I want to speak for the endurance race, to draw attention to the rhythm that lies beneath the ballistic pulse of the news cycle, of bills and bombings and even of elections. There is a more plodding, concurrent tempo at the scale of time in which plants manage to grow through concrete. There is power in this rhythm if we tend to it.
Seeing images of 'excellent' black people all over the media was relieving, but I wouldn’t say it’s liberating enough. Don’t get me wrong, I want to keep seeing us represented in the media and workplace because we are valuable and worth recognition. This representation continues to give me life. However, this 'excellence' title puts a pressure on me to prove something to the world. Yes, my blackness is amazing, great, beautiful and wonderful. But I'm beyond those words. I'm no longer comparing myself to those that don’t represent me. I am not better or less than anyone, and I don’t feel this desire to prove my beauty anymore. Instead, I am defining myself as Yvette and trying to find/create space to allow this current process to happen. What does it look like to be me? And is excellence constraining the dynamic ups and downs that I live?
Words like excellence don’t always give me that space. Excellence sees me as a high and mighty person who can do no wrong. I am up to date, I am in fashion and I’m doing it effortlessly. But I'm not top notch. I break down. I can be wrong. I make bad decisions. I don’t always fit what’s in fashion. I don’t deny the excellence of black people. But I can’t be branded with that word. I am a black woman with many other identities that twist and turn my habits. I am a black woman who has many ideas and no idea of what she’s doing in life. So give me space to break down and be a mess. Give me space to say the wrong thing and reflect.
Why build us a life here just to
end it? I kept dry eyes -- I swear -- I stood
stronger than I looked. I stood fragile and
heavy as a honeybee. So did he.