First bath since I got back, back in a hotel room, sunset across chilly Oxfordshire through window, after first walk through countryside. (Am I a writer? Yes. Do I need to prove nothin’? Naw.)
Culture shock Sunday hit me hard. Gorgeous drive through more English countryside. Lovely dogs. Well dressed, well spoken folk. No one is sweaty so we all seem more…civilised. What does that even mean? Our belief structures and cultural training – our meaning-making – all of it is loaded. I hear and see the things which reinforce what I want to believe. I think.
What is it like to be the only person of colour in a room? Ah, yes, that’s it. Does everything have to involve skin or gender politics? I find it depends on who you’re with. I could do more to protect, no, fortify myself. How does one do this without becoming defensive or inaccessible? Fighty, fighty, fighty.
Today I’m grateful for early mornings. An empty table seat on a train. My hands. The increase in awareness and care around mental health. Apps and smart phones which connect me to the world and help me with structure and morale when I don’t have access to Real Live People. People who care, who make, who persist with beauty and delight. Delight. The seasons. My beautiful wool scarf.
Where do I want to be? Why? Does it matter?