When I'm In My Head and Not In My Heart

"Sometimes it gets hard
Just to listen to my heart
'Cause my mind plays tricks on me."

– The Green

When I feel burned out.

When I feel overwhelmed.

When I've made a mistake.

When I've had someone's truth weaponized against me.

When I'm told I don't know what I'm doing.

When my integrity has been questioned.

When people don't believe my story.

When people try to shame and embarrass and humiliate me.

When people who don't know me come at me.

When I get dragged in devolving arguments that go nowhere.

When people aren't hearing my ideas.

When my words don't land.

When I've failed to show up as optimally as I would have liked.

When I haven't been as empathetic or compassionate I know I am.

When I fail to recognize and take opportunities for deeper connection.

When I lead with judgment instead of curiosity.

When I mistake arrogance for confidence.

When I conflate debate and dialogue.

When I pretend to listen but am really thinking about what I'm going to say.

When equanimity escapes me.

When I'm tricked into thinking that publicly shaming is the right path.

When I'm in my head and not in my heart.

When I'm in my head and not in my heart.

When I'm in my head.

And not in my heart.

When I don't listen to my heart.

'Cause my mind plays tricks on me.

Is There Anything More Beautiful?

Is there anything more beautiful than Ladysmith Black Mambazo's Shaka Zulu album?

Is there anything more beautiful than Maya Angelou's writing?

Is there anything more beautiful than seeing the sun set over the Golden Gate Bridge and Mt. Tam?

Is there anything more beautiful than reconnecting with an old friend?

Is there anything more beautiful than Sonny Stitt's saxophone and Oscar Peterson's piano on Easy Does It?

Is there anything more beautiful than watching your daughter dance ballet?

Is there anything more beautiful than sitting perfectly still with your eyes closed feeling your breath going in and out of your nose?

Is there anything more beautiful than a bald Black woman living her truth?

Is there anything more beautiful than holding space for vulnerable storytelling?

Is there anything more beautiful than authentic connection, embodied empathy?

Is there anything more beautiful than the vast dynamism of the human condition?

Is there anything more beautiful than evolving your consciousness?

Is there anything more beautiful than silence in a loud world?

Is there anything more beautiful than equity and justice and belonging and love?

There's a lot of ugliness in the world. There's also a lot of beauty.

We can't ignore the ugliness. And we can't ignore the beauty either.

The Narrative of the Privileged Majority

The narrative of the privileged majority is a pervasive, oppressive narrative that manifests in many harmful ways.

The narrative of the privileged majority defends all-White-male executive suites.

The narrative of the privileged majority does not see police brutality as a systemic issue.

The narrative of the privileged majority believes it's okay to talk to kids about mom and dad, but not about dad and dad or mom and mom.

The narrative of the privileged majority passes anti-transgender legislature.

The narrative of the privileged majority sees Ukrainian refugees as more important than Afghan refugees.

The narrative of the privileged majority empathizes with the needs, circumstances, and lived realities of the privileged majority.

The narrative of the privileged majority writes laws, upholds policies, and passes regulation that support and perpetuate the narrative of the privileged majority.

The narrative of the privileged majority amplifies the narrative of the privileged majority.

The narrative of the privileged majority feels threatened by—and does not make room for—other narratives.

The narrative of the privileged majority doesn't have to do any of this.

The privileged majority can write a new narrative, can work with others to write a more inclusive, equitable, representative narrative.

If we want to, that is.

The Dogged Belief in the Myth of Meritocracy

One of the biggest barriers to creating systems that are equitable and just is the dogged belief held by many in the myth of meritocracy.

The belief that every system and institution—education, housing, workforce, government, etc.—is fundamentally fair and not infused with any bias that would lead to unequal outcomes.

That being true, then, any talk about equity and justice is irrelevant.

Not only irrelevant, but unfair. Not only unfair, but discriminatory.

For example, if I don't believe that in 2022 the LGBTQ community is still being stigmatized and marginalized, then any efforts toward fighting that will be seen as not only unnecessary, but aggressive and threatening.

And if I don't think that systemic racism exists, then I will view any antiracist efforts as unwarranted and part of an unacceptable political agenda that I must fight.

Because when I believe in the myth of meritocracy, I'm so used to privilege that equity feels like oppression.

When my norm isn't seen as the norm, I must defend my norm, lest it be unfairly taken away from me.

The myth of meritocracy perpetuates the narrative of the privileged majority. All other narratives must be derided, suppressed, and stamped out.

Because we can't give "unfair" treatment to certain groups. That wouldn't be meritocratic.

