–teaching the skill of love with radical acceptance–
–teaching the skill of love with radical acceptance–
It’s interesting how in our efforts to appear more righteous than we really are that we fail to be righteous at all, and we fall victim to our own self-righteousness. In this post, I believe I on to something about what it means to truly care for others, everyone–not just some of us.
This post was inspired by an act that most of us do everyday. You may have even had the same experience that I had. Take a listen. Let me know if you’ve looked at yourself and wondered any of the “interesting” stuff I’m about to say.
Ten lessons that I have learned (and counting) on what good leaders do. I’m sure there is more to come, so stay tuned as the journey continues.
This post is an idea that I had about another nature of respect; an idea that eventually became my reality. I guess I got myself told.
A straight-talking word about self-love and self-hatred; unity and tribal community; it’s about at least two types of Negroes that descended from enslaved Africans in America–one that love being Black and one that hates everything that is Black.
The scarey, circular predicament that characterizes the tragedy of being human. Huh? We do things that don’t make sense but we can’t help it–we are only human. I get it, but it’s still tragic.
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Have you ever thought that there may be another explanation to the “crabs in the barrel” phenomenon? Well, I did. Here’s mine.
I got a flash for others like myself who think you got yo shh-stuff together: “You just think you do.” Trust me, someone or something will come along and show you who you really are. Okay, ” who you really are ALSO.” I recall the story a Preacher once told about a newlywed couple who, changed their opinion of each other after they had been married about 3 months. The preacher (Rev. Foster) said that the gentleman was always putting is best foot forward; but his sweetheart should have had “sense enough to know he had another foot!” Well, y’all we each have another foot. Let me just call myself out: “I have another foot.”
This is hard for me, but it’s important for me to acknowledge. I, now, know what sexists, racists, ageists, heterosexists, ableists, colorists, and classists must feel. THEY HAVE NO IDEA THAT THEY ARE any of these things. They are nice people with gay and/or Black friends. They go to church or synagogue or mosque; they give to charities and homeless men and women on the street (sometimes); they help friends and neighbors move, and give rides to strangers (on occasion). BUT, they have another foot. Okay, we have another foot. Where am I going with all of this?
The best we can do is try to live with our duality. We are nice people (most of us). And the other not-so-nice people have another foot too–they just choose to step on people more, so we don’t get to see their other foot as much. But, it’s there, I know it. But, for the “good” (wink, wink) people, we must recognize that we are human. We eat, breathe, sleep, bleed, yes, and sh/defaecate. I don’t know why we try to live as if we don’t eliminate. We do. It’s necessary for cleansing and other very important bodily functions. It’s human, I’m human. And as much as I hate my humanity–the ugly stuff I do, think, and sometimes say, it’s a part of who I am.I need both of me. Remember when Superman realized that he needed both parts of himself to be Superman? Yeah, it’s like that. Both me’s make me who I am. I need them both to help me be the best me possible
Debra: “My name is Debra and I am human.”
Other Humans: Hi Debra!
Lately, I’ve been thinking about what it means to be mature. I’ve been noticing the behavior of individuals over 30 and wondering if some of the things that these people are doing aren’t a bit juvenile, you know, immature. I began to wonder, “When do we grow up?” The more I thought about it the more I realize that is not about maturity, but about choices. It is about learning from mistakes (not necessarily ours) and making a decision to make better choices in the future. It’s also about forgiveness and grace. In other words forgiving (giving grace) those who let us down in some way and then not allowing their mistake (immaturity) to infect our behavior.
Plainly put, if we blame someone for WHAT THEY DID TO US then that behavior becomes a part of the way we live our lives. What’s my logic? Question, “Have you ever seen someone commit the same wrong to someone else that was done to them?” The behavior has become a part of their lives so much that they can’t recognize that it is influencing them. So my conclusion is that we are a lot of little boys and girls residing in adult men’s and women’s bodies—getting someone back for what they did. Only we’re not “getting” the person who did the wrong, we’re getting someone else for it. The culprit may not even know that they did anything wrong, because many times we don’t (sometimes can’t) tell them–we just blame them and make someone else pay.
Now, I know there are some things that are unforgivable (it seems). But I wonder if holding on to unforgiveness worth what it’s costing us. Yes, this post was supposed to be about maturity, and it is. We can’t grow up because we won’t forgive; and forgiveness is a choice. If we find a way to forgive, we just might find that we will begin making more mature decisions. Hmmm, this may not be about maturity; this just may be about personal growth, which–like maturity–may come at any age. Word.
Can’t you just hear Dr. King saying this? As I watched the over quarter-a- million Americans in the audience on August 28, 1963, I couldn’t help but wish that I was one of those 5-year-olds sitting on my daddy’s shoulders, not really knowing what was going on; but knowing that it was something special. Dr. King talked about the difficult realities of Black Americans, as he envisioned his “dream” for all Americans. He unapologetically and poignantly acknowledged that racism was still a harsh reality for Americans of color and offered that our country was not living up to its creed of equality. Beautiful ideas, eloquent words make up The Emancipation Proclamation, yet the Negro was (and is) not free. Not free in the real sense of the word; only free enough to voice dissent; but not free enough for that voice to matter.
Freedom continues to be our plea. It continues to be our hope. And as my friends and I sang songs of patriotism, as we waited for the second swearing-in of President Barak Obama, we knew in our hearts that the words of Francis Scott Key were written at a time when our ancestors were not considered “really” human. We sang, “I like it here” (my favorite) with such pride, knowing that the wrong kind of protest could cost us our lives. As I sang, I wonder why I was feeling such pride, awe, even patriotism. It seemed like such a contradiction to me, but I sang nonetheless. I kept singing because I too I have a hopeful dream that one day someone in my ancestry will be able to sing these songs without duplicity, without feeling like a house nigga–someone who “love the massah more than they self.” My descendants will know that I and those before me had every right to sing these songs; because, we help build this great country. My dream is that by that time, the branches of my family tree will experience the fullness of what it means to be an American without footnotes. This is my dream, today.
