I don’t subscribe to the adage that “nothing is ever lost.” I used to lose things all the time. While in college, I lost two coats! Like a lot of people, I’ve lost more umbrellas than I can count and don’t get me started on misplacing things. When I used to misplace things at home, my calm and logical husband was always there to find them for me.
I don’t usually lose things now because I try to be mindful of what I’m doing. Also, I like to establish the kind of habits that relieve me of having to be consciously thinking about where I put the items I use every day. Most things have their place. Now that I’ve downsized, there are a lot of open spaces and flat surfaces where I can easily see things if I’m looking for them. I’ve been feeling pretty content and maybe a little smug about not having the frustration of always looking for something that has been misplaced.
That was until recently…
I have now become preoccupied with retracing my steps and actions to see if I did anything differently on the day that I lost my keys.
For a solid week, I was unable to walk through the house without scanning for the keys. The only thing that was different the day the keys disappeared is that I did have folks in the house doing some work. Coming from a background in which people felt that it was okay to take something that didn’t belong to them, I struggle to keep from thinking that someone deliberately took my keys. I’m going with the notion that the keys are lost or misplaced.
Resolved to think that the keys are lost or misplaced and not stolen did not take away the feeling of anxiousness. I would tell myself to just let it go and feel lucky that I was able to replace the keys. However, I was unable to take my own advice in letting it go. In my desperation, I became irrational in my search. I was looking in places knowingfull well before I searched that the keys would not be there—in boxes and drawers and under everything.
My preoccupation with the lost or misplaced keys became pervasive and a nuisance taking up brain space that I’d rather use otherwise. At the point of exhaustion, I called on my value of reflection. I asked myself what my deeper feelings were—those feelings beyond frustration.
Upon reflection, I was surprised to discover that my deeper feeling was one of distrust. Distrust in myself. How could I trust myself if I couldn’t keep up with something as simple as my own keys? Acknowledging this feeling gave me permission to allow my feelings of humility to surface.
In this posture of humility, I was able to reflect on what I had done in the past when I lost confidence in the one person that I should be able to trust.
During these times of a crisis of confidence in myself, I slow down. I soften my facial features. I show myself the same empathy and gentleness that I would show someone else who temporarily lost confidence in self. And lastly, I forgive myself for the all-to-human trait of being fallible.
I have decided to stop saying, “Just be yourself and act natural.”
I realize that hearing this does not always motivate. It can even be devastating when one feels that just being one’s self is not enough.
This is where role models come in. If we think that being our natural self is not enough, who are the people we would like to be like in this situation?
Acting as we think the people we admire would act is still being ourselves. We’re just finding a way to bring this part of ourselves into focus for this purpose. It does not change who we are. Acting as we think a role model would act enhances and burnishes the self that we’re always creating.
Being our best selves by not deliberately deceiving for selfish reasons may be the better part of being authentic.
If we’re guided by a basic human value of treating others the way we would like to be treated or the way they prefer to be treated, I think we can simplify the complex issue of being our authentic selves.
For me, thinking about what it means to be authentic started when I read that one of RuPaul’s foundational beliefs is that “everybody is playing a role.”
In talking about dressing in drag, Jinkx Monsoon similarly says, “It’s armor because you’re putting on a persona.”
Why do people play roles and feel it necessary to put on a persona? Is it because these are ways of protecting one’s self? If this is the reason, then to be authentic is a very brave act.
But what does being authentic mean to a layperson? Some say that to be authentic is to act and behave the same way no matter the circumstances. Some say that one’s values should always be the compass for being one’s authentic self. A person may be seen as being authentic if they are known to speak their minds and stand by their convictions.
Notwithstanding these perfectly reasonable definitions, I think being authentic is a fluid concept to be wrestled with throughout a lifetime. I have come to the conclusion on this day at this time that we’re never not being our authentic, true, genuine, essential selves because how one presents is an innate survival instinct.
Although there are times when our authentic self may be the version of ourselves that we deliberately bring forth and exhibit, I don’t think most people wake up and decide which role they want to play that day.
