“Being in the deep,
Living in hell always
I make no promise.”
I arrived at my West Coast sanctuary, good for my existence. I was exhausted from the long day and flights but awakened to the sound of the fog horns in the distance. The fog rolled down from the mountains surrounding me but burned off before it reached my bay. I ran along the bay grateful for every step because I can still run and enjoy the beauty around me. By noon, the sky was blue, the water a deeper blue; sailboats dotted every scene.
A couple of friends invited me out for the evening. I put on an ivory lace mini dress, spectator pumps (southern thing); hopped into my convertible sports car and drove to a nearby winery. We dined, danced and solved the world’s problems with dozens of ideas; my friends clearly happy to see me here at last. I live a completely different existence on the West Coast with many social events.
In a few days, I mark a significant birthday. My friends here have started the celebration early. For me, I am grateful that they remember me. It’s easy to overlook one such as myself; woman at the bottom rung of American society. Biracial women are not wanted and certainly not wanted or acknowledged for much these days but clearly, my friends are happy to see me. I can’t imagine why they would even want to celebrate with me.
I danced and dined on wonderful food with great friends.I drove with the wind blowing my hair now definitively grey as I have earned my “strips” in life. My life is one of solitary service to medicine, science and my theology. Clearly, I didn’t get the memo this time. I am grateful to have friends who seemed genuinely happy that I arrived safely. Still, I can wish just a tiny bit.
I will never be beautiful, talented or even smart enough for acceptance. From my vantage point at the bottom of society, I observed and learned. I strive to be kind and compassionate. I stopped being apologetic fifteen years ago. Is this is my existence without agenda? I know that today, I am the woman I need to be for my service.