A Pie That Feeds the Whole World

White folks, the pie is expandable.

As a group, we have the most privilege, the most resources, the most money, the best jobs, the best opportunities.

We don't have to hoard it all. We don't have to hoard ANY of it.

We don't have to worry that "they" are going to take anything from us.

We don't have to operate with a scarcity mindset.

Equity shouldn't make us resentful.

Justice shouldn't make us suspicious.

We don't have to burden ourselves with doubt and distrust.

We don't have to "protect what we've got."

We don't have to do any of this nonsense.

We just choose to. Individually and collectively.

We can choose to do things differently, view relationships differently, understand contexts differently.

We can choose to BE different.

We can choose to be humble and compassionate and inclusive and collaborative.

We can choose to lift others up. We can choose to disrupt the status quo. We can choose to use our privilege to affect change.

We can choose to do better. We can choose to be better.

It's all a choice. The pie is expandable. There's enough pie to go around. We can keep making pies. We can keep sharing the pie.

Everyone can have some pie. And more than a just a small bite or a thin sliver.

We can all enjoy the pie. The pie can feed the whole world.

If we choose.

Resolve to Be More Antiracist

It's that time of year again. That time of year where you make all kinds of resolutions about change.

You're going to start doing this and stop doing that. You're going to do more of these things and less of those things.

You're going to commit to exercise more, meditate more, read more, eat more vegetables, drink more water, get more sleep, spend more time with your kids.

Watch less TV, spend less time on social media, eat less sugar/fat/carbs, spend less money, be less distracted.

Etc.

Great. I hope you achieve all your goals and become more of the things you want and less of the things you don't.

And, while you're making resolutions, I invite you to resolve to be more antiracist.

Believe POC more.

Stop gaslighting POC.

Follow more POC on social media.

Stop micro-aggressing.

Read more books by and about POC.

Be less ignorant, selfish, aloof, indifferent.

Listen to more podcasts by POC.

Be more empathetic, compassionate, humble, curious.

Use your power and privilege and influence and authority and social capital to create more equity at your workplace, in your neighborhood, at your kids' school, in your social circles—in all your spheres of impact!

Commit to justice and love and liberation and healing.

Resolve to make a difference.

Resolve to do better.

Resolve to be better.

How Might We Be Better?

"When potential allies express a concern that another person's anger is getting in the way of them hearing, they need to look inward and ask some difficult questions."

– Myisha Cherry

Questions like:

What do I not know about this person's circumstances?

Why am I triggered by the tone of voice this person is using?

Why do I insist on this person sharing their concerns in a way that is palatable for me?

How am I upholding dominant cultural norms, the status quo, White supremacy, and systemic inequity by suggesting or demanding that someone express themselves in a "softer" way?

Why am I unable or unwilling to appreciate that this person has every right to be angry?

What do I not know about the history of oppression and marginalization that is preventing me from hearing this person's point of view?

Why am I making this about me?

Why am I taking this personally?

What assumptions am I making about this person, their background, their circumstances, their story, their everything?

How might this person feel if I listened to them speak without asking them to change their tone or approach?

How might I contribute to a more equitable world for everyone if I were able to consistently sit with uncertainty and push through any discomfort I am feeling?

How might I do better?

How might I be better?

My Dad is My Spirit Ally

"Whenever anyone discusses death they talk about the inevitable loss, but no one ever mentions the inevitable gain. How when you lose a loved one, you suddenly have a spirit ally, an energy on the other side that is with you always, that is with you just by calling your name."

– Sandra Cisneros

I've read over 1200 books in my life, so it's difficult to identify my favorites. Reading for me is more like osmosis. I can't always point to a book and say what it means to me.

With a few exceptions.

One of those exceptions is Sandra Cisneros's "The House on Mango Street." When I read it in 2005, I knew I was going to be a writer.

I knew I was going to be a writer who knows the rules and breaks them, who mixes truth with beauty, creativity with social commentary, justice with compassion, authenticity with imagination, conviction with love.

I learned all that and more about writing from The House on Mango Street.

And I learned all that and more about life from my dad before he died in 2000.

When my dad died it was an incredible loss. When my dad died it was an incredible gain.

An energy gain, a motivational gain, an accountability gain, an inspirational gain, a momentous gain to grow and evolve and become who I have become.

My dad is my spirit ally, with me always, and I daily call his name.

We Must Be Better Than This

"Calling someone out online seems like the first/only option for a lot of people in the face of any kind of dissonance."

– adrienne maree brown

I see calling out all the time.