However, I also believe that we are the stars in our own productions, whether fantasy, horror, drama, comedy, or all at the same time.
When someone says, “I was not being myself,” especially after doing something that they regret, we might have an inward smile and think, “Yes, you were being your authentic, true, essential self, and I understand.”
The week before Easter, one of my Millennial friends told me that she would like to find a Black church to go to on Good Friday and Easter Sunday. I was surprised that she expressed this desire because she had never spoken about church before. Up to this point, I had not given much thought to Millennials and their religious habits and affiliations.
Shortly after this revelation that a Millennial was interested in going to a Black church for Easter services, I saw the documentary, gOD-Talk: A Black Millennials and FaithConversation. The film is the product of a collaboration between the National Museum of African American History & Culture and the Pew Research Center.
The narratives given by early and later Black Millennials are enlightening and fascinating. Some of these Millennials grew up in a family of generations of churchgoers and remained with their origins. Others expressed adherence to the beliefs and practices of other religions or philosophies—Atheism, Buddhism, Christianity, Islam, Ifá, and Spiritualism. They talked about their journey to find themselves within the faith that was right for them.
Faith was the bedrock upon which they built. The tools were different according to the life they wanted to live. Regardless of the avenue they took to find themselves in a community of faith, the commonality was their orientation to eschew sexism and racism and to value social justice. In other words, similar to the traditional Black Christian church, they sought community and action in their gOD. What may seem fractured regarding Black Millennials and the church is more like a fusion that includes grace, acceptance, and transformation.
If assessed by the amount of media attention and early campaigning by the major political parties, the approaching national election is an important marker in the destiny of our nation. Much foreshadowing and numerous negative predictions have already been put forth for the 2024 election. News headlines and excerpts from some of the candidates’ rhetoric promote fear for some and cynicism for others. It’s difficult to find something to be optimistic about regardless of the outcome of the 2024 election.
I’ve always put faith in the coming generation. I believe that they are the wise ones who find ways to see beyond the mess we find ourselves in when we abandon ethical principles and compassion. They make us hear them by any means necessary and I’ve always supported them in their efforts. Recently, I’ve begun to question if we can still count on the young to save us.
I want to ignore the polls about possible changes in the political leanings of younger voters because there are a lot of variables to consider regarding the integrity of the polling process and the interpretation of the results. Recent history has shown that younger voters have more progressive ideals, and therefore lean more toward the Democratic party. Articles using poll results as the focus, however, show that where the Democratic party leads among younger voters, the margin is extremely small, and in some cases the Republican party is ahead by a small margin. When I read that many men, in particular, admire the Republican candidate because of his machismo, I begin to wonder if we’re losing what has been so precious about young voters—optimism.
I want to believe that the current polarizing environment on so many issues would ignite and excite young voters to stand up for the ideals of the nation. However, it seems that in the current environment, it may seem impossible or futile to express noble ideals and meet the projected challenges with openness, compassion, courage, and integrity.
I don’t want to lose hope. What can open the door to optimism when there are so many forces pushing against it? What voice and whose words have broken through before?
“If I remain hopeful about the future, it’s in large part because I’ve learned to place my faith in my fellow citizens, especially those of the next generation, whose conviction in the equal worth of all people seems to come as second nature, and who insist on making real those principles that their parents and teachers told them were true but that they perhaps never fully believed themselves. More than anyone else, my book is for those young people—an invitation to once again remake the world, and to bring about, through hard work, determination, and a big dose of imagination, an America that finally aligns with all that is best in us.
“What I can say for certain is that I’m not yet ready to abandon the possibility of America—not just for the sake of future generations of Americans but for all of humankind.”
It’s funny how a simple message on a T-shirt can be humorous and not so funny at the same time.
I smiled when I saw a shirt recently and asked the wearer if I could take a picture. Thinking that was all there was to this moment, I was surprised when hours later I was still thinking about the messages on the T-shirt.
I began to question whether it is a well-intentioned gesture or a hostile act when someone interrupts a conversation or exchange by saying, “It’s not about you.” Is such an interjection meant to open new pathways to communication? Is it meant to focus both parties more directly and intently on the issue at hand?
