Fizzling magic, near-sighted vision, Black woman! Stand up, stand still…breathe.
If you ever want to get on the bad side of my nerves, allow me to spend several minutes being vulnerable as I share my indecision about a personal crisis or impending crossroads. Then respond with carelessly tossed out advice to “do what’s outside of my comfort zone.’
As well-meaning as this so-called wisdom may be, it is guaranteed to aggravate me to no end because it is usually generic and ultimately meaningless without giving any thought to the receiving audience: ME.
Personally (meaning as it solely pertains to me, Yvette Renee Johnson), doing something "different" is actually doing what comes naturally...while ignoring raised eye brows, presumptuous arguments, and myopic naysayers. For too many years, I smothered my inner voice in pursuit of socially performing and doing what I thought I should be doing: fitting in—being the “smart one” aka the successful black girl—doing thee most and casting spells of black girl magic <insert finger snaps, an asymmetric afro, and a slight sneer for dramatic effect>—and standing out in ways that made me appear to be more than what I truly was, but less of who I actually am. It was a game that many in my circle at the time played: we were all about image and less about substance and as long as our public social media pages were updated with the latest accomplishments (real or exaggerated), those producing less could schmooze accolades and offer perfunctory applause that allowed us to slip under the radar of mediocrity.
Smoke and mirrors.
Unsatisfying shadows.
It will never cease to amaze me. Sometimes the best view of ourselves is thru a broken lens (or thru the hindsight of copaid therapy, whichever one can afford)—and when the jagged pieces of a misaligned perspective better come together, the image seen startles us into proper, however untimely, self-reflection.
Unsurprisingly, one day I looked up from the bottom of the bell curve and realized I wasn’t where I expected—everything stacked in my “I did it!” pile, hadn’t been part of my raw, angsty OG plan and wasn’t even necessarily what I wanted. I’d given my heart to things (and in some cases, people) I didn’t even value.
But shaking off that trail of dust to get back to my original point: I'm ALWAYS doing something outside of my comfort zone. That’s legit been my entire life for the past 15 to 20 years. I've dated people I didn't initially find attractive. I stayed when I wanted to leave. Left when all I wanted to do was hold on. I got in front of a camera. Been awkward and open with strangers. Had way too many hard conversations and also struggled thru mind-numbingly simplistic ones…. I switched it up ever so often whether it was a new school, a job, or where I lived. Cut, dyed, bleached and fried my hair. I submitted the art to the contest even when I didn’t feel worthy. I started the group(s) when no one else would. I led the projects. I've spoken up. Executed the plans. All of the things. Been there. Done that. Tried this. Attempted that.
Guess what?
The majority of it wasn’t anywhere near all of me (cue John Legend and the love song I’m singing to the ‘me’ I’ve ignored for so many years because how many of us know that the deepest cut is the one we inflict on ourselves?) At best what I presented was a dichotomous 25%, maybe more if I sprinkle in the times I put a toe in the unexplored and uncontrived depths of my own creativity. But even that small percentage has been so overused, overexposed, and overcooked that the rest of me is screaming behind the walls of my mind, demanding to be let out and given full reign—to grow, to explore, to be.
At my core I'm an introvert that prefers to be curled up with a book, creating in private, and interacting with as little people as possible. I don’t like the spotlight. I don’t like anything “hard”. I don’t want to be the spokeswoman for anything but my own damn thoughts. I don’t like forced interactions because I learned the hard way that many folks are boring, can’t be trusted, or are only as intellectually deep as the all-American pot holes on the fools gold road that errbody and their mama swears we should want to travel.
Lost in time are the precious few moments where I’ve felt celebrated in the skin that I’m in or have been welcomed in spaces that embraced my authenticity without some form of judgement or censure. What recourse does one have when much of life has been lived behind a conventional, palatable mask, and its the unpredictability of the innately familiar that makes one ultimately uncomfortable? I believe the answer to my own question is worth discovering.
This specific season of my life is about only doing what makes me absolutely comfortable and what transforms my inner chaos into peace. I’m tired of shaking ish up by leaping head-first and then figuring out the details later—of doing a beleaguered clean up under the watchful gaze of those who never tried anything outside of the norm. I’ve been more accustomed to the conformity of “safe” and subservient upheaval than being true to myself and moving in cadence with the rhythm of my own beat. This may or may not be the opposite direction that most of everyone else is going in, which as always, is fine by me (especially as we older millennials are kicking the can down the road to age 40 and the obligatory mid-life crisis looms before us). As I’ve discovered, where “they” are going isn't somewhere I usually want to be.
My journey is my own. The path: freedom. Even while I have very little clue of the entirety of the unbeaten path that is directly ahead of me, the smile I wear is for once, guarded yet genuine.
“Above all else, guard your heart,
for everything you do flows from it.”
Until next time,
Yve
Even though I’ve been feeling very blurry lately….things are slowly starting to come into focus.
