Living the Dream....or not?

Big Topic on this one that describes a weekend of fun, bliss, a whole lot of walking...and the thought of what if my shoes just so happened to be different. What would walking in another shoes possibly look like?

My feet hurt from all the walking in these tennis shoes this weekend. Perhaps I should have ordered a size up.

I traveled to Nashville for a quick relaxing weekend with a couple of girlfriends. What a fun and cool city. I mean…so chill, so country chic, laidback, but also so much fun. I mean what a blast!

The food was impeccable, unique, southern, homegrown, organic, healthy…take your pick. The atmosphere, wow, the ambiance, the music, the energy…I’m sitting here thinking what a great place to live. I mean the weather is a great medium, not too cold or too warm. Great landscape with a little bit of everything and even environmentally friendly. It really seems like it has it all. But…then, I stop…think…pause…maybe not for my family.

Don’t get me wrong there is some diversity but not much and little intermingling that I saw in this short weekend.

I’ve also felt the restrain from some black people. Like, I can tell they feel the waters first before stepping in. Is she; Isn’t she…a friend? Do I need to remain guarded? Do I need to watch my words, mannerisms, inflection, or where my eyes fall? Ugh…my heart breaks. As a pretty white woman, I’m here just kicking back finding utter relaxation. Just living my best life. Imagining having to live my life everyday guarded, wondering if the smile is genuine from every face mine meets, never feeling like I can just be and let go, how exhausting that must be.

My biggest worry this weekend was where to brunch and how bad my hangover would be.

Don’t get me wrong the southern hospitality is wonderful and certainly the vast majority are not racist or non-friends, but I’m aware now. Like I have woken up since meeting my husband, since my children. Now I know, racism is everywhere, literally. And yes, it can go both ways and or rather, ALL ways. Muslim, Asian, Indian, Black, White, unfortunately racism has no boundaries. For this piece however, I am pulling from my recent experience that just so happens to be in Nashville.

I am ignorantly blinded by never experiencing firsthand myself what it meant to be black. I mean, yes, of course I have been self-conscious, you know, is my mommy belly sticking out, do I look pretty today or bloated…you know, the usual completely unnecessary self-doubt that truly means next to nothing, yet I still allow to consume me. I’ve experienced ignorance against my family and the fact that I am with my beautifully black husband. That we have mixed kids and that either something must be wrong with me for me to want to be with my husband or something wrong with my husband for being with me. But never, have I ever questioned even for a single moment…am I even welcomed here? Did I get seated in the corner for a reason? Sitting here now writing this in the café, I am well positioned in the front and center by myself with warm smiles all around me. The three black ladies who just walked in though, for some very strange reason were walked all the way to the back of the room to the corner table, literally passing up thirty or so other options. And I am certain they did not request it because I am close enough to the host stand.

In this short weekend I’ve seen eyes roll, felt the disdain some ‘douche bag’ was spewing in his energy when a black guy with impeccable rhythm started dancing around or too close to a white woman or even when the black guy would smile too big because he apparently was having too much fun.

I witnessed the beautiful black girl…I mean seriously body banging, gorgeous face, flawlessly put together…treated less than on the dance floor. Like the polite requests for dances went only to the white girls but the black girl…nah. She was lucky he even wanted to.

Yes, I know…I just threw up in my mouth a little too.

Momma bear viciously comes out thinking of my son and daughter, light skinned selves. They may have a better go but damn. How could I protect them from that? How can I? No matter where they are, they will someday and in some way experience racism.

It makes me so angry when white people, who are racist, rather they want to admit it or not, talk about the angry black woman or the angry black man. Shit…I am pissed just writing this. I can’t imagine living it daily. How much strength and GOD given compassion any black person who can somehow still find a warm smile after a single day in their shoes.

Instead of thinking even for a moment of the ‘angry black woman’ or the ‘angry black man’ perhaps we need to start changing it to ‘strong black woman’ or ‘strong black man’. GOD made me the way I am because I know, and HE knows, I wouldn’t be strong enough to live in those shoes.