whatever is mine is looking for me

notes on navigating destiny, self-discovery, and the interconnectedness of life

Photo by Matthew Jones on Unsplash

I recently stumbled across an interview snippet of Alice Walker’s in which she declares boldly, “ I am not desperate for anything really. I feel that whatever is mine is looking for me.”

I gotta be honest, I can’t relate.

But I want to.

I, personally, am desperate for many things.

I am desperate for more love. Desperate to take my shoes off and make myself comfortable inside yet another person. To have their favorite drink ready. To have more friends and more loved ones pouring out of every crack and crevice of my life.

I am desperate to be an angry Black woman — for real this time (cus’ I been holding back), and also a sad sack of shit. I mean I want to have a temper tantrum and then really wallow. Imma set the streets on fire w this but, I want to be pitied. Just a little bit. And then we can go back to our regularly scheduled programming.

I am desperate to be healed. To wake up, and not feel pain of any kind. Not in my knees or my back or my heart. No painful memories. No sudden fear. No flare-ups. No hormonal imbalance. No migraine. No crackling joints.

I once saw a painting by Phillip Barlowe that depicted a blurry beach scene and I wept because, I realized in that instant, that I am desperate to open my eyes and just … see out of them.

Philip Barlow

The scene was painfully relatable — I actually touched my eyes to check for my glasses.Were they on? Could I see? Perhaps it was the automatic way I squinted, yearning for focus, or simply the artist's masterful portrayal of a blurred world. Tears welled in my eyes as I recognized the frustration and longing for clarity reflected back at me from the canvas.

my momma asked me if I was grateful for the growth from my grief. and the truth is only sometimes. sometimes, I would rather be smaller and happier.

Is what is mine, looking for me? Does what’s mine also have a double astigmatism and social anxiety, because … they have not found me.

Yet.

I can’t lie, sometimes I get a pang of doubt. A fear that maybe I'm fundamentally broken — that 'what is mine' will simply pull its hoodie down lower over its eyes and bypass me. Decide that it wants to be someone else’s now that they’ve gotten a good look at what they’ve been chasing all this time. But maybe the question isn't whether "what is mine" will find me, but whether I'm actively searching for it.

Perhaps our paths are like vines, reaching and twisting, destined to intertwine in a thousand ways over time, each connection shaping the other. This idea struck a chord with me recently when I connected with

Rose J. Percy

of A Gentle Landing. It all began with a simple act - she reshared the post where I came out as queer on Beyoncé’s internet (no big deal, right?). That one gesture sparked a conversation that revealed a beautiful parallel journey. We discovered we were both writers, the eldest daughters of Caribbean fathers, both blessed with a certain height, and both living a life informed by the complexities of growing up immersed in the world of theology and Jesus. Rose, with her own depth of experience, became curious about my exploration of "soulwork," a concept central to my scholarship. She's even suggested several texts that have become foundational to my academic pursuits. (Being friends with Rose means making several trips to your local bookstore.)

This chance encounter reminded me that even the seemingly insignificant connections can blossom into something profound, shaping our perspectives and enriching our journeys. It also underscored the messy, ever-evolving nature of self-discovery. The "all of me" I crave knowing might not be a neat package with a bow. Maybe it's the messy conglomeration of desires I battle with daily – the yearning to be both a fierce protector and a gentle soul. Perhaps embracing the sad sack of shit days alongside the moments of earth shattering rage is the key to authenticity. Rose, with her insightful questions and shared experiences, helped me see the beauty in this blurry mess – that the true essence of self lies in embracing all the contradictions, not striving for some idealized version.

I picture successful people I admire – Issa Rae conquering television (and, even more impressive, conquering the woman who lives in her mirror. My own Mirror Bxtch must be on PTO. Love that for her), Michelle Obama captivating audiences. Did they simply wait for greatness to find them on the couch? Doubtful.

the OG mirror bxtch. - Insecure, 2019

Issa Rae, for instance, turned her web series "Awkward Black Girl" into a critically acclaimed HBO show. Quinta Brunson, with her infectious humor, went from a Buzzfeed producer to the creator of the hit sitcom "Abbott Elementary." Michelle Obama, well, she went from her parent’s house to, Harvard Law grad to First Lady. None of them waited for opportunities to land in their laps. They hustled, they persevered, they carved their own paths.

The truth is, I haven't exactly been proactive. My approach to self-discovery so far has been like clinging to a splintered mast in a hurricane. Every wave threatens to pull me under, the wind howls a disorienting song, and my arms scream with exhaustion. There's no steering, no plan, just a desperate fight to stay afloat until the storm decides to relent, or worse, shatters the mast altogether. But somewhere between the crashing waves and the howling wind, I discovered a fire had been lit in my belly. Maybe it was the act of putting pen to paper here on Substack, the raw honesty spilling out onto the screen. But this newfound sense of agency burns bright, and I’ve decided I won't be tossed around any longer.

It's time I grabbed a metaphorical oar and started paddling. This storm might be tough, but baby, I’m tougher.

This journey of self-discovery isn't a solo expedition, either. My sister, my husband, and my momma are there for me. They are clear and they reflect me back to myself. My therapist, with her endless supply of tissues and insightful questions, has become a lighthouse in the storm. Sharing vulnerabilities with friends, the laughter and tears exchanged, reminds me I'm not adrift at sea. There's a whole damn flotilla out there, navigating their own murky waters.

Maybe Alice Walker wasn't suggesting passive acceptance, but a quiet confidence. A trust that the universe, in its own quirky way, is conspiring to nudge me in the right direction, even when the path seems obscured by self-doubt. Perhaps "what is mine" and I, are on a reciprocal quest, a shared journey where I'm searching for it as much as it's searching for me. Like two lighthouses in the fog, we call out, each guiding the other towards a deeper understanding.

Maybe you, too, are adrift in your own storm. If so, let's paddle together. Share your vulnerabilities, your dreams, your blurry visions. Together, we might just illuminate the path ahead for ourselves and each other. Who knows? The journey's just getting started. And for the first time, I'm starting to see a glimmer of the path ahead, blurry as it may be.

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Love y’all. Mean it. If you love me back, Buy Me A Book!