Hey, beautiful people! The days seem to run together as Ms. Rona makes her rounds across the country (and the world) with no end in sight. On the eve of Juneteenth, I feel a shift in the universe’s energy. The past three weeks were heavier as each hour passed, and honestly, I struggled to work, create, or think beyond the day ahead. I see myself in every black woman or girl I love in the pictures of Breonna Taylor. Seeing how she found the joy of life in this ghetto ass world only to be killed senselessly breaks my spirit. I remember being 26 and excited for the growth to come in my mid-to-late twenties. She had plans—big plans! I can only pray no one else is taken from this world in the same vicious manner. I am subconsciously worried about my every male friend or father figure, keeping a more vigilant eye of how they’re coping. My white and non-black POC acquaintances will never truly grasp the emotions that come with being a threat for merely existing. I hate it and, for a few days, felt anger and frustration about the cards I am dealt. I am depleted from it all. Tired no longer explains where I reside mentally. I didn’t want to share my feelings because I know we are all uploading and downloading so much these days. I was worried it would come off as whiny or depressing, but I couldn’t pretend any longer. I feel so disconnected from my job, and it seems like every plan for 2020 has turned into a dumpster fire of failures.
Am I the only one being this self-critical? What is everyone else experiencing, and why do I feel like the weight of the world is crashing down on my shoulders? I question all the corporations pandering for the sake of not being canceled. Hell, how do I even deal with the inequalities of working at PWI with little representation of color in leadership roles? SO MANY THOUGHTS! How does the creative continue to create when the future seems bleak? Each day is a step towards happiness, and I must choose to harness the joy. I have to find comfort in knowing that although many have lost their lives from violence bred through systemic racism, my life matters with every new breath. I am alive to take up space and shake any table in my way. We are living through history, and the revolution will be televised. There is no mistaking the pride I have in being black but understand mama needs hope! Furthermore, it is time to snap out of this funk.
I am less than six months away from thirty and would like to see a beach before the “second wave” of Rona sits us down again! I do not want to be a ball of sadness. I will get past this and so will you. We are all experiencing this life for the first time so be gentle with your thoughts and intentional with your actions. The year is not a total wash but I will say this—If I don't get a bae or vacay before fall, Markitia and I will be rocking matching PJs like the Parkers (pray for me).
Until the next time we meet on the interwebs for this blog—stay safe and wash y’all damn hands!
xo Mia Shantel