Still Grateful

I am the world's worst blogger. I'll have to devise some sort of incentive to encourage regular postings. The fact that few appear to have discovered my words of wisdom might have something to do with my failure to recognize this forum as a means to communicate my thoughts to the world. Well, if indeed only I am privy to my genius, I may as well make sure that some higher purpose is served...like once again proclaiming to the Universe my deep gratitude for the life I have lived to date.

I am fortunate, blessed, in fact. I have a warm hearth, a hot hot tub, sustaining friendships, a job (!), interesting hobbies and habits, a wide network of colleagues, a wonderful kid, an awesome boyfriend, and a family that constantly inspires. What more could a girl ask for?

How about cars that run! No sooner had I typed that last paragraph when the phone rings. It is my sweetheart, stranded half way to Columbus with a broken down vehicle. So much for counting blessings, though it certainly could have been a lot worse. I'll just consider myself fortunate to have the resources to make a quick rescue...

2010...and counting!

It's here again...census time. Every ten years the American people view with some mistrust that temporary government worker who shows up on our doorsteps, survey in hand.

Since I have become a formal student of identity, its development and manifestation, the census has loomed large in my ruminations. We may call ourselves whatever we choose on a day-to-day basis, but there's something about declaring ourselves to our government that makes it...official. For me, checking the race box is more than a statement about who I am; it's also a political statement, not as personal as it is an act I perform with the greater good in mind. Regardless of the complexity of my "racial" identity, I am officially "Black, African Am., or Negro."

I highly recommend checking out the census website: http://2010.census.gov/2010census/

Which box(es) will you check? And why?

The Best of Intentions

I certainly have the best of intentions when it comes to keeping a regular blog, but somehow, it just doesn't seem to work out as I'd hoped. As with everything else in life, I can only acknowledge that it is sometimes tough to fulfill those well intended intentions, and attempt to do better.

Below is a little something I wrote this summer while on vacation. It is a thoughtful little piece, and this seems the appropriate spot to post and share it. I wrote it as a sort of postcard to the students in my African American Speculative Fiction course.

July 28, 2009

I am vacationing on Martha’s Vineyard, staying in a funky little summer cottage owned by a paternal aunt and her husband. They are in their 80s, and the cottage suffers from deferred maintenance, as the dwellings of older folks who can no longer perform that maintenance themselves often do. Nevertheless, I am feeling relaxed and thoughtful, and am grateful for the miracle of computers and wi-fi so I have the opportunity to record my thoughts and share them with others.

Early this morning I did a little beachcombing along the Oak Bluffs public beach known as The Inkwell. Martha’s Vineyard has a long history of diversity. The island has many layers of race, class, and culture to peel back and explore. Oak Bluffs contains an African American enclave that has been well documented in Black literature, as well as whimsical Victorian-era gingerbreads and the country’s oldest carousel. Five miles south, Edgartown is tony and upscale (think Kennedys…Chappaquiddick, Teddy’s Waterloo, is a stone’s throw). Then there’s artsy, earthy Tisbury, where vegetable stands, yoga centers, and the homes of many year-round residents are located. This area has rural New England feel to it, with deep woods and rolling fields divided by stone walls.

At any rate, I took a stroll this morning along the Inkwell, thinking about race and Skip Gates and the history and legacies of this region. Henry Louis Gates, Jr. wasn’t always a famous Harvard professor residing in Cambridge. He was once a young colored boy in the hills of West Virginia. He’s only a few years older than me, so we share recollections of an America in which African American literature was most certainly not a subject taught at Ivy League institutions, let alone a part of mainstream American arts and letters. We also share memories of pre-Civil Rights Act America, when being a Black man in the wrong place at the wrong time could mean not just harassment but death, especially in the South. It’s not a stretch for me to think that Skip Gates could have arrived home from a grueling trip with lowered physical and emotional immunity, feeling tired, under the weather, frustrated with a jammed door, and not at all his usually erudite and diplomatic self. And it’s not much of a stretch for me to think that no matter how well-trained or sensitive to racial issues a white police officer might be, he or she might not fully comprehend the deeply ingrained connections to history and our experiences of the world that have created this place where we people of color go ‘cause we honestly don’t know if race is a significant factor in a given situation. I would say from his remarks throughout the public airing of this incident that Barack Obama knows of this place, that he has been there himself. I know I’ve been there.

