“Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness, that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, and fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small doesn’t serve the world. There’s nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won’t feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We are born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It’s not just in some of us, it’s in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.” - Marianne Williamson

Lately, I have had some really nasty thoughts. Gross, sticky thoughts. Once in a while a good thought will creep in. A great friend of mine tells me to “put them in my back pocket for when I’m feeling low and needing a reminder to feel good”. I’m actually done naval gazing for a while, though I will say that I’ve learned some things about myself. My jealousy level can get pretty high. In most situations I am mature enough to say aloud that I want things. Stuff. I know that when I was interviewed by Rita for BlogHer and asked about her new anthology there were pangs of “Why not me?”

That is par for the course. Most of what I’ve gotten in life came from constantly inviting myself in, both literally and figuratively. I’ve done it in church, with the soccer mom groups, in Bible study groups, in fitness groups, in educational circles, and in friendship circles.

Now that I’m older I realize that I don’t need a group. I am myself and I make my own group.

That’s what eight months of therapy bought me. Next I plan on purchasing my first set of pearls or diamond earrings or a flatscreen tv with a Wii. Whatever strikes my fancy.

Make no mistake: I am not proud of being jealous or hoping for things that I see other people getting. There is genuine joy for them but a little piece of my heart feels torn off every time and more than anything, I hate that I feel that. But let’s be honest and just say that WE ARE NEEDY, FLAWED HUMANS. We want things we don’t deserve, that we didn’t earn.

I desperately want to wear a pair of white pants but I need to give up that ghost. I’m too worried about them being see-through and SHOWING THINGS THAT NEED TO REMAIN A SECRET. No one should be made to count the dimples in my thighs without following it up with an acid eyewash to repair the ocular damage my thighs would do to them.

Today I’m feeling lucky and scared and nervous and jittery and a plethora of emotions. For the first time since I’ve ventured on the journey of writing words and stringing together sentences I was offered a chance to write for a major publication. Where this will go I do not know nor do I allow myself to imagine the range of possibilities.

That one goes in my back pocket and will make me not feel like an inadequate hack poseur writer. It goes in the back pocket of my dark jeans though. I know I look pretty good in them.

To say I’m apprehensive about publishing this letter is true so I won’t try to justify it. I’ll just do it knowing that it all came from a place of hurt where a wound was left. And I will hope that, like my daughter told me, there is healing in it not just for me, but for anyone else who might need it. But I finished copying and pasting it and then noticed that my sister, oh my God, my wonderful, loving sister wrote things that made me weep and I realize how lucky I am to live in a family of brawny, robust and forceful women. So, here goes.

Christy,

Apparently you are under the impression that I welcomed your advice. Don’t make that mistake again. Let me plainly say that I will not get any more ignorant letters from your or your family. Had you bothered to find out the facts and not rush to judgment, you would see just how foolish your letter was. Even when you state “No one but God knows I am writing you” I realized that you didn’t bother to seek council from any other being because, if they had any sense at all, they would have tried to stop you. You didn’t bother to consult your husband, pastor, or best friend? How sad you don’t trust them to have given you sage advice.

You say that you “feel the Lord” told you to write a letter to me. Well, sometimes God allows people to do stupid things in order to teach them a lesson. For example, Balaam and his donkey were used by God to show foolishness. He thought he was doing the right thing, but it took the donkey to make him stop. Peter was willing to fight with the sword and Jesus rebuked him. He told him that he had his own interests at heart. Hopefully, by now you have seen the error of writing that letter and have learned the lesson God had for you.

You couldn’t be more right when you said it was none of your business. You are, in no stretch of the imagination, an outsider. You have someone else’s well being at stake: your daughter. You are clearly her confidant and want the best for her, but your shortsightedness and ignorance found their way into a barely comprehensible letter.

