Atlas

Yesterday I was listening to a friend talk in class and it stirred something in me that has always been there. I guess I used to see it as the “rock” in my rock bottom, but as I listened to this woman speak I realized that it wasn’t a rock at all. So immediately I asked myself, as I’m sure you just did, “well if it’s not a ‘rock’, what is it?” Now this is the type of question I ask myself all the time in life. I’m am 100% what you would call a thinker, I live in my head and consider things all the time. Sometimes for the best and other times to my own detriment, no doubt it’s led to my introvert monicker and just yesterday I was schooled during acting class about how much I tend to lean towards my logic instead of just reacting in the moment. So when I asked myself this profound question about my own foundations that I’ve never once questioned over 30 years, I expected there to be a lot of pontificating and soul searching and maybe some dreams that I could could then try to figure out the symbology to! Instead, I got an immediate answer: Atlas. Followed by, “and Atlas is tired.”

Now, admittedly, I’m a huge nerd, so I know exactly who Atlas is. But for those of you who are unfamiliar with who Atlas was, he was the Titan responsible for holding up the world(and the only Titan allowed to remain after the Greek Gods, led by Zeus, rebelled against the Titans and banished them to Tartarus). Anyway, I realized my own personal Atlas has been working overtime since, basically always. I’m not talking about my daily, weekly, or monthly responsibilities or financial responsibilities or any of the stuff that typically weighs on a person. I’ve been repressing and holding down parts of myself that have been for the comfort and benefit of others, and much to the detriment of myself. It’s Black History Month so obviously the first thing that comes to mind is anything involving race. From the thousands of times I’ve been told “you’re very articulate” or “I saw your picture in the app, but on the phone you sound like a white guy”, to my own refusal to show emotional extremes, especially any level of anger, because I don’t want to be seen as a typical “angry black man”. I make sure to give women as much space as possible when passing on the street or seem as unthreatening as possible when I come up behind people who probably aren’t paying attention. I try to seem as casual and personable as I can when asking for assistance or attempting to return a dropped item to a stranger. And probably most profoundly I never make eye contact with or show any kind of disrespect to officers of the law because honestly, I have no idea what might happen. These are things I pile onto Atlas on a daily basis here in New York City, melting pot of America if not the world. However, I was raised in Dallas, Texas, where I was one of two black kids in elementary school, one of 5 in jr. high, and while I was one of many in high school, none of the other black kids were like me. A fact that I was reminded of daily when I tried to use stereotypical black slang or make stereotypical black remarks, only to be met with a reminder of how “white I sound” or have the same stereotypes thrown back at me when it was convenient for those around me. To this day I’ve only dated a women of color, and the relationships I’ve had with white women were generally based off the idea that I was just black enough to check a box and just white enough to be comfortable. I’ve become so good at getting parents and family members comfortable with their daughters dating the first black guy ever in their family, that I’ve the parents and even West Texas grandparents call/email/or pass messages to me asking how I’m doing and flat out tell me how much they wish I was still with their daughter/granddaughter instead of the white guy they’re now seeing. I’ve created catch phrases for frequently asked questions(statements) like “you play basketball right?” To which I say, “black people either dance/run/or play basketball. I do of the three and basketball isn’t one of them.” There’s much more to me and all black people, but it gets a laugh and saves me from explaining how I never played basketball bc I was busy playing every other sport under the sun as a child including tennis, karate, wrestling, and other non-stereotypical sports for a black kid in the nineties.

For the longest time I’ve worked as hard as I could to not see the daily disruptions and compromises I’ve had to work through as a black man in America. And I think I would have continued to had I not had the opportunity to travel abroad and interact with people and communities where race was either not a factor or in some cases even celebrated. I’ll never forget walking into a coffee shop in Sweden and seeing only the most beautiful, blonde haired/blue eyed men and women I’d ever seen. I didn’t realize that I had stopped in the doorway and was staring until I realized that they all had stopped talking and were staring back, expressions clear on their face, “who is this beautiful man who just walked in the door?” Women were smiling, whispering to friends, and giving every signal that I should approach. But more importantly the men didn’t seem to get defensive or intimidated, they actually smiled at me and nodded their heads and encouraged the women with them to talk with me. I know this sounds braggadocios, and you don’t know me enough to know that despite my looks, skills and accomplishments, I’m painfully, but all that aside this never happens to me. And if it does it’s bc one person has a black guy fetish and at this point that’s something I can see coming a mile away. But to be acknowledged by a room full of stereotypically “perfect”(depending on who you ask) humans and be seen in an instantly positive light, and have that happen for the first time ever at the age of 28? In a foreign country? It changes you, on a level you might not be able to understand unless you live through the full experience.

So, as we enter Black History Month, I think I’m going to a page from my friend and try to relieve some of the pressure on Atlas. I’m going to be unapologetically who I am, not in an aggressive or indignant way, but a way that is true to myself and let’s the world know and more specifically allows me to live as a truly equal human being on this earth. With my own thoughts and feeling and deserving of the same level of respect.

Disclaimer: This and all of my posts reflect my own discoveries and experiences that I encounter in life. We all have different life experiences and I do not mean to infer that one race or group of people are solely to blame for all problems that I or others experience in the world. I truly try to understand the experiences of others and encourage others to do the same, despite how uncomfortable it may be at first, which it will be. Keep and open mind and know that while you may be a member of the group that historically created today’s environment, learning the whole picture isn’t a personal attack. In actuality it will give you the tools to more accurately converse with people different from yourself.