I’m skeptical about whether bringing a person up short with such a statement is helpful in encouraging the receiver to see the situation from a different perspective. More than likely such a judgment shuts the receiver down in an unhelpful way making it awkward for the exchange to continue in an honest and authentic manner.
The tenor of the conversation changes as feelings unrelated to the original topic intervene. There may be feelings of shame or anger. More often than not, these feelings are pushed down and not shared because the person receiving the statement, “It’s not about you,” likely feels admonished. If this occurs, then it does become all about them.
How should one react when they are the recipient of such a judgment? One way to react might be to apologize for changing the focus of the conversation if that is indeed what happened. Another reaction might be to thank the person for bringing the conversation back to the appropriate focus, assuming the author of the statement knows what the focus should be.
But let’s be real. If there is a habit of only seeing the world from how it affects oneself, being told that “it’s not all about you” changes nothing about a self-centered person’s orientation. Instead, it likely changes the way the person feels about the person who made the observation or judgment.
Granted, there is a lot of ambiguity about the intention and the helpfulness of this statement, but what there is no doubt about is the negative impact of having that statement made if one is not acting in a selfish manner and genuinely wants to have a constructive conversation.
Bringing a person up short with such a statement might be a tactic that is regularly used to shut down a person who has the better argument or to discourage conversation altogether.
Which side of the t-shirt resonates with you? Do you live in a world where “it’s not about you,” or do you live in a world where “it’s all about you”? Does it depend? None of the above?
It doesn’t take a retrospective view for me to know that I’ve often been at the right place at the right time. I thought of this recently when I was concerned about having enough time to get across town for an appointment. As it turned out, I was lucky that I had not gotten on the highway when planned because I would have just been stuck in traffic until a disabled vehicle blocking the ramp at my exit was removed. A small thing, but I was where I was supposed to be at the right time. I was taking care of my prior business rather than sitting in traffic waiting to exit the highway.
These days, even when small plans don’t turn out just the way I intended, I stop to search for and acknowledge the good that comes from being in that place at that time. I have found that attempting to force things to happen the way I want them to at the time I want them to happen often leads to undue frustration and regret. Allowing the unexpected to reveal the prize inside has been one of the most important lessons I’ve learned and one of the many joys of my life.
In my youth and adolescent years, when I had little control over my care and conditions, I now know that the circumstances that prevailed during these times instilled in me the desire to push harder and the resilience to reach higher. Role models—both positive and negative—provided examples I needed in order to become a caring and responsible adult. The years of wanting to be in some other place with different people and longing to be anybody but myself instilled within me the kind of empathy that has become a lifelong value. Although I didn’t think it then, I now know I needed to be in those places during those times.
When I think about the jobs I have had during my long career, it is evident to me that opportunities were realized when the time was right and I was ripe for the position. Graduating from college with a bachelor’s degree in English and a master’s degree in counseling, I was not optimistic about my chances of a full-time job doing what I wanted to do. I had no desire to teach after a negative experience as a student teacher. I desperately wanted to be a counselor and knew this would be the right career for me.
After three years of teaching, one of the counselors in the high school where I was teaching went on maternity leave and I was asked to take the role during her absence. Getting out of the classroom and into the counseling office was a “sweet Jesus” moment for me. I felt ready for the role of counselor. I knew that I was at the right place at the right time.
As it turned out, this short stint in the role of counselor opened the door for my next position. Moving to a new city to support my husband’s desire to get his MBA, I had no prospects for a job as a counselor.
As luck would have it, the local community college was less than ten minutes from our house. As I’m remembering it now, it was a Saturday, and I may have been out running errands. On a whim, I drove to the college, walked into the administration building and asked the front desk if there was anyone in the counseling office.
I was directed to the second floor of the administration building. The only person in the office was the Director of Counseling. I explained that I was new in town and was curious about community college counseling since I had a degree in counseling. The Director and I had a nice conversation and during our conversation the Director let me know that he was looking to hire a counselor and I should consider applying for the position.
