Ballad of Sweet Guns and Crazy-Cat-Lady-Gone-Bad

J.R.R Tolkien, Aragorn

I am saddened today about the mass shooting that happened, one where 58 souls perished and another 515, at least, were injured physically by flying bullets. It is almost certain truth that those numbers do not include those souls who were otherwise traumatized by what they experienced or witnessed, who will struggle mentally for many years to come.

I can't stay silent anymore. I can't read the news and sign petitions and feel these words bubble up inside of me and continue to say nothing, not while there is still time to say them.

So much hate in our country, and regardless of how you feel about the Second Amendment of the United States Constitution and exactly what it means, it seems totally insane how easy it is to procure automatic weapons and kill people with them.

Coming right off the heels of the popular vein becoming aware of the rancid underbelly of racism still way too present in our culture makes it seem even worse.

As if every day we are to be reminded just how unsafe it is to live in America--how deep the hatred and malcontent and racism really goes.

The truth is, history will show over and over again that oftentimes sports is the only arena in which real change can occur, and that is what scares white supremacists and hate mongers the most—that something that fosters community could shift the power out of their hands.

There are some in power who would like us all to believe that racism and racial injustice is a figment of our imagination, that it isn’t an obstacle too many people face every situation and every day.

There are too many in power who would like us all to believe that there is nothing any of us can do about the level of hate in the world, that there is no hope in standing our ground against it and looking for another way.

They are not correct, and we must stop listening to them tell us so.

Too many people continue to blindly believe racism is over, that hate won't affect them like it does those around them. Too many of us hide our heads in the sand even while the truth remains violently and unabashedly clear right in front of the eyes of anyone with the courage to wake up and actually pay attention.

Paying attention is an interesting concept, isn’t it? It’s like the old Simon & Garfunkle song “Sound of Silence” goes:

People hearing without listening,

People talking without speaking.

We have a world full of what seem to be pretty clear truths. For instance:

Police kill black people more and what seems to be far more easily than white people, and are too often not brought to justice at all.

White people carrying flags—that represent Hitler and his followers, who murdered over 6 million people—are actively running their cars into peaceful counter-protestors (a right of ours, by the way…)

…yet athletes of color are being raked over the coals for choosing to kneel during an anthem that sings about our country’s flag—a flag that first and foremost stands for Freedom of Speech.

Procuring dangerous automatic weapons and killing people with them seems easier to do than affording rent for yourself and your children even while working two or more jobs.

Children hurt themselves to get someone to look at them, see them, and say “I see you, and I accept you, and I love you. Just as you are.” Instead too many of them are met only with scorn, judgment, or fear of what talking about the unseen could do to your perfect lives.

Sometimes kids are even ignored, and then they die.

"Rotten luck."

"That poor Mother."

"Can you imagine being in that situation?"

"So glad I don't have to be in that situation. So glad my life is okay."

There is no reason for any of it to be this way, and yet it is. In every way.

Life is meant to be enjoyed, savored! ...not overcooked, stamped by trashy gold, and sold in pieces for the privilege of having privilege.

Privilege without principle is nothing.

Giving your soul away, piece by piece, to be a rich elite or leader of this ripe-with-decay world doesn't make you a meaningful human or a winner...

...it makes you Voldemort.

Do any of us really pay attention?

I once was so nervous to talk to a neighbor I really respected and liked about something very difficult to talk about. So nervous that I didn’t realize in the moment how condescending I must have sounded to her, how judgmental.

Or, likewise, in a work situation where I was annoyed at a coworker for not doing something "my way" and didn’t realize in the moment how physically pointing my fingers at her while telling her how do do it the right way would put her on edge about me.

Both times the theme was my own inability to really see how actions I take and the words and inflected tone used in conjunction with them would affect someone else, because I was too busy thinking about myself.

Too often I’ve found myself missing the cues that something I was doing or saying with incredibly offensive words and tones, but in the worst way—in that moment, you think you are being respectful or really “pointing” out how it is. In truth you look like a butthole who sounds like a racist, even though that REALLY is not what you mean to be about.

When we are focused on our own outrage in these moments, or our nervousness or naivety, there is tendency to completely miss the embarrassed side smile, or the offended spark of the eye of the person in front of you wondering how and when it might be possible to escape to a place they aren’t met with judgment.

You miss these things and the chance to shine light on them and fix them from the inside. You offend the very people you wanted to break bread with, then you go back to living your life and feeling better because you stated your truth and feel righteous about it.

…and then wonder why the very thing you worked up the courage to talk to them about in the first place is getting worse instead of better.

The moral of this story? You never, ever—EVER—know how your words might affect other people. Unless you’re paying attention, and have the courage to find out how to fix it while you are still in the moment.

