'IF I COULD WRITE THIS IN FIRE"

I constantly question why I am often, or so it seems, the lone person who holds a particular position on an issue. I use the criticisms as a way of judging myself. My initial instinct is to always look at myself through another's eyes and then take myself to task for the error. "Why am I always the solitary voice"? Does the fact that it is solitary necessarily make it wrong? I marvel at the simplicity with which others approach my comments, criticisms and judgments. They speak as though they know me; as though their world is mine. They speak in the platitudes and cliches that they have learned. They demand explanations that make sense to them, but the context from which I come and from which I speak made and makes no sense. They violate all the rules with which I grew. People half my age tell me how I should behave; who I should love and why. People explain the logic of their positions--not mine. Logic? Like Jim Crow kinda logic? Law? Like that kinda law? And then there's "love," and I use the term lightly. This is not the kind of love with which I grew. It is not the love I know. This love is a weapon. It whips me into shape. It says "you are my friend," but I bow under the weight of its conditions. It demands "civility, and it demands low tones and avoidance of conflict; it avoids challenge, and it will never, ever say "you're right." In twenty years I have never, been right on any issue that pertained to race. Let me say this again: in twenty years, no white colleague has ever deferred to me when race is the issue. I am astonished. My positions represent "essentialism," and that is another way of saying they don't mean anything to us. It is also another way of saying that I don't know one damn thing about being a black woman in this world. My vision is too narrow; my education is incomplete. The antidote to my ignorance is white women--liberal and learned white women who have studied me, and who "love" me in spite of myself. These are Facebook friendships. We move in and out of them with a click of a key. And so my friend, when did we last share bread or cry together or express the deepest desires of our hearts? When is the last time we took to the open road for a short jaunt or a shopping spree? What is this friendship? It is full of conditions and demands. I do not need this. Relationships in this world are held together by a slender thread. They are easily broken. I have a new approach, much to the chagrin of my beloved. When I see the thread straining, and the relationship hangs in the balance, I ask: What do I lose when I lose this person? What will I miss? How will I suffer from the loss? For the most part, I have a tough time answering those questions in this place of books and knowledge. So let me tell you this: I may not know what love is in this world, but I do know love. It is a love that allows me to be me; a love that encourages me to thrive and think and expand. It is a love that isn't always right, but it is also a love that sometimes says: "Kenny, you're right." The love I know endures through time and distance and conflict of every sort. It endures through hurt and pain. It bounces back with tears and hugs and apologies. It is resilient. That is the love that matters to me. Later.