I see canceling masked as accountability.

Punitiveness masked as justice.

Intimidation masked as criticism.

Bullying masked as educating.

Vitriol masked as guidance.

Poison masked as medicine.

Gatekeeping masked as expertise.

Desperation masked as urgency.

Ignorance masked as wisdom.

Performance masked as transformation.

Surely you've seen it all too.

Perhaps you've been the recipient of some or all of it.

Perhaps you've been the perpetrator.

Perhaps you've been fooled into thinking that any of it will lead to change.

And perhaps you know deep down that it hasn't and doesn't and won't.

Perhaps you know that none of it leads to healing, liberation, justice, equity, community, transformation.

Perhaps you realize that judging is different than discerning, that reacting is different than responding, that being attached to outcomes is different than being invested in outcomes.

Perhaps you understand that reflection is an action, that change happens in relationships, that dialogue and debate are not the same thing.

I'm sure you realize that we are better than this.

I'm sure you realize that we must be better than this.

May We All Continue to Heal

"When we attempt to love out of our woundedness, then our loving is only violence. Love needs spaciousness in our minds to manifest and endure."

– Lama Rod Owens

Lately, through what I've been reading, conversations I've had, and energies I've been paying attention to, I'm realizing that my work is self-healing work.

I'm healing from growing up poor.

I'm healing from my parents getting divorced when I was two.

I'm healing from my dad not being around.

I'm healing from the embarrassment of having a gay dad when I was a teenager.

I'm healing from wrapping my identity up in being a college athlete.

I'm healing from my dad dying of AIDS.

I'm healing from being cut off for so long from love and connection.

I'm healing from my ego and my directionlessness and my anger.

I'm healing from my immaturity and shortsightedness and sarcasm and self-righteousness.

I'm healing from my lack of empathy and curiosity and vulnerability and compassion and presence.

And I'm healing by being in relationship, in community, in integrity.

Many conversations lately have helped me continue to heal. 

I'm especially grateful to recent conversations with Sean Harvey, Future Cain, Kareen Griffiths, Neeraj Singh, Miriam Khalifa, Glenn Block, Jeremy Evans-Smith, David Motlagh, and Wendy Horng Brawer.

May we all continue to heal.

Top 21 Books in 2021

Have I mentioned before that I'm an avid reader? I've read 80 books this year. Here are my top 21. Enjoy.

1. No Logo – Naomi Klein

2. You Are Your Best Thing – Tarana Burke and Brené Brown (editors)

3. Strength of Soul – Naomi Raquel Enright

4. Real Change: Mindfulness to Heal Ourselves and the World – Sharon Salzberg

5. What Doesn’t Kill You Makes You Blacker – Damon Young

6. My Grandmother’s Hands – Resmaa Menakem

7. We Will Not Cancel Us – adrienne maree brown

8. Juliet Takes a Breath – Gabby Rivera

9. The Buddhist on Death Row – David Sheff

10. Mindful of Race – Ruth King

11. The Inner Work of Racial Justice – Rhonda Magee

12. Me and White Supremacy – Layla F. Saad

13. Nice Racism – Robin DiAngelo

14. Bone Black – bell hooks

15. Clandestino: In Search of Manu Chao – Peter Culshaw

16. They Can’t Kill Us Until They Kill Us – Hanif Abdurraqib

17. Nonviolent Communication – Marshall Rosenberg

18. Not My White Savior – Julyane Lee

19. The Wake Up – Michelle Mijung Kim

20. Unbound – Tarana Burke

21. Just Mercy – Bryan Stevenson

22. Radical Dharma – Rev. angel Kyodo williams and Lama Rod Owens with Jasmine Syeullah, Phd

23. Black and Buddhist – Pamela Ayo Yetunde & Cheryl A. Giles (editors)

21, 23, who's counting!

What about you? What are you reading? How are you evolving? Learning? Growing? Immersing? Improving? Expanding?

Because You Might Reveal Your Full Humanity

"We're not talking enough about the fear that White folks hold as a result of race. I'm not talking about fear of...Black people. I'm talking about fear of one's own self, because you don't know how to have the conversation, because you feel shame about where you're located in that conversation, about how to locate yourself."

– Reverend angel Kyodo williams

Because you don't want to seem racist.

Because you don't want to be thought of as a bad person.

Because you don't want people to know you haven't paid attention to race and racism your entire life.

Because you don't know how to acknowledge and leverage your privilege.

Because you don't want to admit that you have very few relationships with Black folks.

Because you don't want to be seen as incompetent, ignorant, or indifferent.

