Black boys dream too.
a restful musing
A week and a half ago I was walking.
irritated walking.
headphones in.
on my way to do some work
clearly not wanting to interact with the world
And a young man maneuvers through a crowd of pedestrians
and says “hello! I’m from India and I’m new here.”
I was incredulous because this young man clearly observed my face, my demeanor and the headphones that were meant to show the world that I was an island unto myself. How dare he? He continued to smile and waited for me to take my headphones out. I’m grateful to this stranger because he was a new college student, new to America and I guess I will never know why he chose my face out of a crowd of people to interact with, but I do know that he changed my day. My heart softened. Like an iceberg melting…I softened. I found myself smiling as I listened to his fears about his new surroundings and his optimism for the school year ahead.
I bring this story up in a post about dreaming because that day my dreams were small. Embarrassingly small. They weren’t about the latest academic publication that I could get into. They weren’t of the next monetary achievement. Neither were they of how I could impact the world. On the outside I was strong and determined. But on the inside…I was dreaming of connection. Of a hug. Of loved ones encouraging me. I needed (and need) the witness that I’m doing a good job and that my place in this world isn’t irrelevant. Black boys deserve to dream. I wish there were more spaces that were safe for them to do so.
And perhaps, this young man was a sign to anchor a heart that was frustrated and lonely.
Despite the popular notion that dreams are supposed to scare us, I wonder if perhaps dreams are best left on a low, warming temp. A small amount of heat can go a long way. Sure I am a Black boy (I know I’m 40 so hush) that dreams big and wild dreams. They don’t typically scare me. Often, my curiosity spreads my imagination to the corners of the globe. And. My dreams are held by my loved ones so tenderly and fiercely. I get texts at random times telling me that I’m being thought of or “you can do it bro!” These little buoys of hope remind me that my dreams are not my own. They are ours.
And so.
I’m Black boy dreaming today.
Crying as I dream.
Dreaming low dreams
and dreaming high dreams.
wondering how many will I get to witness
before I breathe my last.
*Thank you all so much for sharing my posts, commenting, and just being delightful people.*
Delightful people draw forth delightful people.
I dare say that's why that student picked you out. Because even your body language and your "attitude" that day couldn't disguise delightful, gentle Robert.
Dreams on low temp… that’s perfect