Fallacy of Greatness

The desert landscape is enchanting. It’s become my sanctuary. My soul loves nature; my soul is at peace amongst the mountains. Dawn’s early light began to dance along the edge of the peak that gracefully towered above my community. Folks waved and uttered their salutations as I jogged by. I was in stride. Everything was clicking; my body felt great with each mile. I slowed my cadence as I reached the end of the block when I noticed a “Make America Great Again” sign in someone’s yard. This wasn’t uncommon as Arizona has always been considered a conservative state. I chuckled at the possibility of Trump being elected again. We’re better than that as a nation. Sure, America has its glaring flaws but we wouldn’t dare go down that path again.

Last night, I sipped tea at my writing desk as I watched the live election broadcast. The polling numbers flashed on the screen as each state began reporting results. Trump’s early lead concerned me, but there was plenty of time. As the night continued, his lead grew. This can’t be right, I thought. How could we find ourselves here again after the insurrection, multiple lawsuits, and documented crime convictions? To put it bluntly, Trump encapsulates all that is wrong with this country; he is America personified.

Tuesday night showed me America simply does not wish to progress. The fact Trump was even allowed to run again after a myriad of moral, political, and legal failures, highlights the fallacy of America’s greatness. Open racism, police brutality, sexism, classism, intolerance, and faux Christian values appear to be its guiding principles. The American justice and political systems continue to fail the people. As a Black man, of course, I knew this. As Black people, we are intimately aware of the systems at play.

Sadness, anxiety, and uncertainty sweep the nation as I write this essay. It’s okay to be angry. I know it’s hard to see a path forward right now. I ask you to protect your mental health. Prioritize taking care of yourself. Guard your heart and mind with everything within you. Don’t give in to the bullshit. Distance yourself from those who wish to burden you. We will be okay. Today we mourn, tomorrow we fight.

Black Woman

I’m glad you’re here; please come in. I’ve been waiting for you, Queen. I’ve prepared a comfortable chair just for you. It’s made of the finest leather. Let me cater to you. Rest your feet and your mind as I share my heart. The world hasn’t been too kind. We haven’t always protected you and for that I’m sorry. To ignore our complicated history would be damnatory. Our treacherous journey from the Gold Coast has muddied the waters of our love. I’ve seen what you’ve gone through.

What are your dreams? What are you feeling? What are your fears? How can I love you better? Have you eaten? Do you like wine? Let me pour you a glass of my finest Chardonnay as I listen to you with my ears and soul. This piece was written to honor, celebrate, and uplift you. Your cries in the darkness often went unheard. Your thoughts, feelings, and issues matter. You’re brilliant and in a league of your own. There are so many examples of your brilliance, it’s woven into the fabric of our lives.

Your beauty is deeper than your outward appearance; I could bask in your essence all day. There’s something about your smile that makes everything alright. The calm in your voice makes our deepest pain easier to bear. When you speak, nature listens. When you move, things change. Every shade of your Blackness is majestic. While many try, you cannot be duplicated. You’re poetry in motion, the embodiment of God’s love and grace.

Every inch of your shea-buttered body is heaven on earth. Your embrace gives us hope, and your presence lights up the world. Please don’t ever let anyone make you feel inferior. There aren’t enough words in the English lexicon that adequately describe all that you are.  

Cult of Personality

“You’re in sin when you don’t listen to the man of God. I’m your shepherd,” my pastor shouted. His piercing words and indignant expression were difficult to misinterpret. His unjustified anger and narcissism led him to believe every word he spoke was ordained by God himself. “lf you disagree with me, you’re disagreeing with God!” The feedback from the mic almost resembled the sound of a lightsaber. He’d just unclipped a red lightsaber from his waist holster seeking to destroy the Jedi as he peered around the sanctuary. Well, that’s how it felt at least. That’s about all I remembered from that particular Sunday. It was just like all the others that came before it. With my cell phone slung low between my legs, I often surfed the web to thwart my growing disinterest.

My relationship with the church and religion as a whole had been a rocky one. I’ve questioned my faith and God himself more times than I’d care to admit. Most people who’d known me most of my life would have easily considered me a church boy who could do no wrong, but little did they know I struggled to find happiness in the faith.

Honesty eluded me for years as I went through the motions. The constant cycle of guilt and zeal eventually seized my wavering faith. My identity was wrapped in the church; my dearest friendships were cultivated in the church. Debates about doctrine often lead to arguments. Could I share what I’ve been feeling? Perhaps not. It’s difficult for people to accept others' points of view. There’s a unique arrogance that oozes from people in the church. Their entitlement prevents honest discourse. From diapers to manhood, my life was deeply entrenched in the church. My father preached the gospel although he lived a double life. I often wonder if those who teach and preach the word believe themselves.

Have you ever found yourself questioning what you truly believe? I’m no longer afraid of the unknown. There are more questions than answers and that’s okay. Don’t fear condemnation fanned by haughty individuals who believe they’ve got all the answers. This journey of faith is a complicated one. I’m still figuring out what it all means.

America’s Sin

We were five miles away. My anticipation grew as the city drew near. I’d never been there before; I didn’t know what to expect. Distracted by my gnawing uneasiness, I hadn’t noticed the change in scenery. For hours as far as the eye could see, the wide open midwestern plains had once made its presence known. I exited the freeway toward downtown Tulsa, Oklahoma. That city, oh that city, was full of rich Black history, triumph, and sorrow. Tulsa was a stark reminder of one of America’s sins— a sin it had conveniently ignored.

Walking through Greenwood was both surreal and gut-wrenching. Soulful murals and carefully placed monuments reminded all never to forget the massacre that took place in the spring of 1921. Remnants of that fateful day, hidden in plain sight, stood unbothered as America vehemently refused to right its wrongs. The destruction of Black Wall Street was one of many sins committed against Black people. I could feel the presence of the ancestors as I imagined living in the community. To be surrounded by successful Black businesses, beautiful homes, and families who’d finally felt at peace as their dream of living without fear had been realized would’ve been invigorating.

Angry whites who lusted after Black death and destruction, determined to halt this renaissance of Black prosperity and progression, murdered without repentance. Bullets rained down from prop duster aircraft. The streets were overrun with savages who had one thing on their mind. The stench of death filled the air as chaos ensued. Dead bodies filled the street. Children screamed as they ran with their parents searching for cover as shotgun shells clanged against the pavement. Black men and women grabbed their weapons as they fought to protect their families, homes, and businesses. I stepped into the past and asked myself what I’d do if I were there. I could not fathom such a day; my heart ached.

On Wednesday, June 12th, the Oklahoma Supreme Court dismissed a lawsuit filed by the survivors of the Tulsa Massacre. Although I felt angry, I knew nothing would come of it. America will never reach its truest potential until it deals with the past accordingly. They use legality to avoid taking responsibility. How can the nation parade itself as a symbol of freedom, justice, and hope? The Tulsa race massacre survivors and their families deserve better.

Self-Love Chronicles

You heard what they said. How could you forget? Those painful nasty words cut you deeply. “It’s just a joke,” they say conveniently. You take things too personally. You’re just imagining things. Sound familiar? You heard the snide remarks that were camouflaged as unsolicited advice. Their muffled laughter when you were down was undeniable. Your mistakes and missteps were the topic of brunch conversations. Your brightest moments were met with one-word emotionless halfcocked congratulatory texts. Whispers in the dark always seem to find their way back. They laughed nervously when you confronted them. They’re still around because it’s hard to let go of people who aren’t good for you and your mental health.

How do you find the courage to let go of people who continually gnaw at your self-worth? Damaging words have consequences, or at least they should. Setting and enforcing boundaries is an intimate act of self-love. Without boundaries, we’re just floating in the wind accepting whatever blows our way. You’re worth more than that. People who continually push the envelope should no longer have access to you. You know who they are.

A few years ago, I discovered a distant family member had made unsavory comments about me and my family. This person had a history of propping themselves up as a perpetual victim. If it weren’t about them they just simply weren’t happy or didn’t care at all. Often they were the author of confusion and confronting them usually made matters worse. I’ve helped this person out more times than I can count. It was exhausting maintaining a relationship with a person who only thought about themselves. Loving from a distance is an act of self-love as well.

Embrace the people in your life that continually show up. Water the relationships that bring out the best in you. May we each find the courage to protect our self-worth and energy this year. Self-love isn’t a fancy cliché it is a way of life.

Thoughts for the New Year

I blew a thick layer of dust off my writing desk well before dawn’s light. It’s been a long time; too long in fact. I’d always considered my writing desk a sanctuary of sorts. For months, I’d eluded that sanctuary. I ran my fingers along the edge of the desk as I processed my innermost thoughts. It was time to face the block that hampered me for months. Leading up to my daughter’s birth and several months after, I struggled to write anything meaningful. Each writing session ended in defeat, or so I thought.

I could hear my daughter’s coos from across the room. Her loving eyes were fixated on me. It was her genuine curiosity and gummy smile that fueled me— it gave me the reassurance I needed to continue my life’s work. Temporarily distracted by her newly discovered feet, I began to dig deep. What will this year represent? What do I want to accomplish? How will I impact my family?

Outside of my window, haze from the barrage of fireworks lingered in the desert sky. It’s become an unofficial symbol of a new year in the Valley of the Sun. Bright ideas, resolutions, and excitement for what was to come were certainly in the air. A new year brings a renewed focus and an unquenchable optimism that drives each of us to become the best version of ourselves. I no longer burden myself with an endless list of goals and aspirations. Several small compounded steps will ultimately get you where you want to go. I’ve chosen to keep life as simple as possible. Life is meant to be lived to the fullest without self-imposed pressures. It’s a beautiful experience despite its challenges. May we all reach the promised land of our deepest hopes and dreams.

Protecting Our Black Daughters

The heat is intense this time of the year in the valley. Although I’ve become accustomed to it, it still shocks my system from time to time. The summer months shift my routine a bit— it’s just too hot to do anything outside. Instead of long walks to clear my mind in the morning, I settle for intense rides on my peloton bike. This morning, I found myself in a reflective mood as I peddled. I recounted the events of the past few days; I couldn’t seem to shake Carlee Russell’s story. It’s been at the forefront of my mind. I tossed and turned the night before; I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I’m glad she’s been found safe, but there are many more who haven’t been brought home. It’s gut-wrenching.

In just a few short weeks, my beautiful little girl will be in my arms. My heart melts when I think of fatherhood. It’s an honor to father a little Black girl. I’ve done my best to prepare for this new journey. The elders in my life remind me that I’ll never quite be ready no matter what I do to prepare. Parenthood is an evolutionary experience. It’s surreal when I think about it sometimes. I often imagine playing with her. I wonder what our talks will be like as she grows up. There are days, like today when my joy is temporarily eclipsed by anxiety: the anxiety I bet most Black fathers feel when they think about the world their daughters will have to live in. When I think of what Black women face today, I feel a deep sense of anger and discomfort. I’m angry that our society does not care about our Black women and children.

I’ll do whatever it takes to protect my family; it’s a huge responsibility that I don’t take lightly. I’m not afraid to die for my family if it ever came to it. It’s our responsibility as men and fathers to do what we must to ensure the safety of our homes. This includes protecting our daughters from predators, dangerous family members, neighbors, and other forces that wish to harm to our daughters. We cannot afford to be asleep at the wheel.

On a daily basis, I’m confronted with social media posts from grief-stricken parents of missing Black girls who long for their return. Why must our world be so cruel and cold? As a father, I can’t fathom the thought of something happening to my little girl. Something has to change today. There are too many missing women and children out there. The world collectively doesn’t care about us, but we need to.

Line in the Sand

I find solace in quiet hours. I’m an early riser as well as a night owl; this has been the case for many years. I do my best work in these moments. There’s peace in the freedom of thought; I withhold judgment of myself. Tonight as I sit at my writing desk, I’ve set out to express my thoughts with intentionality and authenticity.

We’re in an interesting moment in history. Some would argue, the best of times. If our scope were solely on the advancement of technology, I would agree. However, we’re more complex than this. I often ponder what our world would be like today if social media hadn’t become so engrained in the culture. How would we process our deepest thoughts, intimate moments, and our life as a whole without the ability to share with great scale? Virility has become a drug. Attention-seeking behavior is the norm. Clicks and likes are the gold standard.

Has social media exposed a chink in our proverbial armor? Has our collective desire to be seen destroyed the development of critical thinking and authenticity? Where do we go from here as a world that’s deeply entrenched in cyberspace? Please understand, my intention is not to group all people within a single bucket. I’ve met so many wonderful people. To be able to share my writing with the world has been blissful. There are many people who use social media responsibly, but I’d be remiss to say the toxic aspects haven’t appeared to outweigh its benefits.

While social media has certainly expanded our ability to connect with others beyond our geographical boundaries amongst other positives, it has also introduced a host of issues that have changed the landscape of our world forever. Today it is too embedded in our society. I believe it has exposed and exploited our human weaknesses. What would our world be like if social media were to shut down for an entire year? In many regards, I believe it would introduce an opportunity for society to reset.

From tide pod challenges to eerily vulnerable moments shared with strangers, where should the line be drawn in the sand? I don’t believe much can be done now, we’re in too deep.

Today's Reading: There's Somethin' About Love: A Novel (Chapter 1)

In today’s reading, B.W. McKay reads Chapter 1 of There’s Somethin’ about Love: A Novel. To purchase a copy of the paperback or Kindle version please click here.

Moving at the Speed of Love

I opened the laptop to a blank page— the same blank page I’d unsuccessfully eluded for months. The backspace key had become my best friend as nothing I’d written felt good enough. To put it bluntly, I’ve been struggling with writing lately. My little girl has dominated my thoughts for months; I’m obsessed with her already. She’ll be making her debut soon. This period of my life has certainly been a gift that keeps on giving. From baby appointments to putting together my daughter’s rosey pink nursery: I’ve been floating on cloud nine. Life has been moving at the speed of love.

In my quiet time, I’ve been doing a lot of soul-searching. I’ve asked myself questions like: what will this new version of myself look like? Will I be a good father? Am I still a good writer? Have I been too hard on myself? It’s hard to focus when you can hardly catch your breath. It took the strength of Moses to string these words together. I’ve felt immense guilt when I think of all the days I hadn’t written a single meaningful word. My eyes are often drawn to the folder where my latest manuscript has been collecting a thick layer of dust. There’s a part of me that unrealistically believed nothing could slip, even in a transitory period of my life. I’ve fallen into this trap in the past.

I’ve written this piece for those who travel this road. Perhaps you’ve felt the same guilt recently. Maybe you haven’t been able to connect with your craft due to recent changes in your life. Transition, although beautiful, can still be tough to grapple with. I’ve been meditating on the word grace as of late. Grace is what we should extend to ourselves when we feel disconnected and unsure of how to move forward. If you’ve been hard on yourself lately, I kindly ask that you step back and give yourself permission to feel without judgment. When life moves at the speed of love, hold on and enjoy the ride. You’ll figure out how to move forward when the time is right. Enjoy the moment as it is. Everything will eventually fall into place.