My Neighborhood. My Reality.

My daily routine typically includes a walk around the neighborhood. This activity is special because it gets me away from my screens and out in the fresh air; connecting with nature, feeling the sun on my face. There’s also the added benefit of getting in steps as a form of exercise. I sometimes listen to podcasts. Mostly I walk in silence, alone with my thoughts with the sounds of nature playing in the background.

As I stroll I often feel the swells of gratefulness rise inside of me as I reflect on how I’ve been blessed. I’m reminded of the times in my past that I prayed for the things I have now. I will often snap photos to capture the moment for my memory journals.

In general, I feel safe walking in my neighborhood. It’s quite lovely. And very walkable -- tree-lined streets, very little traffic, plenty of sidewalks, access to the lake, walking paths including one that leads to the adjoining public park.

This is my reality.

However, as a black woman I cannot afford to be naïve that I’m totally insulated. Given the murders of Trayvon Martin and Ahmaud Arbery I cannot ignore there are very similar threats to my safety as I walk in my own neighborhood. The most glaring being the Trump 2020 signs displayed in some of my neighbors’ yards. At this point, I assume that anyone who is a Trump supporter has little or no regard for human life and they are dangerous. My blackness makes me a target for their hate.

This is also my reality.

Neither reality negates the other. They co-exist in a delicate balance for I, too, am America.

I, too, sing America.

I am the darker brother.

They send me to eat in the kitchen

When company comes,

But I laugh,

And eat well,

And grow strong.

Tomorrow,

I’ll be at the table

When company comes.

Nobody’ll dare

Say to me,

“Eat in the kitchen,”

Then.

Besides,

They’ll see how beautiful I am

And be ashamed—

I, too, am America.

—Langston Hughes