I served as a counselor at this community college for the next ten years. There is no doubt that I was at the right place at the right time.
I think many of us have these same moments. For me, these moments are precious gifts for which I’m always very thankful.
When I think about my core values, I think about the positive aspects of my beliefs and how they direct my actions and influence my orientation to others. I think of my values as the foundation from which I reach out, stretch, and move forward. Values form the crucible of my faith in myself and in others.
Like core values, when I think of spirituality, I think of some belief that is at its core humane with roots emanating from religiosity or other spiritual dimension. It speaks to the ultimate good coming from one’s God.
In the current cult of culture, neither core values nor spirituality can be assumed to be positive or good in relation to respect and love for fellow human beings. There seems to be no common understanding of standards of civility nor generally accepted ethics or morals.
It seems that in this cult of culture, we make decisions about the goodness or evilness of people based on their strong or even tangential affiliations. The presumption is that those who affiliate with a group share common values and beliefs. To the outsider, the assumption is that these shared values and beliefs, if not the same as our own, are not just different but juxtaposed to our core values and spiritual beliefs.
Sadly, in a cult of culture, there is a degradation of human interaction. For example, if a Black person is in conversation with a White person who seems to have similar ideas regarding justice and fairness, and the Black person learns that the White person is or used to be a police officer, something changes in the interaction. Stereotypically, there is instant or auto-suspicion of the White person by the Black person because of the White person’s affiliation with law enforcement because this group is often assumed to be biased, particularly against Black people.
Auto-suspicion is not only switched on between people of different racial and ethnic backgrounds. The above example may raise suspicion even if the current or former police officer is Black, depending on what weight the other party puts on the different aspects of their conversation partner’s identity. In another example, someone who is of the same race or ethnicity may reveal that their child attends what is perceived as an ultra-conservative Evangelical Christian college, leading to assumptions about the person’s values and beliefs and perhaps a struggle to keep from closing off and becoming guarded about what one shares with the person thereafter.
In today’s cult of culture, there are suspicions and assumptions about people based on their political preferences. More than other characteristics, one’s political preferences are defining the essence of people. Before knowledge of political preferences, one’s actions and reactions are likely neutral and unbiased. Once the new knowledge about politics is revealed, there is often an instant lack of trust and a niggling feeling of fear and a hardness that becomes non-negotiable.
Non-negotiable attitudes are borne out of faith in concepts that usually do not stand up to the test of reason. In fact, a 2019 study by More in Common found a wide perception gap in how Americans tend to understand people on the other side of the aisle.
Sadly, the polarizing environment that we inhabit today is the lifeblood of our current cult of culture. A total lack of empathy and respect for those who share different political and religious views is a distressing byproduct of the cult of culture. There seems to be a virus of dogmatic beliefs based on prejudice rather than reason.
I live in an environment that is giving me a lot of experience in checking myself when I make assumptions about the values and compatibility of people based on previous understandings and interpretations of superficial characteristics. I’m beginning to believe that in some instances, my openness to seeing beyond the surface and acting on what I see before me rather than my assumptions tends to reduce my doubt, suspicion, and prejudice, as well as the doubt, suspicion, and prejudice from those with whom I interact.
It’s not easy to check myself and be clear-eyed and cognizant about what I value when auto-suspicion is so strong. I will keep working at it. I think it’s worth it. Don’t you?
After all, as the “Perception Gap” report rightly concludes: “A healthy democracy will always have some disagreement and conflict; it’s a necessary component of progress. But democracy also requires a sense of shared values and commitments, and a willingness to find common ground. This study suggests that there is more such territory than many imagine. By understanding our Perception Gaps, working to overcome our mistrust of the other side, and resisting the forces that seek to divide us, we can advance towards a future that we all want.”
How does it feel to be “Black and Blue,” traumatized daily by enslavement or racism? A response emerged in the 1929 song, “Black and Blue,” composed by jazz pianist “Fats” Waller, with lyrics by Harry Brooks and Andy Razaf. This song offers a snippet of what 19th-century America was like for Venerable Father Augustus Tolton, one of six African Americans now on the road to sainthood.