Because you don't want to do the ongoing work.

Because you want someone to tell you the answers.

Because you want someone to wave a magic wand and make racism go away.

Because you want instant gratification.

Because you want to be seen as good and right and righteous and woke.

Because you think you can do this work without vulnerability, empathy, compassion, curiosity.

Because you don't know yourself, don't want to change, don't want to commit.

Because you might reveal your full humanity.

The Power of Relationships

One of the ways I'm constantly measuring whether my work is meaningful is by the quality of my relationships.

How am I getting along with important people in my life? Are we synching? Are we connecting? Are we collaborating? Are we holding space for each other? Are we listening and supporting and empowering and encouraging each other?

If so, what are the conditions that are in place for all that to happen? How can they be routinized? How can they become the foundation from which everything else is built upon?

And, if not, how can/should/will I change my dynamic so that I'm in better relationship with the people who matter to me? What has to shift? What has to change? What do I have to do differently?

I'm very comfortable being alone. I can sit and read in a cafe by myself for hours. I can write or play guitar or watch a soccer game without the need to be with other people. Heck, I even drove around the country in my truck for four months by myself when I was 25.

So it's not that I can't function in isolation, or that I'm not independent, or that I can't do things without the help of others.

It's just that I prefer the camaraderie, the community, the solidarity, the sangha of other people.

The energy, the mutuality, the shared purpose.

When I've got all that, things are good.

Justice Without Love Isn't Really Justice

"[White people] are not recognizing how they're cut off from love and loving and how that cut-offness from love is not limited to how they are relating to dark brown and Black-skinned people."

– Reverend angel Kyodo williams

When I was in the bomb-throwing stage of my social justice revolution, my focus was all about politics.

It was all about this history and that incident and this law and that event.

I was learning more and more about all the things that I was not previously taught. And the more I learned, the more I became aware of how much I had not known for so long.

So mixed in with this new knowledge, these new perspectives, this burgeoning point of view, was a solid portion of bitterness and resentment.

That was my approach for many, many years. And I thought it was fine, I thought it was righteous, I thought it was working.

Until I realized that it wasn't.

Until I realized that I wasn't fully centering humanity. That I wasn't focusing on relationships. That I was continuing to cut myself off from connection and empathy and compassion.

I was continuing to cut myself off from love.

I was doing the work without love. I didn't realize that justice without love isn't really justice.

I realize that now. And I do my best to help others—especially White folks—realize it too.

Missed Opportunities to Build Relationships

As I often do, I've been thinking about relationships. The power they have to drive impact and affect change.

And also the missed opportunities to build relationships.

About six weeks ago a woman reached out to me on my website. She had seen a few posts about my book. She too was writing a book and wanted to interview me.

Humbled, I sent her a link to my calendar, and she booked an appointment.

A week before our scheduled time, I realized I was actually unavailable on the day she selected. I emailed her to apologize for the mistake and ask if we could reschedule.

No response.

A few days later, I texted her with the same apologetic message. No response.

The day before, I texted her again, not wanting her to think I was a flake if I didn't show up.

She responded angrily that she didn't know who I was or what this was about, that she didn't want my services, demanded that she be taken of "my list," and ended the message with "bug off!"

I share this story not to shame (I won't mention her name), but to invite us all to consider the power of micro-connections, how we can choose to center curiosity, equanimity, and abundance over suspicion, fear, and scarcity.

I'm not sure what to make of this whole episode. Confusing—and curious—indeed.

One thing seems certain: I won't be in her book.

Suspicious Activity

As many of you know all too well, social media platforms, including LinkedIn, love to censor people—especially Black and Brown folks—who talk about the realities of systemic racism, White supremacy, and other related things that people with power and privilege don't like to talk about, or have other people talk about.

Yesterday, I saw a connection request from Daniel Washington.

I thought to myself, that's weird, I already know Daniel. We've interacted quite a bit over the last year or so. Were we really not connected all this time?

I accepted his request and found out that indeed we were connected. Until, that is, his account was taken down for "suspicious activity." No wonder I hadn't heard from him in a while.

What the so-called suspicious activity was, was never explained. Talk about suspicious activity.

Anyway, Daniel's back, and he's looking to rebuild his network. If you were connected with him before, now's your opportunity to reconnect. If you don't know Daniel, you should connect with him, or follow him.

He's good people—all about equity and social justice and fighting the good fight.

And, by the way, he's looking for work as a researcher or graduate assistant. If you or anyone you know can help him out, please do.

Welcome back, Daniel. Here's his profile.

