Living in the gray

I am afraid. Everyday, I am afraid. My panic attacks I know stem from this fear, and they buildup until my body can’t withstand the pressure. So I find myself like I have before, gasping for air when maybe just maybe if I dealt with what was pressing upon my chest… no amount of rubbing the spot where it hurts makes it go away.

            Now I’ve gone one step further, and allowed the fears of someone I love drive my fear. By not pushing to be better, by being unwilling to ask the hard questions- I’m living in the gray.

            We are both so afraid of making a mistake- we know we have something akin to magic in our hands, and we are terrified. What could it all mean? How far could this go? Will it end? So we wade through the gray together, holding hands, but not really touching. Speaking, but not really hearing.

            They are afraid to reach their potential, because of what they could lose. I’m afraid to push them to do it, because of what I might lose. At first it wasn’t this way- we did bring out the best in one another. Then the same thoughts tail-spun us again and again, never giving answers. The waters were muddied, and we ignored it, carried on like we didn’t feel it weighing on the both of us.

            Now we are here. A place where we can’t ignore the pull. A place where we can’t un-feel what we feel, can’t unravel what we’ve gained. The terror rises up and we can’t look to one another for comfort. It’s been all of our own making. Moves and countermoves.

            So now we step out of the gray. I’ve never been so afraid of black and white. We’re on a path we can’t come back from, to a place we’ve both feared. We’re terrified of what might result- we could lose one another in our lives.

Or…or… we could be the magic we’ve seen and felt. We could be the change, the progress, the fear mixed to make the drive. We could be the unstoppable force we’ve only read stories about- a pairing no one doubts, and everyone sees. Our weaknesses are the others strengths. The compliment is there in our moves, in our voices, in just being.

The gray would be something we looked back at in wonder. How were we ever there? How did we allow the thickets made by our fears snag us in that way? Why didn’t we control the controllable? And the gray would become something else entirely. The gray would be a safe place between, instead of a chasm. Overleap with out fear of falling.

Because we could catch one another, if we chose. In the black, the white, or the gray.

“It’s not the load that breaks you down, it’s the way you carry it. “

-Lena Horne

Fueled by Fear

Bravery- courageous behavior or character.

Fear- an unpleasant emotion caused by the belief that someone or something is dangerous, likely to cause pain, or a threat.

“Everything you’ve ever wanted is on the other side of fear.”

            Fear is my constant companion. It is what has pushed me to love, fight through being broken hearted, and to love again. It’s what has driven me in my professional pursuits- the more I was afraid, the more I knew I had to do it. It’s taught me to go to the brink- brought me to my knees, gasping for air and leaving me to wonder what the hell I was doing. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve “chased the rabbit” because of it- borrowing trouble about things far from my control, and tail spinning to the point I thought I couldn’t stop.

            I have never thought of myself as brave. People seem to think I am, because of the way I walk in this world. If I wear anything as I badge embroidered on my chest, it would not have bravery stenciled across it. It would say I was fueled by my fear. Fear of the unknown, fear of not finding my person, fear of failing my family and friends, and fear of not living up to the expectations I’ve set out for myself. I’m awakened by it- sensing and feeling more, dreaming more vividly.

            I am afraid I won’t honor everything my parents have done for me, so I push myself to be better. To give them something they and I can be proud of. If I were to die tomorrow, to know I have constantly strived to put my best foot forward- and on the days I failed, to challenge myself to be better the next day, and the days after that.

            I am afraid of not loving. I have been broken hearted, and broken hearts myself, and this instills dread within me. What if I’m not meant to find them? What if my love stories were meant to be short? Is my love story a conventional one, or far from it? Why the hell do I worry about these things in the first place? I know my life can still be a grand thing without them, but still.

            I’m petrified on a regular basis in my professional life. I’m not smart enough, gifted enough. I’ll let people down, or make mistakes. So I throw myself into the work instead. I go for the jobs that make chills run down my back, and give me nightmares. The ones I end up fixating on until every scenario has run through my mind, and nothing could be worse then what has already happened within my own imagination.

