fortunately, I'm human
celebrating a year of "Journey to Perfection"
It’s the start of the new year, and I’m fresh off finally finding soup joumou in LA. I leave my friend’s downtown high-rise apartment and head to a nearby bar, where my homegirl, who’s in town for the weekend, texts me the name I need to drop to get into a party that’s already at capacity.
We find each other, and she yells to some random guy who’s clearly trying to prove that he got it like that, that it’s my birthday. Even though he’s moving kinda weird, he buys me a shot of something brown in hopes of impressing my friend enough to get her number. We cheer for the new year, both my personal and the universal, as house music blasts through the spot. He screams from the top of his Chicago native lungs “yall don’t know nothing bout this” as he proceeds to jack through the crowd with his footwork carrying him to the next function that he wants us to meet him at. We assure him that we’ll let him know if we decide to pull up, but the look between me and my homegirl screams “ we are definitely not going.”
As more complimentary birthday drinks flow in my direction, I take a moment from swaying and bumping in unison with the bass to do what any normal millennial does to reset oneself in a setting like this. I check my phone.
I open Substack and see a few comments on the latest monkeybrain. The most recent one that I had not seen prior stands out to me, “you have such beautiful thoughts—they’re so human.”
Initially, I read the comment a few times, I put my hand over my heart and say, “aww, how sweet”. Take the comment for what it is and tuck it away for later.
After a few minutes of letting the comment sit with me, I push away my tipsy disposition and engage the comment deeper despite the social demands of the current setting. I recognize that simply through my words and sharing my voice, I am seen. In that moment, I’m reminded that in writing, I’ve exposed myself. That people have seen parts of me that only I knew were there.
Untitled, Jean-Michel Basquiat, 1982
A year ago, I embarked on writing out loud and started Journey to Perfection and had no idea what I was getting myself into. I was called to write, and I knew that most of the journey in writing would be reflective. A place to question, understand, and examine my life and life as is. A building of an archive to write my own history, and leave behind my thoughts on the world as I knew it. When I started to write my first piece, I took so long thinking and overthinking about the details, and how it needed to be “perfect,” prolonging the original release and leading to the realization that I had a really interesting relationship to perfection. Upon that revelation, I felt it was only right to name this publication after that, as a reminder to myself. It’s not uncommon for me to think of names in this way, I usually use words in this manner as reminders. For example, I have a tattoo on my rib cage (yes it did hurt, I almost passed out) that says “humility” as a reminder to carry a sense of humility and one on my bottom lip that says “life” as a reminder to speak life into situations. I wanted the name of this space to be a reminder that I am not perfect, and that my journey is ultimately about being perfected to be pleasing and acceptable to God, for my final resting.
What I didn’t expect, though, was how this consistent practice would challenge me to unlearn, to love better, and to profess the truth. I was unlearning the programming of performance and being palatable. Even though I’ve always been an individual, I knew how far that was acceptable in some spaces and would water myself down for the sake of accommodation. As a means of loving myself better, I had to learn to love myself more deeply than I had before. Deep enough to embrace the work I’ve already done and continue to do, and to put that love into practice by learning to identify, name, and express my needs. To honor myself enough in love to walk away and or take a break from dynamics when necessary. More than anything, I became someone who demanded the truth. Through writing, I give the part of myself that is brutally honest the space to express herself. A space typically reserved for journaling, but the more I gave space, the more I saw the demand for truth and honesty in my public writing. Even though I was getting comfortable writing stuff that was cute, cheeky, relatable, and safe, that part of me got comfortable holding up a mirror to things that wanted to be expressed, urging me to be more earnest. Granting myself this permission kept that mirror up in every area of my life, forcing me to see reality over and over again and helping me understand that, to imagine effectively, one has to see things for what they truly are. The practice of truth helped me decide that I no longer can hold space for dishonesty with myself or anyone else. If the truth is going to burn something down, then so be it. I know the power of being born of ashes.
And the truth of the matter is, with all my efforts at perfection and performance, I was trying to hide my most vulnerable reality. I am human.
