I think you know where I stand on this, MK. I am appalled at some of the comments, but not one bit surprised.

This past week I spent time, and will continue to do so, with several Black female friends. All I do is listen. The only reason I am allowed to talk to them right now is because, and I take this comment very seriously, is that they know I will hear their rage, understand it, and wear it. No tut tut, no there there, no justifying or qualifying or "you're taking things too seriously." Just fucking listen. It's incredibly uncomfortable. It should be. It needs to be. My occasional discomfort, I can shed. They can't. It's 24-7. That we can't understand that, that we refuse to embrace the world that we force others to live in and expect that community not only to be "happy Black people" about it, not complain or rise up in protest, is a fraction of the problem. I'm just sitting with those I love and I listen. Their words are knives in the corkboard of my soul, and they have every right to throw them. It's my job to hear. If nothing else, the nonjudgemental listening is at least a safe place. I found this yesterday that I am passing along to those who suddenly got a conscience (another issue entirely) and called their Black friends asking what they could do (https://medium.com/equality-includes-you/what-white-people-can-do-for-racial-justice-f2d18b0e0234). One of my friends was vehement about this, saying, this is what it took for you to get a conscience? She's right. I have no words, other than Marley, I hear you. I do.

Horizon Huntress, prize-winning author, adventure traveler, boundary-pusher, wilder, veteran, aging vibrantly. I own my sh*t. Let’s play!

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