            My fear forced me to grow a thicker skin- when I was younger I was afraid of how I would be treated because I looked and acted different. I was and still am reminded daily about my difference. I hoped so much to be normal. Then something hardened in me, and the fear turned into something else.

            The little girl who wanted badly for straight hair instead of curly, for light skin instead of dark, for a demeanor like the other little girls in my classes disappeared. In her place grew a woman prepared to face those who would feed on the insecurity and dread I once had.

            It’s not all gone- those who know me best know deeper down there is a sensitivity born from those old feelings which helps me remain compassionate and open. Often begrudgingly and paved along with way with my colorful vocabulary, I show my true colors, but I at least wasn’t turned inward and made into something cruel.

            My biggest fear now is not being true to who I am. To walk boldly in the light and love who I love, live how I think I should live, to fulfill the dreams my fears can’t seem to put out. Am I trying hard enough? Do I tell them I love them as often as I should? Do I show it? Can I be better, faster, stronger? Have I done all I could do, or is there more? 

            I can’t play it safe, and because of this I’ve failed miserably in every aspect of my life. I’ve triumphed too. I’ve also seen and done things far beyond what I originally thought I could do. All the grand plans and ideas I made, my life looks nothing like that. I am a better person because of it. I'm raw, outspoken, fresh. I'm opinionated, stubborn, perhaps at times overly calculated, and able to listen. 

            So I am thankful for my fear.

My straight parents made me queer! Well, kinda...

*I will be using the words gay and queer interchangeably to discuss all those in the LGBTQ community. I was on quite a rant when I wrote this, and  those were the words that kept coming to mind. Luckily this is my blog, so I can do what I want. (Cough, Cough) Here I go-

            I can’t go through my different social media feeds, or look at the news now with out the “Gay Agenda” being discussed. What those “gays” are doing, WHO they’re doing... (gasp!)- And of course, how much this concerns all the folks who are against their relationships.

            Oh wait- it has nothing to do with those people. Nope, nope, nope.

            I have a bone to pick with some of the really ignorant discussions I’ve been seeing. Yes, I’m calling out people in this rant. If you’re uncomfortable with the subject matter, you should probably stop reading now.

            My new, (and actually old) favorite discussion is, “WHERE ARE ALL THESE DAMN GAYS COMING FROM?!” Yea… we were always here. Because of social norms, we were forced to live these half-lives, where we weren’t able to live life out in the open, and hide who we truly are. Guess what folks! It’s a time of social change, and “We’re here! We’re Queer! Get used to it!”

            Look back at history, we’ve always been here. We were helping define it, right alongside everyone else. Prime example- The Imitation Game starring Benedict Cumberbach. Yep- the true story all about a very queer dude who helped win WWII by breaking the Enigma code. It’s true, we’re the only group that needs to come out of the closet. Super obnoxious! No one has to come out black, or male, or a candy-lover… but I digress.

            Please Enjoy Wanda Sykes coming out black, for some comic relief-

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1_wWJ-_4uSY

            So please, stop acting like we’re some big cosmic surprise. We’re not.

           

            My next favorite discussion is, “What kinds of parents will queers make? These children will be missing essential male and/or female examples?! The horror!” Wait, what about all of the single parents out there? Or widows and widowers? What about the children raised by grandparents? This is why this argument doesn’t hold water. Let’s go a bit further- what about all of the abusive, and terrible straight parents out there? Are you really trying to tell me these children are better off with them, rather than gay parents? If you do think that, you really need to take a long walk off a short pier.

            “Well if they’re raised by queers, they’ll become queer.” Yep, that’s totally what happened with me! Oh wait- my parents are straight. Oh shit!

            It doesn’t matter if your parents are straight, queer, asexual, or whatever- if you are a product of a loving and caring home, chances are you will grow up to be a loving and caring person, with a chance of being gay, or straight, or asexual... (Check out the Kinsey scale if you want to delve deeper into that).

