Journal Entry 17520

Haven’t written for a minute, although not for a lack of ideas. Call it a crisis of confidence, I find myself not sure of what to do and riddled with anxiety. Indecision, insecurity, and insomnia are not an ideal trifecta. Sure, I am accustom to judgement, rejection, and jeering…to being misunderstood, reduced to the simplistic perception of a happy Negro, an angry Black woman, or invisible. I’m embarrassed to say that I still think I don’t deserve the space to just stop – catch my breathe, to clear my mind, or at least give it a rest. Is it possible to over think how to stop over thinking? I wonder about my ancestors who didn’t have space, whose day to day struggles far outweighed mine. Yet, they kept going. They didn’t stop. Feels as if I am stumbling along in a writer’s wilderness with unforgiving topography. Does anything I write matter, is it doing any good? Will it be used against me because now satire causes lawsuits not laughter?

Each day news is breaking, and at times the news breaks me. Heartbreaking and horrific stories that must be reported – stories that must be told. Journalists putting themselves in harms way to shine a light, are increasingly becoming part of the news they report, as they are harassed and attacked for reporting a fact. At times I think, what would Ron Burgundy and Veronica Corningstone do? How would they deliver the daily doses of devastation that are inescapable and unimaginable. Perhaps newsrooms are stocked with scotch. I’m not a journalist, I don’t have executive producers. I’m not an influencer, there are no advertisements on Namaste Negro, only words of good intention. While pondering my purpose, I think aloud, am I choosing wisely? Like choosing to chug milk as Ron Burgundy did while a distraught haggard mess, perhaps continuing to be vulnerable on Namaste Negro is a bad choice too, especially in the midst of whatever this is that I am in the midst of, while a distraught haggard mess. Alas, Ron Burgundy had being white, male, and exceptional jazz flute skills going for him. Most of my books aren’t even leather bound. Nevertheless, I will continue to try, and fail, to keep it classy.

Levity lets me live.

Leave a Reply