I Am Here for the Long Haul

As I always do, I am thinking about how my mindfulness practice supports my racial justice work.

These are meta-thoughts: thinking about how I'm thinking about my work.

How do I channel the anger, resentment, and disdain I feel toward a so-called justice system that is clearly unjust?

How do I keep hope alive when things seem so hopeless?

How do I stay in my power when I'm feeling powerless?

How do I not submit to fear and hatred, and instead center empathy and compassion and love?

How do I find connection when the feelings of disconnection are so strong?

How do I find truth when it's enveloped by so much falsity?

How do I think and speak and act with wisdom amidst so much ignorance?

There are no easy answers to these questions. And if I don't ask them, if I don't work toward answering them, then I remain stagnant, reactionary, complicit.

If I don't center mindfulness I too easily get seduced down a devolving path of spiritual squalor that does me and everybody absolutely no good.

Injustice happens all around us. Injustice, sadly, will continue to happen all around us.

Injustice tries to beat us into submission, mocks our efforts to seek justice, is merciless in encouraging us to give up.

But I will not submit. I will not stop seeking. I will not give up.

I am here for the long haul. Mindfully.

Do It for Humanity

This post originally appeared on LinkedIn on November 19, 2021, the day Kyle Rittenhouse was not convicted of murder.

I've started to write a post three times. I deleted the first one because it wasn't angry enough. I deleted the second one because it was too angry. I deleted the third one because it was too philosophical.

I guess even as I write this fourth effort, I still don't know what to say.

Maybe as I type these words, what I want to say will emerge. Or, what I will have said will have emerged.

I guess what I want to say is fuck the American "justice" system.

I guess what I want to say is fuck White supremacy.

I guess what I want to say is fuck the status quo, systemic racism, White privilege, bias, and the perpetuation of the narrative of the privileged majority.

And fuck 17-year-old White kids with automatic weapons.

But, I don't know, is that what I really wanted to say? Does that make feel any better? Any more useful? Any more helpful? Any more human?

Not really. But what else is there?

I will say this to my BIPOC friends and colleagues and connections.

I see you. I know you're hurting. I am here to offer support in any way I can.

And I will say this to White people: Today is why we do the work. Today is the clearest example there can be of why we all need to do the work.

White folks, do the work. Do it with compassion. Do it with intentionality. Do it for humanity—your own and others'.

Making It Safe for Everyone to Come Out

This post originally appeared on October 11, 2021—National Coming Out Day.

My dad turned 21 in Cuba in March of 1970. He was there with the Venceremos Brigade, a US-Cuba solidarity movement that still exists today.

He came back to the States to Urbana, Illinois, where my mom was finishing high school.

To say they fell in love would be a stretch, but they did leave for New Mexico and got married. My dad finished up his degree, and I was born a few weeks later.

We soon moved to San Diego. My parents divorced before I was two.

There was this small problem: my dad was gay.

He knew he was gay since he was a kid, but there was no way he was going to come out, so instead he married a woman and had a kid.

I don't know when and how and to whom he came out over the years, but I imagine it unfolded based on all kinds of factors and contexts and relationships.

I know he didn't come out to me until I was 14.

Which changed my life forever—initially (I once thought) for worse, but ultimately for better.

I can never know what it's like to have to choose how and when and where and to whom to come out to. But I can imagine it's scary every single time.

So today, on National Coming Out Day, let's remember that the spaces we create and the language we use matter.

We never know who's in the closet wondering if it's safe to come out and be their authentic selves.

Some Lessons Learned

This post originally appeared on LinkedIn on October 6, 2021.

I have learned some lessons this past week.

1. Sometimes the intentions of my written words don't match their impact.

2. When someone says they've been harmed by my words, I need to accept that, apologize, and commit to doing better.

3. My instinct to want to engage in conversation with people isn't always appreciated or desired or helpful.

4. Sometimes I forget that leading with curiosity is a core value of mine.

5. The principles of Nonviolent Communication are tricky to implement in written form, especially on a social media platform.

6. I have to remember that when the anniversary of my dad's death (September 29) comes around, I'm a little off kilter, and not always on my A-game.

7. I want/need to do more work around the intersection of compassion and boundaries—self-compassion and how I interact (or not) with others.

8. My discomfort is not the same as other people's safety (physical, psychological, emotional).

9. Pushing through that discomfort is what I do; in fact, it's what I'm literally doing right now.

10. Vulnerability and courage are inextricably interwoven; both are what we need in abundance to continue to do racial justice and equity work.

