This weekend I had a surprise visit from one of my most beloved long distance friendships.
And while we were brunching he said one of my favorite things.
One of the things I hate about being a black man writing about race is knowing that somewhere out there is some white dude who is going to take my opinion (as of this moment, knowing only what I know and feel as of today) and use it as gospel with which to abuse some other black person who happens to have a different opinion from me.
And if he doesn’t exist yet then just by writing it I’ll have popped him into existence.
But you get the gist.
By being a part of this group I get to have an opinion based on my experiences. But that doesn’t mean that you get to take that opinion and run with it, ‘splaining it to everyone who might disagree with me. And worst, using it to abuse them and call them wrong, invalidate their experiences. You get to think a little deeper about the topic. You get to fold it into yourself and make more considerate decisions.
He meta’s even my metas.
Raise a glass to freedom.