Do Say Gay

I guess in Florida I'm not supposed to say "gay" in schools.

So I guess I shouldn't say that my dad was gay.

And I guess I shouldn't say that he knew he was gay when he was a kid.

And I guess I shouldn't say that because there was a stigma against being gay he tried to commit suicide when he was 13.

And I guess I shouldn't say that because he was gay and because society didn't support his being gay and because his gayness was pathologized he tried to commit suicide again when he was eighteen.

And I guess I shouldn't say that the only reason I'm alive today is because my dad was told so often that being gay was bad that he married a woman and had a kid.

And I guess the folks in Florida who passed the law that you can't say gay in schools care more about people who can't accept that people (including kids) are gay than they do about the gay people who will continue to be stigmatized, marginalized, bullied, and murdered because it's been made clear that being gay is bad.

If you care about about humanity, you will oppose this law and other similar laws. You will oppose this perpetuity of the narrative of the privileged straight majority.

You will say gay as loudly and as often as it needs to be said.

You will champion being gay. You will normalize being gay.

You will save lives.

Here's To a New Day

Whenever I haven't written for a while, and want to start writing again, my first instinct is to write about writing—or more specifically to write about how I haven't been writing much and how I'm going to start writing about how I haven't been writing and how I want to start writing.

It's all very meta. With many exponents.

I haven't written for a while. Here or anywhere else. It happens. You get caught up in other things, lose momentum, and weeks and months go by with barely a thought committed to the page.

As anyone who writes has no doubt experienced, this isn't the first time it's happened, and will almost certainly happen again. I'm particularly worried about it. It's just something I'm aware of, and something I'm consciously trying to reverse.

Starting now.

I'm wary of bold public declarations of action, so I won't say anything like "I'm going to write a post every day for the rest of the year."

No, I won't say that. Mostly because I know I won't do it, but also because it doesn't matter if I do or not.

What matters (to me, at least) is that I miss the sharing of thoughts, the interchange of ideas, the connections with other people, that I get from writing in public spaces.

So here's to a new day—a new day that I hope will be a lot like the old days when I was writing regularly.

Believe People

It's really not that difficult to believe someone's truth. But for some reason, many people from the privileged majority seem to struggle with the concept.

Especially when it comes to believing the truth of people with marginalized identities.

I witness this happen over and over again. I've witnessed so often that I've come up with a simple framework to help folks who are struggling with the concept. It's got two parts.

1. Someone shares their truth.

2. Believe them.

Keep this handy and refer to it often. Maybe write on a scrap of paper and put it in your wallet. Or perhaps make it your screen saver or desktop background. Whatever you need to do to remind yourself, do it.

No need to give me credit. It's not really my original idea. It's basic human decency.

Instead of dehumanizing, or what-about-ing, or dismissing, or gaslighting, or accusing, or diminishing, or devil's advocating, or gatekeeping, or weaponizing, or ignoring, or oppressing, or marginalizing, or comparing, or minimizing, or scolding, or mocking, or trivializing, or. . .

Instead of any of that, believe people.

Listen. Empathize. Be curious. Connect. Hold space. Support. Be compassionate. Be vulnerable. Love. Be human.

Believe people. Try it, and see how it goes.

I suspect you'll like it.

And so will the people you believe.

The Answer Has Always Been Love

"We know the answer has always been love. The question is how do we stop forgetting the answer so we can get on with living our highest, most radically unapologetic lives."

–Sonya Renee Taylor

Sometimes I forget the answer is love when I get angry about the lack of love I see in the world.

Sometimes I forget the answer is love when I see people treating other people without love.

Sometimes I forget the answer is love when I don't treat the people I love with the love they deserve.

Sometimes I forget the answer is love when I choose to communicate with snark or dismissiveness or indifference or aggression.

We forget that the answer is love because we mistakenly believe that choosing love means we can't also choose justice and accountability and integrity and equity.

We forget that the answer is love because we mistakenly believe that choosing love implies weakness, naïveté, or shortsightedness.

We sometimes forget that true compassion and empathy and connection and trust and connection are all based in love.

Self-love. Love of others. Love of humanity.

Love is foundational to our existence, to our sustenance, to our growth, to our future.

Love is foundational to living our highest, most radically unapologetic lives.

Which is something I think we can all agree to love.

I'm Much More Dynamic Than That

What do you do?

I hold spaces for difficult conversations.

But what do you do?

I build relationships with people from all backgrounds.

But what do you do?

I play guitar and harmonica in a reggae band.

But what do you do?

I play backgammon with my daughter.

But what do you do?

I challenge people to be more self-aware.

But what do you do?

I model vulnerability.

