The Internet can be a cruel and unusual abyss of half-cocked opinions and bargain basement analysis, especially when it comes to Black wom...
Hiking Up Asphalt Mountains
The other day I drove south down one of those major thoroughfares that eventually becomes a quiet country highway. Question: Why do most things happening in a southerly direction feel synonymous with "country?" Anyway, as I drove, I saw a young white woman walking briskly. She was in a fairly dressy red tube top and black pants before club hours. Her gear was all wrong to be training for any speed walking events at any track meets and anyone walking along a highway signals something has gone awry. The closer I got to her I realized she was wiping her face as she kept her determined pace. She clearly was a woman hurt, walking toward refuge.
My heart bled for her. Whether she'd been put out of a situation or caused to flee, she was a woman alone and hurting. I've been her. Hell, I was her the other day, and I'm certain I'll be her again in the future. My pain has never cast me out onto the streets trudging towards faceless saviors though I have had my share of "Come to Jesus" meetings with self in an attempt to see through the muck and come out clean on the other side.
Revelations is bigger than just a book in the Bible. Every woman has her own. I seem to have them, set on a timer, like Power Point slides. I feel blessed to be so open, and to have people around me to beat me upside my head with the truth when I start looking like I've chosen to don my rose colored spectacles. If I stand still long enough and slow my breathing I can hear my instructions flying in on the wingtips of the wind. For some of us, it doesn't take the ringing bell or call of the drum to illicit those whose voices require the usage of our vocal chords. The hard part is remembering to listen, and not just hear, and think before you act.
I tried to telepathically send her some light and love as I rode by. She wasn't my responsibility, but I hoped she was someone's, and someone who'd refuel her so she could get back out there and do it again. Like a friend of mine always tells me, "Get back in there..." I assume the cause of her hurt was a man. Not wishing her back to that, but to the fight of life. I felt bad, but her plight made me take pause and remember to acknowledge out loud those people and things which I am thankful for. My life is charmed by no means, but I have the ways and means to do what I need to and indulge myself a few of the things that I want. I am fortunate to have never worn this woman's shoes, just as another woman is fortunate to have never worn mine. It's all relative.
My journey, that day, ended with a big hug and a bright smile for a young woman who I am responsible to and for, and looks to me as a guide. I'm glad to be there for her and know that my trials have increased her triumphs exponentially. If she were ever in this young lady's position, she'll always have me to call to relieve her heart, mind, and feet. I told Miss T of the young lady on the road and I think she too had a moment where she realized just how thankful she is. "Give thanks" is so annoyingly trite, but it's meaning is real. Don't forget to give it.
Watch me move.