The One about how Representation Matters

Hey y’all,

It’s been a long time since last I blogged but my husband’s been out of town, and to be quite frank, I’m quite literally lost without him.

Since bae is coming back to me soon (and I anticipate that a whole lot of “holiday cheer” will keep us busy), I have decided to dedicate some time to getting a few things off my chest.

And there are so many of the things - for future blog posts because one of you told me I was long-winded, lol.

I want to talk about the new movie Queen and Slim and the unwarranted critique (from the black community) of a movie that, in my humble opinion, masterfully captured the anticipation of indefatigable pain through thoughtful soundscapes, interesting cinematography and appropriate lighting of black skin. I want to talk about my weight loss/gain/loss journey. I want to talk about being married and the art of farting - do you or don’t you do it in the bed with your partner - and when does a dutch oven stop being funny? Spoiler alert: a dutch oven will never stop being funny.

All of these things - I will address - at some point soon.

But for today, I want to talk about representation.

Not necessarily the kind of representation that D.C. residents, Puerto Ricans, American Samoans, Guamanians, Virgin islanders and Marshall Islanders lack - you know - representation in Federal government.

Or maybe I am.

I want to talk about how powerful it is to see yourself in the world - successful versions of yourself.

I’ve been thinking about this a lot as I attempt to navigate my way around the DMV - and I can’t help but feel like an outsider because . . . well because of a lot of reasons. Most important to me is the fact that I am black - not black enough that the lululemoners cross the street when I walk by but definitely black enough for plain clothes security to follow me around bloomingdales.

I’ve told this story before, but it bears repeating. Being in D.C. is difficult for me because I feel like the city has all but eradicated folks who look like me. My husband and I first arrived a few weeks ago and met a friend for Brunch on the iconic U street. Once a bastion for black life teeming with diversity, I stepped outside of our car and onto a street where I was the only person of color. As my husband and I began our brief journey down the sidewalk to our destination, a group of people were walking towards us.

Now - as someone from the south - I tend to walk to the right to allow space for foot traffic from the opposite direction. This group didn’t subscribe to this - they chatted amongst themselves as they took up the entire sidewalk and made no move to provide my husband and me with the courtesy of being allowed to stay on the very same pathway. They came closer - and as they were unwilling to give up space, I was forced to really look at them and the first thing I noticed was that they made no move to even look at us. They did not acknowledge our existence. They continued on the path at such a clip that I was forced to step into the street. There was no acknowledgement of them taking up . . . too much space. There was no acknowledgement of my humanity. My husband can attest to the fact that I just kind of stood there with my mouth agape at the scene. To be honest - a fairly harmless and somewhat innocuous scene to you the reader or even to the passersby.

But for me - it was an existential moment. Quite literally - this group did not know I existed or more nefariously, preferred that I didn’t.

It’s a toxic way for me to navigate life - to assume so much malice from humanity. I am very proud to say that I have sought counseling for this over the years. I try not to wear my “otherness” on my shoulder. I try to give people the benefit of the doubt. I try to pray for people and I certainly do my best (but fail) to not overanalyze situations like the one above. But it is difficult.

This little story was no more than 30 seconds - a fleeting moment - but D.C. meant so much to me because, like Atlanta where I’m from, it is the home of so much black excellence. Representation matters. When I see someone who looks like me succeeding, I know I can succeed too.

If you guys want to cackle, I highly suggest you find Ms. Flame Monroe on the youtubes somewhere. Somewhere on the innanets, this transgender goddess recounts a time when she was little when she met someone androgynous for the first time - and for the first time thought that she was going to make it. That she was going to be alright because someone else in the world was “making it” who looked like her.

As a gay black man - I can empathize with Ms. Monroe. Perhaps for the first time in my career, I had a boss who looked like me. Stunning, black, bold, beautiful, gay, daring . . . and successful. Being himself and being successful were not incongruous. And they never were . . . over the last few years, I have built up the courage to believe that I could also, one day, be like him.

It is hard for me to explain in words the type of healing I experienced - a healing I didn’t even know I needed. Most people who know me think of me as this super extroverted, perhaps overly confident being. The truth - like for so many of us - is that I’m making up shit as I go along - faking it till I make it - hiding the tears behind the pursuit of excellence (whatever the hell that is) . . .

Being in the same space as this beautiful soul facilitated the creation of a space through which I could become the best version of myself - and potentially be a light for someone else the way my mentor has been a light for me.

For me - being the best version of me means being me unapologetically. I am who I am and I have come to love and accept who I am . . . perhaps more importantly, I have shared my journey with those coming behind me.

I have to say - I have never felt bolder than the time I simply told me story - my truth. I was in Algiers in the American cultural center with young people eager to talk in English. It was gay pride month and I told my story. I sat there and said “I am gay and married to a man” to a group of people who had probably never met an openly gay man before. I invited them to ask me questions and walked away shaken by the experience but humbled that I could be myself for someone else.

A few months later - a kid from the audience found me on facebook and sent me this long message about how much it meant to them to see me - he never said the word gay or even what the talk was about - but he just kept emphasizing how much “it” meant to him. I have to admit that I teared up a little bit because the universe allowed me to help someone simply by living in my truth and representing something that otherwise was not represented in Algeria. After I left the country, a few more people found me and told me that my presence as an openly gay person was missed.

This wasn’t terribly eloquent and I certainly haven’t done this topic the type of justice it deserves, but I am very thankful not only for the opportunity to be around diverse groups of people and learn from them - but I am forever grateful for the rare opportunity to see what I can become through folk who look like me.

Peace and blessings, y’all . . .

LKB