Fr. Augustus Tolton
Augustus Tolton (1854–1897) was born into slavery in Bush Creek, Missouri, to Martha and Peter Paul Tolton. The Toltons were married, baptized Catholics enslaved on neighboring Catholic plantations. Peter Paul Tolton escaped to join the Union Army during the Civil War and died in a hospital. Martha Tolton escaped with her children to Quincy, Illinois, in 1862. She was helped by Union soldiers as she paddled a rowboat across the Mississippi River, with bullets from Confederate soldiers splashing the water.
The first Catholic parish the family attended consisted largely of German immigrants. Many scorned the Black family’s presence. In 1865, when Augustus Tolton entered the parish’s St. Boniface School, he was forced to leave a month later due to unrelenting threats to the parish and school from children and adults.
When the family moved to St. Peter Parish, benevolent priests and nuns taught and protected Tolton as he attended St. Peter School when not working to help support his family.
Recognizing his academic and spiritual gifts, he was allowed to instruct Black children in religious education. At age 16, Tolton felt called to the priesthood. Although tutored for entrance into the priesthood, when he graduated at age 18 from St. Peter School, no Catholic seminary in the United States would accept Tolton because of his race. His mentors worked relentlessly to find him a place.
In 1880, at the age of 26, Tolton departed for Rome to enter the Collegium Urbanum de Propaganda Fide to become a missionary priest to Africa. Proficient in languages, Tolton learned Latin, German, Greek, and Italian. After six years of study, he was to be ordained on April 24, 1886, ready for Africa.
On the night before his ordination, Tolton was summoned by his mentor Cardinal Giovanni Simeoni, prefect for the Vatican Congregation for the Propagation of the Faith.
“America has been called the most enlightened nation,” the cardinal told him. “We will see if it deserves that honor. If America has never seen a Black priest, it has to see one now. Can you drink from this cup?”
“Yes, I can” Tolton replied in Latin. He was being sent to St. Joseph Church, a Black parish in his hometown of Quincy, Illinois.
Black Catholics in Quincy were overjoyed. Father Tolton also won the respect of Irish and German Catholics who crossed the color line to hear his inspiring sermons, teaching, and wonderful singing voice.
But in his first two years, unrelenting harassment came from Catholic priests and even Protestant ministers threatened by his popularity, especially with White churchgoers supporting Father Tolton’s church financially.
Pressure intensified until Father Tolton was forced out of Quincy to the diocese of Chicago, where he was assigned to a poor, struggling Black Catholic parish on the south end.
The pressures did not stop as Father Tolton worked tirelessly to move St. Monica Church from borrowed space in a church basement to a storefront. Financial support from Mother Katharine Drexel (later canonized as a saint) helped build St. Monica Church and school.
Father Tolton would later write in a letter to Drexel, “I shall work and pull at it as long as God gives me life, for I am beginning to see that I have powers and principalities to resist anywhere and everywhere I go.”
He spoke throughout the nation, and officiated at the first National Black Catholic Conference held January 1–4, 1889, in Washington, DC, where Father Tolton and delegates met with President Grover Cleveland.
Reviewing the life and cause of Venerable Augustus Tolton, I wondered how a Millennial might view this saint-to-be. I found my answer speaking to Stefanie Miles, a Venerable Father Augustus Tolton Ambassador in Washington, DC.
Tolton’s appeal for Miles doesn’t come from the almost mythical stories about his faith, endurance, and prodigious intellect, but from his Christ-centered humanity and spirituality.
After nearly a decade as an ambassador, Miles still wonders how Tolton trusted God and submitted to his destiny under the unrelenting societal and personal pressures he faced daily. Connecting with that, she said, gives her—and can give others—a spiritual role model to help address human frailties while building a closer relationship with God.
“I identify myself with the human side of his life,” Miles said. “We may not have had the same struggles, but we struggled all the same. I want people to identify with his actual human story. I want people to understand where he came from as a person.”
