Tuesday, December 28, 2010

Coloring Outside the Lines

Maybe its because I'm an oldest child, coming from a long line of oldest children (or oldest girl children at the very least), but its hard for me to color outside the lines. My sister pulled out a coloring book and crayons and as I sat trying to color in a picture, I neatly traced the outline of the figures, then carefully colored in the various pictures/shapes/etc. At some point, I thought to myself, why do I feel the need to trace the figure before I color it in, why don't I just color and see where it takes me. I dared myself to color outside the lines, but I couldn't do it. I literally couldn't color outside of the lines in a coloring book, which raises many questions for me about how I can or can't color outside of the lines in a more figurative sense.

As is natural I'm sure, with about two and a half weeks left until our baby is due, questions about motherhood swirl in my brain constantly. At the same time, questions of when and how to pursue a Ph.D. also swirls. I wonder if I want to pursue that degree for the sole purpose of coloring within the lines of some predefined definition of who I am, or if its something I really want. I'm unclear. If its a definition that I've imposed upon myself, can't I just redefine? If its deeper than that, how do I figure out what the root cause is?

Revolutionaries don't color inside the lines. People who actually make a difference, impact other people's lives don't do so by coloring within the lines. Does that mean that I'll have a hard time being consequential? I suppose that's maybe what it all boils down to....

As I finish this post the wind is swirling outside my window, its still dark, early in the morning. The wind doesn't try to be consequential, but is nevertheless. I suppose a fear is that some people are born with the gifts to make a difference, and some other people, no matter how hard they try, aren't.

Thursday, December 23, 2010

To be young, gifted, and Black:

I sit with a swollen belly, before a mountain of housework and I wonder what it means to be young, gifted, woman, and Black.

I contemplate the greatness of motherhood in the shadow of a job I don’t have, and degrees that currently only keep my dusty resume warm at night.

I wonder, if I’ll one day be ready to let the little boy or girl in my womb go to daycare, so that I may resume my quest to be identified as one of the young, gifted, and Black.