Estimated Reading Time: 4 minutes
“Good conversations is as stimulating as black coffee and just as hard to sleep after.”
-Anne Morrow Lindbergh
Hi.
….
Yes….I know.
It’s been five months….
Forgive me and let me explain.
The last time I sat at my desk and words flowed as June 8, 2020. The day I had to write about George Floyd, yet another unarmed black man unlawfully murdered. I felt broken, exhausted, angry, sad, hurt, and most of all…stirred. Bubbling inside of me was the need to do more even if it doesn’t make the news. After my last post, I felt like I lost the ability to write anymore. Not writer’s block but something deeper. What could I possibly say after writing an eight-minute about how much my black life mattered? What could I say to encourage others while I sat in my room with tears running down my face as I watched the world protest for justice? I had nothing. Not only with this horrific situation, but COVID-19 was (and still) present. Financial struggles, trying to plan a wedding in the middle of a pandemic, not getting calls back from jobs, an upcoming election, house hunting, Chadwick Boseman died, John Lewis died, separation from lifelong routines, not seeing my family, and the universal relatable life goes on.
It wasn’t until a few days ago when I received something in the mail that I felt inspired to write again! (Yay!). Storytime:
When I was seven years old, so in 2002, I drew this picture. Nothing crazy, just drawing and coloring like children do. For anyone who grew up in the 2000s, there were these ink blow pens. When you blow into them, this cool-looking dust ink comes out onto the paper. I saw it on a commercial once and begged my parents for a set. I handed my drawing to my parents, and they were a little taken aback. At the time, I thought nothing of it. My mom held onto it until I was older. She put the date on the back of the picture, and I didn’t see it again for a few years.
As time went on, whenever we had family over or holidays, my parents would bring out the picture to show people. Yes, proud parents, but they were genuinely intrigued by what I drew. Every time we show it to someone, they stare at it. Not saying much. Then we always ask, “What do you see?”. They keep looking and then say, “I see…”. Everyone has a different interpretation, and it sparks a great conversation at the dinner table.
In high school, we moved to another town, so of course, it’s a nostalgic process. Unpacking, we find the picture I drew. My parents and I talk about it again, making sure we keep it in a safe place. When I looked at the back of the picture, I saw the date. I paused and was stunned. Here’s what we discovered.
August 22, 2002: I drew the picture.
August 22, 2004: Two years later, my Uncle Neil passed away.
Some say coincidence, but some may think differently. Ever since we noticed that I drew the picture two years prior to Uncle Neil passing away, I never looked at it the same. From then on, it was always, “I wonder…”, which is why that is the title of the drawing. I wonder what it means? Is God saying something? Am I looking too much into it? I wonder…
Now, in 2020, during this pandemic I have been finding things to distract me and bring out the little joys. I looked at the drawing propped up in the corner of my room and decided to copyright it. Then, I wanted to share it. I’ve held onto it for 18 years. I don’t know why but it’s time I share it. And to be honest, I’m not even looking for this to blow up or get into a celebrity’s home (even though I would be poppin’). I’m just feeling led to share it. (shrugs shoulders).
Anyway, let me know what you think in the comments! What do you think it means? What does it make you think about? Go deeper into your thinking. What does it make you wonder about?
I hope to write more before the year is over! (Not making promises).
STAY SAFE! MASK UP! SOCIAL DISTANCE or…better yet…STAY HOME!
Writing Is... 