Miles became an ambassador in 2015, after being “volun-told” to join the group by family elders. “I just went with the process,” she said, glad now that she did.
Early on, Miles learned what she calls “Disney” or “CliffsNotes” versions of the life of the man recognized as the nation’s first African American Catholic priest. Growing closer to him, she began to learn and feel his heart and wounds.
“He literally worked himself to death,” Miles said of Father Tolton, who at the age of 43, collapsed from heat stroke while walking home from the train station during a Chicago heat wave and later died.
“I have a lot of friends who are priests,” Miles continued. “We have to take care of them, especially African American priests who often lack resources. People are constantly pulling at them, as they did with Jesus, saying ‘help me, heal me!’”
Miles said she can imagine the stress and inner doubts Father Tolton must have felt throughout his life, before and after he became a priest, for it is a burden shouldered by many youth today.
“Look we’ve got to make our mark in the church,” she said. “The older generation needs to step aside, but not just drop us as we try to find our way” to accept church leadership roles, and even question and leave the church for awhile, if necessary.
“The younger generation also needs to step up,” and even discern if they are being called to a religious vocation.
Miles says Father Tolton has re-ignited her interest in studying languages, and deepened her reverence for Catholic practices that he loved and said empowered him, such as Adoration and the Eucharist.
“We need role models.” And for Miles that’s Venerable Augustus Tolton.
Joann Stevens is a freelance writer and program specialist promoting unsung and unknown African American jazz, faith, and cultural innovators who have influenced democracy and racial justice for the Common Good.
Anna Julia Cooper (1858–1964) put no limits on the intellectual potential of Black people, Black women in particular. Her own intellectual and educational achievements are a testament to her firm belief that women’s opportunities for learning and education should not be less than or different than men based on assumptions about women’s capabilities.
I’m particularly drawn to the life of Anna Julia Cooper because she did it all: was a leading Black spokeswoman; held leadership in women’s organizations; founded the first chapter of the YWCA Camp Fire Girls for Black girls; served as principal and teacher in the “renowned Dunbar High School in Washington, DC;” started a night school for working people to attend college; and authored a seminal book on Black feminism, A Voice from the South.
Even as she focused her energy and attention on cultivating the potential of marginalized people, she also continued to work on her own education. In 1924, Cooper received her Ph.D. from the University of Paris, becoming only the fourth Black woman in the United States to earn a doctorate degree.
Despite these extraordinary accomplishments of a Black woman born in the South and formerly a slave, what captivates me most about Dr. Cooper is that she didn’t seek attention. Dr. Paul Cooke, one of her biographers, wrote that she chose the “lesser light.”
She was dedicated to a larger cause than herself and refrained from crediting her own achievements. An example of Dr. Cooper’s humility is what Dr. Mary Helen Washington shared in her Introduction to Cooper’s Book in the Shomburg Library Collection of Nineteenth-Century Black Women Writers.
“In 1982, when Louise Hutchinson, staff historian at the Smithsonian Institution, completed her biography of Cooper, she called for an official Smithsonian car and hand-delivered the copy of the biography to Mrs. Regia Haywood Bronson, the eldest of the five children Anna Cooper had adopted in 1915.
“Then in her late seventies, Mrs. Bronson took the book from Hutchinson, and holding it to her breast, she rocked back and forth with tears streaming down her face, but not saying a word. When Hutchinson asked her why she was crying, Bronson said, ‘Nobody ever told me Sis Annie was important.’”
Yes, Anna Julia Cooper was important, indeed, in advocating for social justice and equality of rights for all people and the education of Black women, in particular.
Living to be 105 years old, she lived to see a celebration of Black History Month and Women’s History Month. She would have been pleased to see the theme of the 2024 Women’s History Month—Women Who Advocate for Equity, Diversity, and Inclusion.
Introduction in the Schomburg Library Collection of Nineteenth-Century Black Women Writers: Cooper, Anna Julia. A Voice From the South. (United Kingdom: Oxford University Press, 1988).
Gwen Dungy 