Visible but not seen
Written midday after a Twitter interaction where the freshman congresswoman Cori Bush recounted how others thought she was Breonna Taylor.
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.
I have put in the miles to achieve United 1K status. I remember as I was making my way up the status hierarchy, I would often be asked if I was aware what line I was in, as if to make sure I was in the correct place, because apparently I look like someone who would not understand the airplane boarding system - or be in the 1K line.
I confess: I get a little gleeful everytime I board and my presence disrupts the homogeneity of the process and the cabin. I am often the only one that looks like me there.
If conversation happens on my flight - something I rarely encourage - this is the usual series of questions:
“Where do you live? Bay Area. Oakland?” No, Marin.
“How many kids do you have?” None.
“Who do you work for?” I have my own national consulting practice working with philanthropies and nonprofits and I direct a global initiative. (no lie - that feels really weird to say)
This is usually where the exchange ends. They have no idea where to go next. At this point, I turn back in. My noise canceling headphones go on. The laptop opens. My body is still there, but I am mostly in my head and heart, where who I am and how I am is dictated only by me.
Dr. Chera Reid shared this article with me, which captures far more eloquently the backstory and truth to my limited experiences.