But what do you do?

I go record-shopping with my son.

But what do you do?

I read books on antiracism, mindfulness, and emotional intelligence.

But what do you do?

I disrupt the status quo.

But what do you do?

I ask questions and listen compassionately to the answers.

But what do you do?

I build trust and connection and community.

But what do you do?

I go outside of my comfort zone every day.

But what do you do?

I laugh and cry and wonder and heal and grow and stumble and learn and forget and evolve and show up authentically.

Yeah, but what do you do?

You mean, what is my role?

Yes, what is your role? 

I sit around and talk with people.

What is your job?

I drive impact and affect change in my spheres of influence.

That's not a job.

It's not? 

No. I just want to know what you do!

You mean, you want a title, a label, a category, a bucket?

Well, no. I mean, well, I guess.

Sorry. I'm much more dynamic than that.

Candid Perhaps, But Definitely Not Radical

Some criticism I receive on social media just doesn't resonate with me.

It just doesn't land well. My mind just doesn't consider what's being offered.

My gut response is more "screw you" than "thank you for teaching me."

Why is that? I've been thinking about it. I think I have a framework that captures it pretty well.

Actually, it's not my framework. It's Kim Scott's framework. She wrote a book called Radical Candor.

Radical candor has two elements:

1. Challenge directly.

2. Care personally.

If only one of those is present it's not radical candor.

If you ONLY care personally than you're not having the conversations you need to be having.

And if you ONLY challenge directly than you might just be a d*ck.

Which takes me back to why some criticism doesn't resonate with me.

Because it's not really criticism. It's intimidation or bullying or gatekeeping or baiting or harassing—all offered as "feedback."

But there's no relationship. There's no bridge-building, no attempt to connect, no trust, no love, no compassion.

No caring.

There's a lot of not knowing me, a lot of reductionism, a lot of single storytelling, a lot of disrespect, a lot of demands.

A lot of challenging directly. But very little caring personally.

Candid perhaps. But definitely not radical.

And definitely not effective.

Grateful to Stay in the Present Moment

My twins just turned thirteen.

When they were infants I swaddled them together on the top of the pack and play.

When they were one, I cheered them on as they took their first steps.

When they were two, I laughed when they took dumps in their no-longer-a-diaper underwear.

When they were three, I wondered how people so young could so confidently know it all.

When they were four, I marveled at their growing curiosity.

When they were five, I smiled as they played their first notes on the piano and danced their first steps in ballet.

When they were six, I listened as they read their first chapter books.

When they were seven, I watched them learn how to swim.

When they were eight, I wondered how they could eat with all those teeth missing.

When they were nine, I admired their intellectual stamina.

When they were ten, I realized they were growing up too fast.

When they were eleven, I championed their emerging sense of justice.

When they were twelve, I braced myself for the attitude and drama that was becoming the norm.

Now they're thirteen. They have grown into two beautifully flawed, dynamic, emotional, curious, empathetic, self-actualized, perfectly imperfect humans.

I couldn't ask for anything more. So I won't.

I'll continue to be grateful and loving and try to stay in the present moment.

Bobby McFerrin Live

Try this at home. Give yourself an hour. Maybe two.

Type "Bobby McFerrin Live" on YouTube.

Scroll. Pick any videos. It doesn't matter which ones.

Maybe you'll choose Bobby improvising for ten minutes.

Maybe you'll watch Bobby jamming with Chick Corea or Wayne Shorter or Yo-Yo Ma or Esperanza Spalding.

Maybe you'll catch him leading the audience at a neuroscience conference in singing the pentatonic scale. Or a leading a full choir in multi-part harmony. Or providing rhythm for a teenage boy singing "Route 66."

Maybe you'll stumble across him singing Blackbird, while also "playing" the bass and drums and the guitar solo and singing all the echoes: "Into the light...light...light...of the dark...dark...dark...black...black...night...night..."

Or perhaps you'll catch him telling the story of how he first started performing. How he spent six years (!) practicing before he want on stage, two of which he didn't listen to any vocalists to ensure his style was unique.

Whatever you watch, notice how you feel. Notice how you feel lighter. How you feel more alive. More energized. More in tune with yourself and the world. More love. More compassion. More human.

Capture that feeling. That humanity. Embrace it. Embody it. Take it with you wherever you go.

And then share it with every person you meet.

The Four Agreements

In 2016, my friend Francisco turned me on to the Four Agreements by Don Miguel Ruiz.

It's been a guiding force ever since.

The Four Agreements:

1. Be impeccable with your word.
2. Don't take anything personally.
3. Don't make assumptions.
4. Always do your best.

It has applicability in all facets of my life.

