives, I've realized there's a positive side to grief. It's your proof that you experienced someone and something worth missing. I've literally had whole-ass family members and so-called good friends exit this planet without eliciting so much as a tear from me, let alone full-force grief, but looking back on those relationships, I'm not surprised. They were never there for me. They never laughed with me or cried with me. They never actually acted like they loved me or cared about being part of my life. And to be honest, the feeling was mutual. 

I know a lot of animals are unconditionally loving and loyal -- one reason I've always preferred them to people -- but Ched was that to an unusual degree. She did nothing but love me, even when I got frustrated, irritated, or downright angry with her. I worry that I wasn't always as nice to her as she deserved, but I'm sure she had to have known how loved she was regardless. I tried to show her as much as I could and to the extent that I know how. 

Things That Make Me Squint

There are two types of occurrences that pretty much never fail to remind me that a Mercury retrograde period is imminent. The first is the collection of technical snafus and miscommunications that most people associate with Mercury retrograde. The other has to do with people from my past getting it into their heads to reach out to me for whatever reason.

This time around it's the latter -- honestly the more irritating of those two phenomena. I can prepare for technical foul-ups or miscommunications and often prevent them from happening in the first place. However, there's little to nothing I can do to stop exes, estranged family members, or old friends I've outgrown from tracking my ass down and contacting me if they're really determined to get back in touch. I absolutely hate how intrusive stuff like that feels when it actually happens.

Contrary to popular belief, ending a relationship with another person is never something I do lightly. There is literally always a good reason why I did it, and I'm not the sort of person that will get over whatever that reason was given enough time. It's almost always a choice I'd been thinking of making for some time as well, even if it appears to be a snap decision on the surface. My handing you your walking papers means I never want to see or hear from you again. Not in a few weeks. Not in a year. Not in twenty years. I will do what I can to learn from the mistake I made by letting you into my life in the first place, but that is what I will forever consider my relationship with you going forward  -- a mistake that I want to avoid repeating in the future. I won't miss you. I won't think back fondly on "the good times". I'll just be glad you're gone along with whatever brand of toxicity you were bringing into my life while you were still part of it.

Writing Lab: On the News and Where It Comes From

Prompt: "Has the place you've gotten your news changed over the years? Where did you get it 10 years ago?"

As much as it pains me to say it, I didn't even care about the news until a couple of years ago. Intellectually speaking, I was interested in the past (history), but found the present (news) to be insufferably boring. The fact that it was happening right here and right now to the same everyday people I see on the streets made it ordinary to me and I wasn't interested in the ordinary as a young person. That said, I probably got what little news I was actually exposed to from friends, coworkers, and acquaintances. I never voluntarily read newspapers or watched the news on television though. Like I said, I really just didn't care.

The past few years have found me really interested in becoming a well-rounded, informed person for a change though. Digital media and inexpensive all-you-can-consume subscription services were making it so easy for me to explore new topics of interest, so I thought "why not". That's when I started reading news magazines like Time and Newsweek on a weekly basis. At first I really had to force myself to do it, but now I look forward to checking out one or both of those each weekend. There's just so much to be interested in -- medical/scientific advancements, social issues, archaeological discoveries. Politics and diplomatic relations are only a small part of the equation, although those topics can be interesting at times as well. 

Writing Lab: On Energy and Its Sources

Prompt: "Where do you draw your energy from?"

I've never been what you'd call an energetic person. Even when I was a child, my brand of energy was a very quiet, subdued one, if such a thing can ever be said to exist. My mind would be going a mile a minute on any given day, but I was never much into being physically active. I've also always had a hard time mustering energy for doing things I don't feel personally invested in.

That part of who I am hasn't changed one little bit now that I'm an adult. I only feel what most people would call energetic when I'm legitimately on fire about something. Truth be told, I don't feel much enthusiasm when it comes to life in general. However, there are a few sources from which I seem to be able to pull energy if and when I need to.

On Emotional Honesty, Priorities, and Being True to One's Self

It always seems that the more I have on the agenda for work on a given day, the more I actually feel like writing something of my own instead. A blog entry, usually, or a bunch of shorter social media updates... but occasionally a snippet of a longer story, a piece of flash fiction, or a poem. Usually, I react to those thoughts the way I was taught to -- by telling myself I need to get "the important stuff" out of the way first and then if I have time later on, I can spend what's left of my energy doing things I actually want to do.

The trouble with that approach to writing is that nothing expressive or passionate ever actually gets written. There's always something else to do that "needs" to get done or that society would label as more important. By the time I get to the point in my day when I'm out of things to do, it's the wee hours of the morning and I'm exhausted, not only physically, but mentally and emotionally as well. The last thing I want to do at that point is write some more.

In fact, I'm constantly wondering if maybe that "work first, play later" is actually the wrong approach. For me, anyway. It certainly feels like the wrong one. One of these days, maybe I'll learn that it's OK to be someone that makes decisions based on how they feel and not how good they look on paper or how many of the right people sign off on them. When I just allow myself to give the first hour or two of my writing day to something that I'd actually like to write, I don't resent having to work as much as I normally do. I resent the need to earn money less, since it no longer encroaches upon my self expression.

On Living Authentically

Life has made me a huge believer in living authentically. I've just known far too many people that turned out to be something other than they made themselves out to be to feel otherwise. Really, there's private and then there's intentionally deceptive. There's not wanting to tell people things that quite simply aren't any of their business and there's keeping things from other people that they legitimately have a right to know.

I remember when social media was first becoming a thing. I hopped on the bandwagon just like everybody else and I fell immediately in love with the way I was no longer stuck playing the same old roles I'd always been cast in offline. For the first time ever, I was free to be absolutely anything and anyone I chose... and I guess that's when I finally discovered that the person I most wanted to be was myself. It was just so freeing. I no longer had to be that silly, over-dressed, perfectly polite princess other people had always expected me to be. I could have opinions. I could fucking cuss, dammit. I could just go ahead and be every bit as writerly and nerdy as I wanted to be and no one was going to try to stop me. It was a really liberating experience.