Most interesting is how you, a person who has met my daughter all of two times, think you know that she feels “she was an accident.” Did you sense that all by yourself? Do you have a degree in child psychology? Somehow, I missed the PhD at the end of your name. Again, you even say in that paragraph that you “don’t know all the details” and that was your clue to stop writing. The kind of letter is one that should be written and then thrown away. If all you wanted to do was praise Mallory, then fine. I would have accepted that. If all you wanted to do was point out to me that my daughter was ungrateful, then shame on you. You don’t even know me. You don’t have any clue about my daughter or how I raised her and you don’t know me. You dropped your shit about your daughter’s hurt and financial well being at MY feet. Since when am I in charge of those things? What business is that to me? I don’t concern myself with the financial situation of others and yet you felt the need to let me in on something your daughter and son-in-law would be appalled to know.

You spend time in your letter telling me that Richard Cranium has felt guilt. Did you think that needed to be told to me? Do you think I care? Who do you think you are? Since when were you appointed the disseminator of information about situations that don’t concern me? A trip out there to visit was offered to my daughter. I did not ask for it. You also say that you appreciate family togetherness. How similar we are! I do, too! After her semester was over I was hoping for some family togetherness and I didn’t get it until she returned from an emotionally exhausting trip to a place where she doesn’t know anyone and in a house that is not her home. She wanted to come home early and that didn’t happen. Do you know why that is? Is it, perhaps, because Richard Cranium didn’t want to spend the extra money to send her home? Is it because he didn’t want to send her back on my time frame? He would have known all this information if he would ask, but since he finds it easier to go through a child and be a coward about it, then there are all kinds of miscommunication and IT’S NOT MY FAULT! So what if I’m “harsh” on the phone? You have my DAUGHTER and there’s nothing more important in the world than my children. And yet Richard Cranium refuses to speak to me because he doesn’t like my tone? Too bad! When you are faking parenting, as he is doing with Mallory, then of course one would screw it up and take the easy way out.

Who in this world doesn’t live “paycheck to paycheck”? Most Americans do and why would you dare point this out to me? How dare you do so in that accusatory tone. If you wonder if Mallory thinks your home is nice and Richard Cranium’s home and his other daughter’s toys are abundant, IT’S BECAUSE THEY ARE! And people who appear to have much, have much. Was it a hologram? Did she imagine it?

How ironic that you would tell me that you expect your daughter to be treated like a queen and be surprised when others want the same. In fact, I don’t want my daughter treated like a queen by him. All she ever wanted and needed was to be treated like a daughter. She needs the space to take and take and expect a lot from him and you don’t want her to because you are concerned about finances. This is obvious because you go to great lengths to explain their finances and how hard things are and yet you say that that was not your intention.

You don’t get to validate my feelings with “I’m sorry you took my letter that way”. You get to take responsibility for opening your mouth and offering unsolicited comments. What a joke when you say that you only live in a large home because of an inheritance. Can’t you sell it? Don’t you want to since you seem intent on bailing your daughter out? Or is it easier to go through my daughter and me and not deal with the real problem…spending money when you don’t have it? Don’t you dare lay their burdens of money on me.

You accuse me of trying to punish Richard Cranium. How would that occur? What are you talking about? What does that even mean? You say that you want me to get over the jealousy Mallory feels toward Richard Cranium’s other daughter? Please, let me know how that is done!!! Write a big book about it and let the whole world know. How selfish of you to keep that precious information to yourself. My, the crises that could be avoided with your infinite knowledge of how to raise children. Unfortunately, you forgot to equip your daughter with a backbone. How can you be surprised at her marriage when you saw what you wanted to see? You accuse me of not having the right answers to handle situations concerning Mallory? I don’t have the answers and I certainly don’t need to hear that from a stranger. Is this how you raised your children by getting ignorant letters in the mail from people you didn’t know and then applying that to their upbringing?

