Inspiration...
When I got home early this morning, I wanted to cry.
As wonderful as the weekend had been, I couldn't help but feel that I was a victim of something up until this point, like despite being faithful (but not completely “good,” even still) the Lord had forsaken me nonetheless. Over the last few weeks, I’ve been lied to or called on (and then smiled at) so many times that I don’t even know who to trust. I’ve been made into a trusted kind of “den mother” character who has the answer to everything and the help that everyone needs that I couldn’t possibly live up to at this very selfish point of my 20s—but that nonetheless, out of my mushy heart, fall into and fume about later. I’ve had close friends pull away from me while new folk (try to) move in, which is difficult to adjust to with such severe trust issues. On the romantic front, every guy who has shown the least bit of interest in me either has a wedding band, as many years of life acquired as my own father, or substantial female following—all definite red flags. And then, there was my stilled research…and the fact that as soon as my income hits my bank account, it comes right back out…
Up to this point in November alone, I just felt done. It takes a lot for me to feel done. So many people were asking so much of me…that I did not really have time to ask too much of myself. All I’ve known is that I have felt confused, lonely, overworked, underpaid, betrayed, leaned on, bent over, cast aside, but—for better or for worse—never forgotten. And I smile through it all…but in the dark (and only in the dark), I drown it in smoke and liquor at its worst.
I ask myself how I got to this low point, often. Was it letting too many people in? Has it been taking on too much responsibility? Could I have set my expectations of myself and of others too high? Am I allowing myself to grow the way I need to? I don’t know. All I do know is that there has been too much weight. Too much weight. And I’m implicated in all of this.
So sitting, after a nice meal and a few drinks, I came home this morning, looking to make clouds in my living room. I flick the lighter and bow my head. They rise…
I wanted to cry.
Then I began remembering what the Lord had done for me. Just this weekend…
All weekend, I’ve been surrounded –happily—by living legends of my life’s work. People who inspired me do this thing I love—to write—and to question and then change the world around me. Amiri Baraka. Sonia Sanchez. Askia Muhammad Toure. John Bracey. Haki Madhubuti. Eugene Redmond. William Strickland. Melba Joyce Boyd. All of whom I sat with, built with, laughed with…never knowing when or if the next time for such an occasion would come. It was more personal than the thing of dreams I imagined when engaging such wisdom. Amiri Baraka told me that my disdain for apple pie was a “psychological problem” and went on to work through one of my favorite poems of his to teach with me, over drinks. Boyd and Redmond—two wonderful poets and scholars—took the time to push me to keep doing the work I was doing and even gave me more to do in the field of poetry. The sparkle in Madhubuti’s eyes when Bracey introduced me as a Detroiter was the reaffirmation I needed to take my nerves down from approaching a person who had been so pivotal to my own research—and poetry. The presence of Toure and Sanchez were just awe inspiring in themselves, and the kind nods and touches of recognition they gave let me know that they remembered me from before and will remember me next time…
Redmond even taught me how to use an old school (super, super, old) SLR camera and trusted me to document the final panel that he would be on during the conference. It had been some time (years, maybe) since I’d done photographic work like this. I didn’t realize how much I missed it…and how fulfilling it used to be…
Building, even still, with other scholars was also a blessing. Through the smoke, I began to see the would-be inappropriate flirtation for the encouragement it was. Not only am I beautiful, but my intellect encouraged attention. And moving from that aside, passing ideas across dinner tables and over book displays helped me refocus my priorities to my work, reaffirm the importance of my project to the field, and reroute my attention to getting the hell out of Amherst—-the inspiration for this blog since my first entry.
Finally…the support, humor and love of my tried and true friends came with the last toke. What a weekend. Sneaking….no, meandering into buffets we didn’t pay for. Passing notes and texts across panels (even when chairing). Bucking our eyes at the antics of the older generations. Skipping up alleys at night in sleepy stupors. Watching in awe at one another’s brilliance. Passing spare books to a friend to get an autograph, just so they don’t miss the opportunity. Cramming into cars just to cut across campus. The smiles. The laughs. The “good jobs”/”good lucks”. The hugs. Those were real. The realest things I’ve felt in a long while.
After this, I dipped the rest of my smoke in water and I smiled. I was happy. I felt foolish for wanting to cry, even more for feeling like the Lord had forgotten me. In many ways, He had given me what I needed; He’s working out my life for my good…and His (
Romans 8:28). Despite my own disappointments and failures over time, this weekend he reminded me who I am and why He has me here, instead of anywhere else or amongst anyone else. I can’t let the things that trouble me, that are external to my relationship with Him and my work here in Amherst hold me back.
I do have a heart that fleets, breaks, and mends like clockwork in spite of how I try to protect it. But, even more, I have faith. And I have the Lord. This does not mean I'm not still dealing with some of the hurt that drove me to smoking last night. There will definitely be more low points, but I have to begin to take them as transitions, not obstacles. In all of this, the Lord has been so good to me, whether I have given Him due immediately or not. But He is showing me one thing through all of this…
I need to be so much better to myself.