Be impeccable with my word:

When I write on LinkedIn
When I disagree with someone
When someone disagrees with me
When I talk to my soon-to-be teenage kids
When I facilitate discussions
When I speak on stage

Don't take anything personally:

When people say The Four Agreements is crap
When people say I don't know what I'm talking about
When my daughter says I'm annoying
When my son says I have bad taste in music
When White people do stupid shit
When I don't get invited to something

Don't make assumptions:

I don't assume people respect me
That people agree with me
That I have the answers
That relationships don't take work
That people can't change
That people will resonate with The Four Agreements

Always do my best:

Recognize that my intentions don't always match my impact
Don't strive for perfection
Accept that I will mess up
Learn from my mistakes
Stumble forward
Don't avoid difficult conversations

All frameworks are flawed and imperfect. The Four Agreements is no exception.

It works for me. What about you?

You Will Always Be More Than a Single Story

One of the dangers of writing and speaking prolifically is that you run the risk of being reduced to a single story.

Which is ironic.

Someone unfamiliar with you, your nuanced perspectives, your dynamism, your vastness—stumbles across one post and falsely believes it represents all of who you are, the totality of what you believe in.

Failing to dig deeper, one can lose the grandness of what you stand for, who you support, whose voices you amplify, which causes you champion.

Your multiple lenses get shrunk to a solitary narrative.

You say one thing that doesn't resonate, write one thing that isn't as clear as it could be, share one video or podcast that doesn't come across as crisp and compelling as you would like—and you run the risk of facing intimidation, attack, and outright malice. Often disguised as criticism.

But here's the thing.

You are not one post. You are not one interview. You are not one podcast or book or YouTube video. You are not one piece of content, one perspective, one argument, one sound bite.

You are expansive and broad and varied and subtle and contextual.

To be clear, those who share often are not above criticism, but you are not a single story. You are not a single mistake, a single quote, a single category, bucket, or box.

You are more than that. You will always be more than that.

Paying My Indifferent Dues

“The opposite of love is not hate, it's indifference."

– Elie Wiesel

It was never about hate for me. But for so long it was also not about love.

It was about indifference. Unbeknownst to me of course.

All the things I didn't care about because I didn't know about them.

All the ideas I didn't care about because they were ideas that seemed irrelevant to my insular mind, my provincial world.

All the people I didn't care about because I didn't know they existed, wasn't interested in knowing if they existed, didn't care about them when I found out they existed.

All the disregard, all the unconcern, all the nonchalance.

All the indifference.

And as the indifference expanded, unchecked, it inflated into arrogance and sarcasm and spite and apathy.

It was never about hate. It was about indifference.

The missed opportunities for empathy, for curiosity, for trust.

For connection, for collaboration, for community, for compassion.

For liberation, for healing, for beauty, for transformation.

For evolution of consciousness.

For love.

Ah, yes, the missed opportunities for love.

For far too long. But not now.

I rarely miss those opportunities now.

I am no longer indifferent. I've paid my indifferent dues. Spent twenty years paying them.

Changing. Growing. Improving. Immersing.

Loving.

Hire (and Pay!) Black Speakers

Recently, I wrote a post about the "expandable pie."

You can read it here.

The gist was that people like me with compounding privilege (e.g., White, male, straight, cis, wealth, network, etc.) have many opportunities that people who have multiple marginalized identities don't.

But instead of recognizing this, we perpetuate the meritocracy myth that it's an even playing field.

And if it's an even-playing field, then we must protect what ours, be fiercely competitive, hoard resources and opportunities, hold people down to lift ourselves up, operate with a scarcity mindset.

Because the pie is finite. There are limited pieces of pie. I'm not going to starve so you can get fed!

Make sense, right?

Uh, no!

Part of my work is speaking on antiracism and related topics.

As a White person, I have a relevant voice in the space. And I will continue to offer my services.

And, I'm not always the best choice. Often, the best choice is a Black person. For many obvious reasons.

Madison Butler and Reese Byrne recently launched the Black Speakers Collection, a database of hundreds (thousands?) of qualified Black speakers.

Looking for a Black speaker? Hire (and pay!) one here.

The pie is expandable. Let's all eat.

Weird Like Asparagus

When someone in our family says something is weird, the response is usually, "like asparagus?"

It stems from when my soon-to-be mother-in-law was hosting a barbecue for my family. She asked if my mom had any dietary restrictions.

My mom said, "I'll eat anything. As long as it's nothing weird like asparagus."

This may seem innocuous, but it points to a bigger mindset problem around identifying things matter-of-factly as "weird."