           

            If you are an adult now, and still blaming your queer parents for somehow “handicapping” you in your adulthood- grow up. Seriously. Sooner or later, you really need to take responsibility for yourself. I also feel bad for your lovely parent(s), for raising such an asshat. Yep, I’m about to pull the race card- if you’re gonna go by that logic, then my parents handicapped me! Yea, that’s right! My parents are in an interracial relationship, so I went through different kinds of hardships compared to most! Dammit guys, you made life so much harder for me! I’m still suffering at 30!

            No. Not even kinda. See what I did there? Please continue to feed me this argument- I’ll give you the same amount of attention I do to my mechanic when he discusses my car. Aka- I’m really uninterested, so I’m not listening to you at all.

            “QUEERS ARE GONNA RUIN THIS COUNTRY!” They said that about the Irish, and black people. They said that when women got the vote too. Please stop recycling this. It’s an outdated argument. It’s all kinds of tired. Give it a rest. Braces on our brains, and not looking to the future- that’s what could ruin this country.

            “No one is born queer.” Ok, I’m really done with this one. I did not choose to make my life any more difficult, (I’m a biracial, queer woman. Seriously people). I did not wake up one day thinking, “Being called a nigger, and being treated like a second-class citizen already because I’m a girl, just isn’t enough! I’m gonna reach for the stars! Where are all my ladies at???” No.

            “If we allow gay marriage, what’s next? Bestiality?!” What in the actual fuck. Um, no. Just because I want the right to marry my girlfriend, doesn’t mean next I’ll want to marry a cat, (especially because I hate cats. Seriously. With a passion. Selfish little beasts…).

           

            How you and I define marriage may be different. If you define it by religious values, or by any other way than I do, all power to you. You rock that out. I happen to not agree with you. Let me get this straight- because you are uncomfortable with the fact I want to marry my girlfriend, I shouldn’t? I’m uncomfortable with you tucking in your shirt too. Stop doing that. I really don’t like the way you chew your gum. I’m gonna try and pass a law on that too… You may feel I’m over simplifying things. One- I’m taking the mickey out of you. Two- I find it that ridiculous. How you feel does not, and will not define my life.

            You have every right to your opinions. And maybe you’ll take offense to the sarcastic tone I’m writing in. Here’s the thing- I’m offended by you. You thinking you have the right to define me, and my life. You feeling like you have the right to degrade the love I have for someone, because we happen to be the same gender. I’m offended by your ignorance, your Grinch-like view of my life, and the world today. My love is no less, because I love her. God loves me no less, because I am built as (he) built me. I am a citizen of this country, and of this world, just like you are. I deserve all of the same rights. All of them. I’m sick and tired of hearing your endless excuses and hatred towards me and mine, towards people who want to live in the light the way all of you get to. I am angry you feel you can tell me these things, and think they are not hurtful.

            But I’m going to say it again- I am not going anywhere. We are not going anywhere. If you continue in your ignorance and hatred, you will be standing on the wrong side of history. And that makes me feel sorry for you. Open your mind, and realize I am just as human, as deserving, just as much made in god’s image as you are. And I am not afraid, because when it comes to this, I don’t doubt my stance.

Stop telling me, you're "color blind." Just stop.

            “ You talk about race a lot.” Funny, only white people have ever said that to me…

            In a recent blog, (I am the dream and the hope of the slave) I called attention to the racism that still plagues this country. I wrote about how far we have come as a nation, but also how much further we need to go. I feel like I need to delve a little deeper into my own experiences. To speak from my heart, and tell a little bit more about my story. Race is not a new theme in my blogs. If you’ve read anything I’ve written in the past, you know I’ve written about being mixed, and some of the beauty and challenges I deal with because of my interracial background.

            I speak about race a great deal, because I don’t get a day off from it. Just as much as I don’t get a day off from being a woman, and more and more I don’t get a day off from being half of a same sex relationship. I see it everyday in the mirror, and I don’t go a day without a remark about my skin, my hair, or my heritage. There is no magic switch, no time I get to forget where I come from. Don’t tell me I’m exaggerating, or being sensitive. Anyone in my position would empathize. Instead of continuing your ignorance, ask me what it’s like, to walk a day in my shoes.