Coming to the realization that I’m human is honestly embarrassing as fuck. To come to terms with being human is the humbling realization that you are not God, and that you are limited. It’s realizing that no matter what you will, life is still going to unfold the way it’s meant to. That you are not all-powerful or all-knowing. That you don’t have some special ability that exempts you from the challenging days or seasons. No matter what you do, you’re not above ridicule or the call to growth. You’re still going to get things wrong. You are not a machine and no matter how hard you try to avoid them, you do have feelings. That if you’re blessed with time, you will see the changes in your body as you age. That you will never meet the impossible standard of perfection in society, or the perfection we place on our lives. It means love is messy, life is nuanced, and despite your best efforts, you will fail, you will suffer, and one day, it all comes to an end and no one makes it out of here alive. You begin to see plainly that with or without you, the sun will rise and set. The world will keep turning. The moon will still offer light in the dark for those who need it, and the ocean will always stretch farther than your hands can reach, or deeper than your feet will ever touch.
And that’s okay.
In this day and age, it seems as if there is so much shame in just being a human. Like being human isn’t enough. That our brilliance, our quirks, our ideas, our biological make up are all things to hate. Like how did we become the generation that made being in love, or wanting love embarrassing? How did we become the ones to make moving your body freely when enjoying music cringe? Why is it even normal for me to feel embarrassed to say that I’m human? I see how much we out source ourselves, especially in the age of a meta world. How we look to social media to validate our existence, our works, our creativity. How we lean more and more on digital tools to streamline tasks, and hold our things, and count our money, and, and, and, and.
I’ve come to the realization that I don’t want to compete with the meta. I don’t want to be a robot.
I want to be me. I want to be human.
I want to hold people physically, because I know what it’s like to not have that opportunity anymore. I want to navigate through pain because I know what it feels like to come out on the other side refined. I want to love, and fail, and cry, and laugh, and eat, and sing, and dance.. Man do I want to dance. I want to feel the grass under my feet and stick my body out the sun roof blasting my favorite song as I drive through cities and streets that hold my personal history. I want to get through the conflicts, and see the life we all bring into this world be it humans or art or ideas. I want to live and be shaped. I want to see how God created me, and how perfect I am because I was made in his image. I want to embrace my humanity, and the humanity of others, so much so that I’m willing to put my life on the line for it. I want to do my part in breaking generational curses in my bloodline, and see my kids live in the freedom that was fought for. I wanna see us experience the little slices of heaven on earth like mangos and kenèp, and rum, and lumpia, and dogs when they run up and lick your face and screaming the lyrics to your favorite songs with a group of strangers, and getting the last pair of shoes you wanted that were in your size, and being present in a moment, surrounded by soulmates who make you thankful to be alive even when the world is on fire.
Who told us that being human wasn’t enough and why did we believe them?
In a very imperfect human way, I don’t have a polished way to end this piece (I know, we were doing so well). I’m sure I’ll still wrestle with being human and all that it comes with, but in this moment, I see that in being human, I’ve been made in an image rooted in love. I get to embrace that there’s grace in my trying to figure this life thing out since it’s my first time here, and potentially the last. I get to leave something that will be here longer than me, and speak to centuries beyond me. I get to experience all this life has to offer, and I wonder how I was gifted the honor of being a Black, Haitian-American woman while I do it. How I got this lucky? I truly don’t know.
Today, I celebrate a year of writing out loud. I want to sincerely thank you all for being on this human journey with me. If this is your first time coming across my work, I’m glad we get to connect in this world at this time. If you’ve committed and have been here, thank you for being present. I hope that you give yourself the space to be human, and not hate yourself for it.
You are truly the best thing since sliced bread, and I’m thankful that you are here.
This was so good! Smile on my face got bigger, and bigger as I read this :)))))
Congratulations on your year of writing out loud! I felt this piece to the core. Thank you for sharing your words! Writing has definitely helped me to realize that there’s so much beauty in being human, in this human experience and the ebbs and flows of it all.