News Flash: he DOES owe her. And no amount of money in the world that he could conjure up would be enough. You suggest that “forgiveness can be shown when [I] and [my] husband and your daughter and Richard Cranium can trust each other and communicate with each other with no jealousy”. This is ludicrous in light of the fact that Richard Cranium isn’t even honest with his own wife. You expect ME to come in and fix that? Something wrong in THEIR marriage? That is laughable and so ridiculous I can’t even begin to respond to it.

Finally, you say that you “want the best for her.” What if the best for her hurts your daughter? What if the best for her means that Richard Cranium has to make some huge sacrifices and grow up? Are you going to accept that? Are you going to be responsible for that, because, frankly, I don’t have time or energy to raise your daughter and her husband, too. I’ve been busy.

I love my tight, curly locks of hair except when all 40 pounds of it are frizzed to the bits and Tina Turner wants the back portion of it for a new wig.

I am kind and helpful except when I am pushed to my limit and you are taking me for granted. Say thank you for crying out loud.

I am dorky and weird about my music except when I am dancing around like a ravemaster and doing some bump-and-grind against the shower curtain.

I am open and eager to learn except when I am going against the grain of my Inner Middle Child and you are trying to get me to obey you.

I am healthy and fit and active except when I am wearing my size 16 pants after downing an entire pineapple upside down cake.

I am not happy with my looks except when I am strutting in my new green and black dress that accentuates everything in all the right places.

I am sanguine about my intellect and Ten Dollar Words except when I just happen to think I’m actually pretty stupid about things.

I am easily excitable and can’t wait to be the center of attention except when I am clearly not the center of attention.

I am fun to play tricks on and prank except when I am just not up for taking your shit today.

I delight in being ladylike and feminine except when I am full of pop and belch like a trucker who doesn’t care who hears it because of spending all day alone in the cab.

I delight in practicing listening skills except when I explode and tell you just where you can shove it.

I have a fondness for learning history except when I am cynical and remember that history belongs to the victors.

I have a proclivity for realizing my potential except when I am having my gifts being hijacked from me to suit another’s purpose.

I am partial to being a party animal except when I am ready to look at the back of my eyelids for a catnap.

I was going to post about letters today and something stopped me. It was getting the sweetest kind of email from a friend and it came just in time. Letter writing is a beautiful art form and she sent something that touched me deeply and included something amazing: Prayers often come from our most vulnerable places. She also asked that I please remember to take a picture of myself just before turning a year older.

This quote is getting to me, too. “I carry with me all my things.” That which is important is always with me. With that in mind, a list of things of which I never tire. Order is of no import:

1. getting an unexpected plate of cookies

2. listening to Ave Maria sung by Stevie Wonder

3. learning something new from something old

4. reading a fantastic book that makes me sad when it ends

5. new carpet smell

6. singing “Funky Cold Medina” to my daughter and her roommates on speakerphone while they laugh at me

7. getting a visit from an old friend and hearing, “No, really. How are you?” in the most earnest manner ever

8. learning new phrases for farting (“Mom, did you just bust a grumpie?” asked my 7th grader. Answer was yes.)

9. having a Come To Jesus meeting with students and seeing them get it

10. black-and-white movies from the 1940s

11. excellent, buttery cake frosting

12. yummy-smelling freshly laundered sheets

13. low clouds on the horizon that resemble mountains

14. looking at maps of places until my eyes cross

15. finding strength I didn’t know I had

16. the peanut-butter colored paint in my sister’s new living room

17. holding my children

18. a fresh, clean face that feels taut and raw yet beautiful

19. baby toes without socks that oddly smell vinegary, but really good

20. having Jacob’s Ladder timed contests with my nieces

Unlike some people, I’m not at all troubled that race has been an “issue” in the current election. I prefer to think of it as a Racial Election Process that we’re currently going through because we’re being forced to process information like never before. This part of our daily lives isn’t so much an “issue” because that implies that it’s something to be dealt with, yet I’d like to offer another perspective: one in which we LIVE with those very real things before our eyes every single day. Sometimes we see it clearly, other times it is pointed out to us, and still others, like the faux-controversy surrounding the LeBron James and Giselle Bundchen magazine cover, are shoved in our faces. We’re told, “Be offended! Be upset! THIS should be causing you discomfort!”

