It’s been a while since I’ve posted on Freedomreeves.com. This entire time I’ve been thinking about posts I want to write, but my perfectionist-rooted procrastination has reached epic heights. The purpose of this post is not only to share a brief update with my much-appreciated readers, but it is also an attempt to break the shackles of perfectionism that have prevented me from committed to a regular writing and publishing habit.
Since the last time I posted on Freedomreeves.com, I’ve done the following:
- Deleted all my photos from Instagram (I’ll explain why in a future post).
- Wrote a post on Medium about why Kendrick Lamar’s call for self-love shouldn’t be dismissed as being “new black” (gosh I hate that phrase. Seriously. Again, if I have the strength, I’ll write about why in a post).
- Had several breakthroughs/breakdowns related to teaching (I’ll explain in a future post, and in more detail, in a memoir one day).
- Created a sisterhood of women who believe in a feminine-centered approach to health, wellness and spirituality (another post, perhaps another blog).
- Have decided to embark on a creative project, and made some serious life changes in order to do so (as for when I’m going to make with the details, if your guess was “…in a future post,” you is right!).
In the meantime, to inform my latest creative project, I’ve been looking at several short films (*HINT*). My research will continue, but I wanted to share some of the short films I’ve been enjoying lately.
I woke up at 4am on the morning of Tuesday, November 25th. I was faced with a challenge: In four hours, I would stand in front of four classrooms filled with young black people, in the aftermath of a grand jury’s decision to not indict Michael Brown’s murderer, Police Officer Darren Wilson. The night before, the decision and the collective emotions on Twitter had me so fatigued that the mental line I had drawn, the line that allows me to separate constructive anger from blind, reactive rage, was diced. I went to sleep early. Never before had the great moral weight of being a teacher felt so heavy to me.
When I log on to Tumblr or Twitter nowadays, useful, fun and inspiring content is being replaced by venting gone viral. I see responses to people who say things like “You’re cute for a black girl, are you mixed?” or any other example of plain social ineptitude, tinged with colonized non-thinking and poor manners. While the shares and retweets abound, I find myself unable to relate.
Sunday night, I was watching TV at my mom’s house when she came in, demanding that I change the channel.
“Turn it to the Billboard Music Awards! I want to see Michael Jackson’s performance.”
I paused. Michael Jackson died in 2009. I heard that there would be a Michael Jackson tribute, but I assumed that it would be done by other artists. I soon realized that even the King of Pop was not excluded from the Tupac at Coachella/Jem and the Holograms treatment.
We sat there, speechless, as an image of something resembling Michael Jackson bounced across the stage like a Windows screensaver.
The performance ended, the cameras panned to non-celebrity members of the audience (The celebs were hopefully as horrified as any other person watching at home), and my mom, the same woman who has every Michael Jackson performance recorded on VHS, got up and said, “You can change it now.” read more…
When blogger Karyn Washington died of depression (I put it this way because depression is a disease that can kill, suicide is just the way it happens), the sadness I felt was stifling. The tragedy created an opportunity to talk about how depression affects young women of color, but I was overwhelmed by the inaccurate and potentially harmful information and opinions about suicide and depression that were being spread. I had reservations about exposing my personal struggle with depression in TheRoot.com, but I decided to for three reasons: read more…