As I wandered along the shoreline considering all this, a smooth white object caught my eye. The beach is a little stony here, much more so than the sandy Atlantic South Beach that I’d hung out on the day before. Small rocks of all colors and composition, rounded by the waves, are strewn about the water’s edge here. I picked up the pale stone and turned it over in my hand. Probably quartz, not a rough edge to it any longer. I looked down and found another, and another, and soon I was walking ankle deep in the surf, searching out the smooth white stones. It wasn’t long before I had a handful. Intuitively, without thinking, I shifted my search to smooth black stones, and picked up a handful of them as well. I was then struck by the metaphor of the stones, worn smooth by the water and the passage of time. So it is with white folks and Black folks. Our sharp edges, our exteriors, are being worn away, slowly smoothed by time and contact, though we maintain our distinct compositions, our histories, our origins.

I’m gathering up the white and black stones on this Massachusetts beach where generations of Black folks have found respite from racism as mementos of this trip, and of the wearing down and wearing away of our rough histories. I’ll set them in a basket back home to remind me of our nation’s most recent “teachable moment” and my vacation on Martha’s Vineyard.

Enjoy your summer reading, and know that you are part of a larger story yet to be told!

Jocelyn

In sickness and in health...

It's been quite some time since I put my thoughts down in blog form, so there's a bit of catching up to do here. I just spent the last several weeks fighting a truly debilitating bout of sinusitis. Started with a cold about a month ago that slowly morphed into one of the worst illnesses I can remember in my adult life. I just want to state publicly that I am grateful for my employment-afforded insurance and for the support of my sweetie, who nursed me and forgave the crankiness that accompanies the discomfort of such an illness. I'm now well on the road to recovery, and hope I don't have to travel back down that road again any time soon. I've got too much going on and too much to do to be out of commission like that again!

It's February, that time of year when the nation remembers its debt to Black folks, only to forget it once again on March 1. This time, however, there is a buzz going on, due in part to our newly-elected President of color, and our newly-appointed Attorney General of color. Let's talk about race! I've been trying to talk about race for years. My life work is talking about race. A whole new era is opening up in which it is becoming OK to actually talk about the one thing that is always present between us as Americans, yet is the one thing we always want to discount and deny. I have every intention of seizing this opportunity, of not letting the buzz die down after the initial burst of energy surrounding it.

Stay tuned. I'm collecting my thoughts and soon they'll be spilling across this blog screen.

Packing and Unpacking

As I look back on this year, I can't help but breathe a sigh of relief that it has finally come to an end. Personally, 2008 had its ups and downs, but collectively, it seems to have been one big downer. The wars, the recession, the contentious election cycle...all of that has been so draining on us. Obama's election has brought a glimmer of hope, however. Interestingly, issues of race and class and gender remain as salient as ever, maybe even more so. The conversation on race in particular requires an unprecedented level of sophistication from those engaged in it. I feel honored and energized to be part of that conversation, to be a guide for others as they participate in it as well.

While 2008 is history, 2009 is ahead, and there is history to be made. I'm ready to get started.

Soul Food

I am excited to be engaged in several initiatives that are important to me, that are food for my soul as well as good works. I think each of us must find his or her way when it comes to doing good. Some of us can be very public about it, and others can only do it with anonymity. I find I fall somewhere in the middle. I am feeling compelled to stay focused on race and racism, and feel I have something to contribute to broader and more general discussions of such. I also feel that I must act locally, put my money where my mouth is, so to speak. Still trying to figure out how to pull it all together, to integrate these varying aspects and degrees to which I am participating in the world.

I guess this comes off as a somewhat nebulous post...I just needed to proclaim to the universe that I am doing some work, and I'm hoping that, ultimately, it is good work.

Still grateful!

Even though the world as we know it seems to be falling to pieces around us, I thought I'd take a minute to note that I'm still grateful for all I have. What I have consists of good health, a strong and supportive family, a teenage son who inspires pride, an amazing life partner, warm friends, committed and talented colleagues, and work that, if it isn't always exciting, does great good. Hmmm. Yes, I'm grateful, and blessed.