Paying attention is not noticing the length of time it takes them to respond to a text, or whether or not they liked or commented on your social media.

Unless you can really sense other people, be present with them and their emotions and true responses in whatever ways are available to you, to have the courage let go of your own ego for longer than the time it takes for when it's your turn to speak, you are not paying attention.

Paying attention is recognizing these moments, and being brave enough to ask clarifying questions so you can figure out how to be less of an egotistical butthead to someone else down the road...and build honest and respectful rapport with the person from this time and any other time that might arise in the future.

If you’re stubborn like me, you will go most of your life saying to yourself “I’m not a racist” but never truly trying to understand what that even means, truly, outside of what you know and the lenses you’re looking at life through.

I’m a white woman who has lived by and large in a white world, and I have been blessed to know incredible friends and mentors and random connections, many of whom are comprised of different races than I—many of whom taught me just what racism meant simply by living their lives in the face and levels of adversity I never knew or will ever know.

I learned that all people have deep and troubling personal stories and struggles, but some people endure pain compounded by generations of judgment and hate—still struggling in a place where they fight for their value in our society, to have a chance at all because of who they are or where they come from.

Then, as if to add insult to injury, we say all people could succeed if they would just get over the past.

Too many people like to say that the problem boils down to present choices by individuals.

Present choices we make as individuals have an effect on everyone, but success in our society, for too many people within it, has nothing to do with present choices.

As though working multiple jobs and still being unable to adequately afford rent AND all of the other things it takes to live really makes you feel like you're holding a winning hand.

Present choices in the world I live in often seem consist of choosing to pay rent or feeding your children…or wondering if you'll get shot by that cop who is pulling you over whether you put your hands up or not.

Whether you have a gun on you or not.

Whether you did something against the law or just happened to be in the wrong place at a wrong time as a black person in Racist America.

I need to talk about about a man I knew in Washington, D.C. You see, as I flew headlong into my destiny awaiting me at the mental hospital, I was throwing myself into all the things they tell you to do...LIKE, exercise?

"Check! …Wait—"

"…after the pain meds of course, and remember not to stay on your feet too long or else the pain will be even worse later on…"

"…You know how this builds on you over time, and you wouldn’t want to let the pain get ahead of you."

"…besides, if you do get into pain before the meds wear out, not only probably will THEY think you're an addict, but basically you probably are an addict…."

"Yeah! Ha. What a loser…"

"…You have to exercise, Lisa. Remember Goldie Hawn in First Wives Club—exercise gets rid of the crap and lets you think clearly."

"…Or Elle Woods, Lisa. You must declare for the world to know 'Endorphines make you happy. Happy people don’t kill people.'"

"…You’re totally crazy screwed, dude. You know that right? Just go exercise."

Inner dialogue of a Crazy Cat Lady aside...

I joined a gym in my swanky, rich, white neighborhood in NW DC and I was reeling toward successful failure and an epic meltdown when I met Sweet Guns.

Sweet Guns was my personal trainer, and I probably got one whole training session in with him—that I really truly remember—before I took my cocktail o’ death, but his presence will remain with me until the day I die.

Sweet Guns was a really buff and gorgeous African American man who was quite good at his job, and he had big “guns” (arms for those of you who are still missing my popular culture reference, not cold metal designed to shoot and kill innocent bystanders by the hands of someone drowning in hate) and was quite possibly the sweetest person I have ever met.

The privilege I had of knowing Sweet Guns shifted a view of myself and the world that is only now fully clicking, and transforming the way I interact with it.

You do not have to be perfect to matter to someone else, and sometimes the best hope in this world comes from those you do not even know.

Sweet Guns remained in touch with me during my first hospitalization—just checking in at first on next sessions and logistics like that.

But on a couple of different occasions, Sweet Guns also showed up to the hospital ward to see me during visitor hours, and playing Yahtzee on my iPad and talking about things I really don’t even remember.

I can't imagine what he must have gotten out of going to a mental ward in a hospital and sitting with someone he barely knew for so little time and in such a limited capacity.

Yet, he showed me what true service and friendship meant. Not out of obligation, loving or otherwise. Just by giving time and energy to someone who really needed that, Sweet Guns saved me long before the hysterectomy did.

Not by trying to fix me.

Not by judging me…

…not by scolding my choices or what it appears like I’m doing to your ignorant vision…

….and certainly not by ignoring me out of fear for what my outward red flags are doing to your internal and hidden red flags.

Like in IT, red flags come out and scare us and all we hear is a creepy voice from the plumbing saying:

Come down here with us, Beverly. We all float down here.

No, way—if my red flags bothered his red flags, I did not know it. Sweet Guns saw me and wasn’t outwardly affected by how I might be triggering or stoking connective emotion with him, and as a result showed me that he accepted me just as I am.

