Self-center

Via Roderick Laka, Unsplash

Waves of anxiety ebb and flow under the brick arches of Northstar, even though I am surrounded by black women. The people I love. But will they love me? And what do I say? And who do I talk to exactly? Could they recognize me -  not skin deep but in kindred spirit, the spirit hugging Emergent Strategy and trying to be more of who I am in community? The questions swirl around a selfish center - me, me, me. I don't notice my selfishness until I see other people's interest in each other as we sit in the crescent of chairs, arranged for small group discussion. The woman to my right asks follow up questions of everyone, and they are genuine. She pauses to listen to the responses. I pause to ask some questions of this spirit inside me that is so interested in community. Do I listen? Who do I want to know? What curiosity do I have toward the women across from me, about their nervous laughter, about the one with Barnard written down her sleeve - what do I want to know about them besides whether they like and approve of me? At the end of the writing workshop Zelda said "I see your eyes which seem to say 'What do you have for me?'" It was meant as neutral reflection, and I took it in, grateful to be seen. But in the lulls between waves of anxiety, I can hear more than that, see the way I constantly seek something for myself from other people and, without judging, wonder what I can offer instead? In the crescent groups at Northstar, I offer thanks, sincere, after each woman speaks. Thank you, for being here, and sharing what you have tonight, I say in both words and gesture.  I lean forward to hear them. And there is my outward curiosity - fleeting, but there.