Often I write in groupings — three to four ideas at a time. The themes may or may not be connected, although clearly for me there is a thread.

When they come, they come fast and easy — the words, the ideas and the feelings. But often they simmer for days/weeks. I try not to force it, but pay attention to what I cannot seem to contain.

Today is not a day to celebrate, but to acknowledge.

Black bodies continue to be the fuel that makes this place; be we breathing or not.

Tomorrow is another day.

The events of this weekend at the Brooklyn Center in Minnesota and the news of what happened in December in Windsor, VA. compelled me to reach out to them. I am one who believes you say what you feel to the people you care about. Life is precious and the past 18 months has solidified that for me in even more profound ways.

This morning I joined 60+ from people around the world to celebrate the passing — at 99 years of age — of a magnificent woman. There were childhood friends, those who were with her in the last years and children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren. Almost 100 years of relationships. It was remarkable. Just thinking about it brings a tear to my eyes.

I’ve been sensing this for a while now — since late 2019 really. 

My heart has more capacity than is currently being accessed. It doesn’t feel empty, but rather not as full as it could be.

I decided that for me to thrive in 2021 I need to channel my energy differently. I will no longer get swept up in the small minded, shortsightedness and single mindedness of so many — and instead focus my energies on light, love, laughter and liberation.

As a Black woman, I must choose every word carefully as well as the ‘tone’ in which it is delivered. An email the other day with a tone that I myself could never get away with made this delicate dance more alive for me. 

I have no intention of sharing this until February or March. As I write that, I know that I have no idea what will be front and center then but it will be different than today.

I have spent the last half of 2020 trying not to be triggered. Needless to say, not easy given the state of things. My emotional well is deep but not wide and I learned in my 20s that if I go beyond my capacity it does not go well (for anyone).

It is late for me. 7:00 am. I am sitting on the side of the bed. The sun is rising. Window open. The air is cool and crisp. The crows are letting themselves be known. I hear the sounds of children and the tinkle of a dog collar.

I awakened today to the call of my name, “Jara“. It was not of this world. It was not a cry of fear or alarm but rather, now that I think of it, a call to be — fully.

If you follow me on Twitter, you know I have posted more than a few times about how I surprisingly miss hotel bars the most when I find myself reminiscing about certain aspects of business travel. As I have wondered why that is, I thought it would be interesting for my own reflection (and for those of you who may be feeling the same way) to try to understand what it is it that I experience and enjoy in the usual emptiness of hotel bars, which I still feel the absence of a year into the pandemic.

What I know is that...

I don’t know everything.

There was a good three year period back in the mid-2000s when I wondered if my MPH was enough to validate my knowledge and expertise. I understood that there are certain titles in this world in which I work that serve as proof of worthiness and intellect in a capitalistic system. And so, like so many of us have done, I made a calculated decision that, given where I was in my career and what the work I was doing, it would not advance significantly my efforts, so I let the idea of getting a PhD go.

I find myself taking—when I remember to do so—longer, deeper and fuller breaths that fill my body. I pay more attention to the exhale and then pause before I inhale again.

I no longer take it for granted that it will always be easy, even though it is more challenging than it used to be. Trauma will do that.

I had every intention of writing on New Year’s Day…

In a little more than 24 hours 2020 will be no more. It will be the past. A past, like others, holds within it memories and moments that have changed us all.

As the year comes to an end, I have had a bit more space and with this space, I am paying more attention to my mind, heart and body.

It’s Sunday, November 22, in the early evening. This has been running through my head for a few months now. It’s kind of an obsessive fear. Rather than it being a critique of others, I landed on a note to self.

I texted a friend the other day that I craved to be ‘present without performance.’ I’ve been sitting with it for a while trying to figure out what I meant by that. Why something feels different now.

I am an interchangeable Black female. I feel this most when I travel. The narrative that accompanies my physical self is likely far from reality.