No, thank you. There is enough of it that is real and felt every single day that I don’t need one more.

Race comes up these days as if it’s just another topic of conversation like healthcare and education. Those issues are separate and distinct and don’t even affect every person. If you have healthcare, you don’t tend to engage in conversations about it unless you’re feeling passionate about those who don’t have it, but mostly you go to your doctor and pay your co-pay and get seen for things that don’t take more than an hour out of your work week. Educational issues come up when we’re disgusted with the fact that 4th graders can’t do long division and we wonder who will be the future engineers and bank tellers and computer gurus. Those who don’t have children in school or even public school will weigh in on their repugnance of the state of education and will look to those of us in positions of influence for hope, but few will offer up their time to come into that 4th grade classroom for an hour a week and run through flashcards with James and Marquan and Denise.

Race, however, affects us every single day. Most of the time, we are choosing not to see it.

Don’t be mistaken: I want you to see my color. I want you to embrace my cultural being, not just my “heritage”, but who I am today and who I will be tomorrow and who I’m shaping my own children to be. My fair-skinned red-headed son gets asked weekly, WEEKLY, about being “black”. When his friends see me as I’m picking him up from basketball or taking him to youth group, they wonder. It’s a topic of conversation for these unworldly minds who are accommodating their intellectual reasoning in order to make sense of it so they can LIVE IN IT EVERY DAY.

Why must we adults compartmentalize it and treat it as an “issue” needing to be dealt with? It’s not a rash that requires a salve or a broken dish that needs some super glue.

Don’t deal with my race. Invite me in and get to know me underneath this mocha-colored skin, these odd green eyes, this “interesting” hair. Wonder about what makes me tick, ask what prompted me to make a purchase, inquire about how I came to a conclusion.

But don’t, just DON’T act like you will figure it all out and lean back in your chair while stroking your chin and let out an breathy, “Aaaahhhh” as if you now understand people of color. See my color, please, but love me as a human. View my humanity, but know that I’ve come to This Place in living with these experiences every single day. When you take them apart and try to file them under Cocktail Party Topics I become small to you. Insignificant and unworthy of real examination.

The point is, I’ve been examining you for a long time. I’ve watched you and made note of who you are. The breadth of your experiences get to make up who you are and you’d be horrified to hear me utter, “Aaaahhh” as if I’ve figured you out after one intense conversation.

This election has become a process for Americans and it’s rather painful to go through. For instance, what I thought would be a fascinating dialogue on Professor Kim’s website has sadly, and predictably, become a one-sided conversation once again.

Perhaps what people didn’t like in hearing Rev. Wright’s sermon are such because they are things said in black conversational circles every single day. As way of disclosure, though, I’d like to point out that during this highly political time I have stopped going to my own church because of the stranglehold they seem to have on the Republican Right. It’s not even thinly veiled and I’ve chosen to attend a black church for the time being (and yes, other factors are involved, I’m not that one-dimensional) and when and if that becomes a place where I feel the pulpit is being used to sway my vote, I will leave there, too. My intentions of connecting with God don’t always have ties to my politics. I believe I am influenced by my time with God, but I won’t be led by the convictions of the person happening to stand on the stage.

What I can understand, nevertheless, doesn’t always seem like much. What I can wrap my brain around is a minuscule bit of life, yet I am experiencing it every day. I may walk around the store with my typical white mother, share a steak dinner with my typical white mother, or hold tight to her when she is getting ready to leave on a trip but I am still black every single day. I may walk around with my typical black father and share a meal with him, too, and I am still black. My sisters are still black. That won’t change.

So since live with it and joyously so, can you stop treating it as an “issue” and deal with my blackness? Can you do it every single day?

I do.

Let’s have real discourse about race in all it’s messiness and aches and irritations.

Let’s do it every single day.