New Year, Same Us
Do you remember we started 2020 thinking World War 3 was imminent? That feels like a lifetime ago. It turned out that would be the mildest part of the year. We lost Kobe, Chadwick, and so many others. Covid-19 forced us into a lockdown that has yet to end. People hit the streets in droves to protest injustice. We had an ugly election season that tore apart families and many of us have spent the year coming face to face with ourselves. The extended period of isolation has tested relationships, resolve, and resilience (sorry, I couldn’t resist the alliteration).
2020 was hard. There is no denying that. Today I’d like to share with you a brief reflection. This is going to get deeply personal and that scares me but it’s necessary. The best feedback I got on this newsletter last year was always when I was the most vulnerable. I’m very good at presenting the sides of me I want people to see but I’m not benefitting anyone or myself when I hide behind a mask. So this year, I want to be more real, more honest, and more raw with you. Let’s begin.
The necessity of patience
A good friend of mine said something to me around August that I haven’t been a able to shake since: Clarity is a gift but patience is the fruit of the Spirit.
Like many other people last year, I found myself praying for clarity. As I tried to navigate the pandemic, a shaky job situation, a toddler, one new baby and one on the way, plus all of the normal questions that come in your early 30s, I couldn’t help but wanting to have easy and clear answers. I longed for God to show me the way or at least assure me that everything will work out fine in a reasonable amount of time.
Life doesn’t work that way. Everyone who has lived long enough knows that. And yet, we always find ourselves trying to get God to give us the clarity we seek. Patience though, will teach us more than clarity ever will.
It is in patience we are reminded of the goodness of God. It is in patience, we see his faithfulness to us. It is in patience we are brought face to face with ourselves and in whom we really trust.
Trusting God is easy when things are going well. But a lot of us have seen this year not go well for us. Extended lockdowns and the election season tested marriages, friendships, familial relationships, and overall resolve. 2020 was one of those valleys in which character was tested and lasting faith was formed. Had God just given us the answers, we would have missed out on the valuable lessons that can only be learned from time spent in the pit.
For me, the biggest lesson was the necessity of patience. Waiting on God showed me that his care for me is always present, even if I don’t understand it. It also taught me that while I wait, wherever I am, God ha positioned me to be a blessing to others. Too often, we waste our time in the valley, wallowing about being in the valley rather than looking to love those who are there with us.
Ordinary People
The biggest realization I experienced in 2020 is accepting that I’m ordinary and understanding the implications of that, which honestly scares me. Last year, like every other, forced me to deal with what it means to be Black in this world.
One thing I thought about frequently is Black excellence. There’s a scene in the movie Queen & Slim where the titular characters are talking. Queen refers to herself as an excellent lawyer to which Slim responds: “Why do Black people always have to be excellent? Why can’t we just be normal?”
While they don’t answer the question in the movie, I think I know it. Being normal isn’t good enough when you’re Black in America, you have to be excellent. I’m reminded of the Chris Rock joke where he describes his neighborhood in which only four Black people live. It’s him, Mary J. Blige, Jay Z, and Eddie Murphy. Four of the greatest ever at their crafts. The guy next to him? A dentist.
I neither need nor desire a home that costs millions of dollars but I am frustrated by what it takes to thrive here. There is a study that shows a poor white kid has a 70% chance of making it out of poverty, while it is a less than 50% chance for a poor Black kid. Success for us is essentially a coin flip.
I don’t need stats to prove this. I simply have to look around. I have been looking for a job for three years straight at this point. If you’ve never been in this position, I can’t expect you to understand how hard it is for Black people looking for senior level roles. Look at the Fortune 500, the higher you go, the whiter and more male it gets. This is not an attack, it’s just a fact of life. Unfortunately, that is what most organizations look like, so just think about how hard it is for someone like me and many of friends trying to break through. I now understand why when I first started in finance, no matter their age, most of my lower level peers were Black.
I know that I’m not excellent. I’m just ordinary and in some ways that in itself is a miracle. To come from where I come from and to have seen what I’ve seen, it is a blessing that I turned out just ordinary. But I can’t help but ask, what does that mean for my future and my family? It’s hard to square that when I see people half as smart, half as driven, working half as hard, with twice as much.
Like any husband and father, I want to be able to provide the best for my family. I want to take care of my wife and children before anything else. Obviously that is more than material need but that part is still important. Especially when you are intimately familiar with what it means to go without (I add that part in because I find that those who respond with ‘just trust God’ or something like that, are unfamiliar with lack). This is a grave concern for me because ordinary Black men where I’m from live in cycles we long to escape.
Those are the big things that hit me in 2020. The next letter will focus on what I’m looking forward to this year. Thank you for continuing to be a part of the Live & Labor family.