11. Criticism and intimidation are not the same things.

12. Solid relationships and supportive friends keep me going.

I Don't Participate in Outrage

"I don't participate in outrage."

– Trevor Noah

I sometimes feel frustrated that the world is not how I would like it to be.

But I don't participate in outrage.

I sometimes feel angry at current events.

But I don't participate in outrage.

I sometimes get overwhelmed at our inability to create a more just and equitable world at scale.

But I don't participate in outrage.

I sometimes am tempted to yell and scream and cuss and accuse and cancel and belittle.

But I don't participate in outrage.

I don't pass judgment on people who participate in outrage. I can understand the lure of outrage. I can appreciate the circumstances that lead to outrage. I don't deny that outrage is often justified.

But I don't participate in outrage.

I sometimes am tempted to participate in outrage. I sometimes want to participate in outrage. I sometimes wonder if perhaps I SHOULD participate in outrage.

But I don't participate in outrage.

I don't condemn outrage. I don't condone outrage. I see outrage manifest in all kinds of ways in all kinds of people in all kinds of contexts for all kinds of reasons.

But I don't participate in outrage.

Outrage is all around us. It envelops us. It consumes us. It can dominate our lives if we let it .

That's why I don't participate in outrage.

The Transformative Justice We Claim We Want

Three months ago I read adrienne marie brown's slim volume "We Will Not Cancel Us" in one sitting on a Saturday afternoon.

I highlighted passages on almost every one of its 86 pages. I keep it at my desk and refer to it often for inspiration and motivation to keep doing the work when things feel heavy.

And as a reminder that just because someone tries to cancel me does not mean that I need to cancel them.

The subtitle of the book is "And Other Dreams of Transformative Justice."

On page one, she says: "I have felt us losing our capacity to distinguish between comrade and opponent, losing our capacity to generate belonging."

Lately I've been reading and sensing and witnessing and receiving a lot of cancel culture within social justice and equity communities.

A lot of you're doing it wrong. A lot of right/wrong, good/bad thinking. A lot of intimidation, shaming, attacking.

A lot of canceling.

I want to see more relationship building, collaboration, connecting.

That's what will lead to the transformative justice we claim we want.

On page 15, she says: "Can we hold each other, as the systems that weaken and distort our humanity crumble? Can we release our binary ways of thinking of good and bad in order to collectively grow from mistakes?"

I think we can. I think we must.

Doing It for Dad

This post was published originally on LinkedIn on September 29, 2021.

My commitment to being a tireless champion for equity and justice began 21 years ago today.

On September 29, 2000, my father died of AIDS.

He taught me a lot before he died, but I didn't fully appreciate everything until after, when I started doing my own work.

When I started learning about systems of oppression and marginalization and discrimination.

When I started unpacking how I contributed to the perpetuation of those systems.

When I decided that I no longer wanted to be that kind of contributor.

When I determined that I would contribute not only to the struggle for equity and justice, but for love and connection and agency and liberation and healing.

That I would strive to recognize the humanity in everyone.

That I would always fight for what's right.

That I would push through my discomfort, absorb criticism, reflect on my mistakes, and resolve to continually do better and continually be better.

I received this text from partner this morning:

"Thinking about your dad today. He’d be so proud of all you’re doing. Love you."

I read it. Then I broke down and cried for five minutes.

Then I wiped my face, took a few deep breaths, got myself together, and facilitated a DEI workshop.

Because I know that at least one person on that Zoom screen needed to hear what I had to say.

White Folks, Let's Talk About Our Whiteness

One of the ironic things about my antiracism work is that to de-center whiteness I kind of have to center whiteness.

Since by and large we don't see ourselves as having a race, we are unaware that whiteness is ubiquitous and harmful.

I try to shine a light on how our collective whiteness shows up.

How it dominates conversations, institutions, policies, and opportunities. How it is expected and accepted as normal. How beauty, intelligence, and what's right and good are seen through the biased lens of whiteness.

Many White people never think of this, and if we do, we shrug it off, dismiss it, deny it, argue it, combat it, get defensive about it, and find all kinds of other approaches that protect us from grappling with it.

Any non-White person will tell you that whiteness is pervasive, easy to see and understand, and exhausting to navigate.

I'm trying to help other White people see and understand this reality, and help them de-center their whiteness to ease that burden.

To do that, we have to talk about whiteness. We have to understand that being a White PERSON and whiteness are not the same.

Any White person who is even remotely interested in dismantling White supremacy must be vulnerable, reflective, and willing to have these conversations.

White folks, you down for that?