My intention is to name the shame that many privileged people are feeling right now because if we don't name it, we will remain frozen, defensive and reactive, missing our opportunity to move forward with anti-racism work.
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In November 2016, I got a call from Kirsten, my adventurous college friend. “Hey girl, I’m backpacking through South America in January. Wanna come?” She’d laid out a dream itinerary full of nature, cities, art and culture. Opportunities like that don’t come along often. I jumped on it.
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This weekend was interesting. I bought brownie mix then realized I don't have the proper pan, so I made one giant brownie cookie instead. I proceeded to eat most of it, getting up from the couch to cut giant slabs from the thing while watching episode after episode of The Office. It felt good. The rest. The laughter. The nothingness.
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Last summer, I received a call from the nurse at my doctor’s office. “We got the results back. We found precancerous cells on your cervix. We recommend getting them surgically removed as soon as possible.”
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