We say things are weird when we are unfamiliar or disinterested or have an aversion or are trying to disassociate ourselves.

When we say something is weird, we're judging, stating our disapproval, unwittingly displaying our ignorance, our lack of curiosity, exposure, and fluency.

Depending on the context, when we say things are weird we may be upholding the narrative of the privileged majority. We may be otherizing, oppressing, or marginalizing. 

Here are a few things I once thought were weird:

Asparagus
Guacamole
Cream cheese
African or Asian food
Having Black friends
Homosexuality
Transgender people
Listening to world music
Not being interested in sports
College-aged people who didn't drink
Talking about politics
Meditating
Empathy
Compassion
Vulnerability
Nonviolent communication
Personal growth

None of that's weird to me anymore. Weird that I used to think so though, huh?

Reading List for the Beginning of 2022

What are you reading this year? Here's my to-be-read shelf. Should be done by end of March/early April. Unless, that is, I add to it, which will undoubtedly happen.

Listed in no particular order, and with no planned order to be read...

1. How to Be an Ally – Melinda Briana Epler

2. Allies and Advocates – Amber Cabral

3. Hiring for Diversity – Arthur Woods

4. Holding Change – adrienne maree brown

5. Learn Lead Lift – Wendy Ryan

6. No BS (Bad Stats) – Ivory Toldson

7. Killing Rage – bell hooks

8. An Apartment on Uranus – Paul B. Preciado

9. Lewis and Clark Through Indian Eyes – Alvin M. Josephy, Jr. (editor)

10. Beloved – Toni Morrison

11. We Do This 'Til We Free Us – Mariame Kaba

12. Harlem Shuffle – Colson Whitehead

13. Being Black – angel Kyodo williams

14. Love and Rage – Lama Rod Owens

15. The Devil You Know – Charles M. Blow

16. Punch Me Up to the Gods – Brian Broome

17. I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings – Maya Angelou

18. Belly of the Beast – Da-Shaun L. Harrison

19. The Body Is Not an Apology – Sonya Renee Taylor

20. Assata – Assata Shakur

21. Theft by Finding – David Sedaris

22. F*ck Fearless – Heather Vickery

23. The Souls of Black Folk – W.E.B Du Bois

24. At Night All Blood is Black – David Diop

Afflicting the Comfortable and Comforting the Afflicted

"In my search for an honest way to write about race, I wanted to comfort the afflicted, but more than that, I wanted to afflict the comfortable."

– Cathy Park Hong

If you have not read Hong's book, Minor Feelings, do yourself a favor and read it as soon as you can. Her perspectives on race and racism from an Asian American—and more specifically from a Korean American—perspective, are nuanced, vulnerable, and relevant to the racism discussion we need to be having.

For me, this passage is a both/and. Or more precisely, I believe that afflicting the comfortable is needed so that the afflicted can experience comfort more regularly.

Calling the comfortable into conversations about race and racism so that they are more aware of the myriad ways so many people are afflicted by racism.

Challenging the comfortable so that they show up more consistently and authentically for those who are affiliated by racism.

Supporting (not coddling!) the comfortable so that they have perspectives, strategies, and mindsets they can use to drive impact and affect change in their spheres of influence.

Helping the comfortable be more comfortable talking about race and racism so that the people who are afflicted by racism experience less racist affliction at the hands of the comfortable.

Talking to Bruce About the Interconnectedness of Mindfulness and Racial Justice

Back in 2015, I worked with a life/career coach to figure out what to do with my life.

It was the best decision I ever made.

We were making progress around the "nature" of work I should get back to (social justice, equity, etc.), but we hadn't talked much about what "specific" work I might do. In other words, what people would pay me for.

I was kind of concerned about that.

She said, "Don't worry about it. If money wasn't a thing, what would you do all day?"

I said, "That's easy, I'd sit around and talk with people."

She said, "Go do that!"

And so I did. And so I do.

I have thousands of conversations a year with all kinds of people. I facilitate discussions, I coach one-on-one, I speak, I moderate panels, I strategize with clients.

And I get interviewed on podcasts.

Like Bruce Langford's Mindfulness Mode.

Talking with Bruce about the interconnectedness of mindfulness and racial justice was one of the best, most fluid and equanimous conversations I had in 2021.

I'm grateful for the opportunity to spread my important message to Bruce's listeners.

And to all of you.

Especially if you're new to antiracism and racial justice work.

Here's the thing: if you're going to drive impact and effect change, you must be in committed for the long haul.

Mindfulness helps us do that.

Thanks for doing the work.

Listen here: