When Ahmaud Arbery was murdered on what should have been a routine run, when Breonna Taylor was murdered in her sleep by a bullet she couldn’t see coming, when George Floyd was strangled in broad daylight in a busy street, I could not uphold the strong tower image I had created around racism and its effect on me and my family. So I didn’t.
We met in the breakroom and exchanged playful jabs while expertly debating which breakfast beverage of choice was best: coffee or tea? I didn’t think he was anything extra special, I just thought he was funny and bold, a nice breath of fresh air from the guys I’d chosen to set my intentions on. And truth be told, I needed a Jack.*
In the next split moment, I realized that although I didn’t currently want Him or feel compelled to change, I wanted to.
Post Twenty-five Life 