            A few months ago, my cousin and I were discussing some of the current events in our country, especially Ferguson. She remarked on the divide she noticed in her social media feeds, the horrible things being said on either side of the argument. Then she told me how she was going to take a break from social media, because she wanted to be able to walk away from it. I was silent on the phone. I heard the breath catch in her throat and she said, “Then I thought about what it must be like for you. You never get to turn it off, do you?” We both became teary over that realization. I told her no, I never get to turn it off. Whether I close my eyes, or open them wide, this is a part of my experience.

            Don’t tell me, “I don’t see color.” "I'm color blind". For one, that’s a lie. Yes, you do. Second, I’m not impressed by that. Stop telling it to me. Yes, we are all human. Yes, we all have things in common with one another. But the only people who don’t see color are babies, and maybe toddlers. From there on, the differences are taught. If you are trying to convey you aren’t racist, then that’s a beautiful thing. Say it better.

            “If you stopped bringing it up so often, people would forget.” Eh, no. Again, you are trying to put upon me your own thoughts and feelings on this subject. Am I making you uncomfortable? Did you ever stop to think what it must feel like, to walk into a room and be assessed in a way your white counterparts are not? Have you had people say things to you that are so ridiculous, you can’t even wrap your mind around it? Especially since there is not one time in the history of ever you would ask them the questions they are asking you, or stating things to you so off the wall all you can do is stare back at them. “Is that your real hair?” “Nicole- that isn’t a very black name, is it?” “Your mom is white? That must have been hard for you.” “Do black people tan?” “You only voted for Obama because he’s black.” “ Does it hurt your mothers feelings, because you identify more as black?” “You guys don’t all like fried chicken and watermelon, do you?” These are all things that have really been said to me. They were not in jest. I wish I were joking.

            Let’s go over these one by one. Honestly, they are none of your business, but I’ll answer them anyway. My hair- sometimes its mine, sometimes its not. I’m sorry my parents didn’t name me Latonya, or Kuntakinte- it must make you uncomfortable, me having a “white” name. No, it is not hard for me to have a white mom. Yes, black people tan.  If you think I only voted for Obama because he’s black, f*** you. I won’t apologize for saying that either. How dare you assume I only voted for someone because we share the same skin color? I did my research, and I made the best decision for me. Don’t ever say that to me again. No, identifying as half black does not hurt my mother. She is one of the people I can count on the most, and doesn’t judge me. I know she wishes I was a little less mean when I’m pissed…

            Quick side note- Not all black people like fried chicken, watermelon, collard greens, Kool-Aid, purple drink, Cat fish…. the list goes on. There is history in those foods. Pick up a book and read a bit before you make an ass of yourself by assuming we do. I happen to think all these things are delicious, but it’s not coded in my DNA.  So, just stop asking that.

            “But you’re the first to make jokes about race relations. You tell some funny black jokes!” For me, it’s a protective mechanism. If I say it first, if I let you know how I’m thinking and feeling, then you can’t take that away from me. You don’t have the power to make me uncomfortable in my own skin.

“The ‘brown bag rule’ or the ‘black tax’ can’t be real things.” Again, don’t state, ask. The brown bag rule illustrates the differences amongst black people themselves. It’s an outdated idea about higher and lower class because of skin color within black people. The black tax does still exist. It is speaking to the amount of work black people often have to do to be judged on the same plane as their white counterparts. More often than not, we have to prove ourselves more and if we trip and fall, it unfortunately does not reflect on just ourselves, but all black people. There will always be cultural saying and things that are done you may not understand. That does not mean they aren't real. 

            We are far from full equality in this country. There are a great deal of factors, including socioeconomics, bias, and ignorance. There are checks and balance to try and help with these factors, and others. Affirmative action is a great example. Here’s the thing, if my speaking about my skin color my experience makes you uncomfortable, you have the right to no longer be my friend. Unfollow me on Facebook, whatever you need to do. Huge hint- don’t read this blog! Because I won’t stop talking about it. My opinions may change as time goes on, but for now this is how I feel.  You are as welcome to your opinions as I am, but this is something I will continue to speak on.

           

            I am a biracial, bisexual, feminist, opinionated, smart and sassy woman. Just a heads up, in case you were in doubt.