He saw the value in me even though I was struggling with intensity I still have, with people still in my life who won’t even discuss what happened then, and certainly don't want to hear about what's happening now.

Sometimes healing and being happy is harder for the people around you than being nearly dead and unhappy was.

Being accepted, like the way Sweet Guns accepted me? There is no greater gold than such a gift, particularly when you’re standing on the edge of nothing at all.

Sweet Guns and I stayed in touch for a time after I returned, but soon I faded back into my own personal hell where wrestling the demons and angels together was a constant, endless, struggle.

This was a struggle where every bad experience and emotional judgment I had about myself and others was torn out of me, where I had to view them and inspect them.

Where I had to atone for them…

…heal from them.

…have awesome fun Jobial opportunities where I got to learn from them.

Who doesn’t want that?

Though, there are rare days I don’t remember Sweet Guns and his kindness to a Crazy-Cat-Lady-Gone-Bad, there are many when I do remember and I do not choose to take a small moment to be presently grateful for them. And that’s sad for me, and for the honor of friendship that was bestowed.

We really don’t know much about the people around us. And even when they tell us parts of their story and we feel connected, we have no real idea of how our demeanor or words or tone of voice could be triggering someone around us.

And when we aren’t paying attention, we miss opportunities to be more like Sweet Guns, or opportunities to catch the responsive facial expressions as you are trying to relate and failing miserably, or when you assume someone else’s responses would match up to yours...

...but don’t in any way, shape, or form.

When we are not able to catch subtext and body language, we also miss opportunities to ask questions, go deeper, get beyond assumed world-beliefs and triggers to be able to sit with someone and understand them, as the people they are.

And we create misunderstanding and hostility…

…competition complete with winners and losers—hint: one side always loses worse than the other, and the other side just says “Phew. They got the brunt of it. Thank God it wasn't me.”

We create situations where one group of people have power over another—power that designs something that would make anyone fear reaching beyond their "station"

Fear being killed by cops who are never brought to justice…

…sentenced for more crimes and serving longer terms while others with a different skin color and a bit more $$$ don’t even see bars…

…Willfully ignored in a state of dire emergency because, after all, you’re just a "lazy brown person…"

…Deported from the only home you’ve ever known, to a place where there is nowhere safe to go...

...shot for no reason, while having fun, just for breathing in a space....

...where people are too busy Keeping Up With Distractions to be properly outraged...

...watching things happen around them and thinking “Oh, gee, I sure hope someone comes in and stops this. It sure does make me anxious.”

The Sound of Silence also had this to tell us:

People writing songs that voices never heard…

No one dared…

Disturb the sounds of silence.

No one is going to come in and stop this.

The decisions we make are what will make or break it.

The world is burning and people are in pain, as we were reminded again today by Las Vegas...

...yet silence pervades and persists.

Mass shootings happen all the time.

Hateful rhetoric flies out of the mouths of the people who are supposed to be setting the example of the best we can be.

Then, we watch rich people on television live their rich-person lives to distract from how much we hate our own lives and wish that were us.

Go get it!

Go be weird!

Go be different!

Go be loud about something meaningful!

Stand up for what you believe, for what you need!

Be proud of who you are and what you’ve done!

Do it every day!

Write your songs…

Sing them!!!

Get up and stand up for the right to be human, the right to choose your destiny and attain it, to speak up for the right thing. To stand up for what you deserve.

Everyone deserves a shot at the greatness life can be, and the chance to do it without being held under the thumb of a person or ideology.

Every person has the right to attain greatness without fear of being subdued or killed—on every level there is to be either.

Our society is one that likes to hide its collective secrets under carpets with the dust bunnies—it becomes second nature to continue on with our "American Beauty"-Ripe-with-Decay lives where everything looks fine but it all is secretly broken.

We forget to talk to people.

We forget to listen to people, except through our personal snowflake lenses.

I have had so many chances to understand people in and out my life in differing situations, and learn from them, but I didn’t really know how. If you’re anything like me, your brain starts throwing judgments at you.

Inner dialogue goes...

"Asking that is racist, you know."

"What if they don’t understand you?"

"God, what if you get judged?"

"Am I racist?"

"I’m not racist...I’m a person and they’re a person."

"Can I ask that?"

"Did I just ask that?"

"Shit. I am a racist."

Therein is the challenge…

How do we have these conversations so we can come out of the shadows and see and hear each other as humans instead of as a skin color, or a political affiliation, or a different origin of birth, or the status you hold in your land of birth?

How do we become Sweet Guns and Crazy-Cat-Lady-Gone-Bad?

…people who are able to see and take advantage of opportunities to learn about others and accept them for who they are?

With everyone we meet?

Every day?

Forever?