Armando asked me to write for Interview En L’air. I initially agreed, excited to have a place for my OpEd pieces and a platform to explore and expose other writing interests (interviews, poems…). I began thinking of what to write and where to begin. I would start a piece and leave it, unfinished. It is now February and my first piece was due in December. At this time, I still have not submitted a thing. Armando has been patient and generous with me. Today, he wrote me and said, I should give him something, even if it is small.

I’ve been thinking about why I haven’t capitalized on this opportunity. It seems lazy. Dorothy Parker once said, “I hate writing. I love having written.” Writing is a discipline like any other. I have never been undisciplined, especially if I had a goal in mind. I have always been extraordinarily accomplished. I pushed. I pushed for things that seemed out of reach. In knowing that, I accomplished 50% of all I set out for, which was still more than most people, because most people didn’t dare stretch for what was out of reach. I was proud of myself.

Then something happened. I became jaded. By everything. By everyone.

The goals I had been reaching for seemed purposeless. They seemed to lack meaning and significance. I used to think my contributions had to be great and noticed to make a difference, and part of that notoriety was affirmed when I got opportunities to work with people I admired, revered; People I put on a pedestal. When I began working with children, I realized that my contributions were far greater when no one noticed. My relationships with students and their families allowed me to make meaningful connections that would last, be cherished and make a difference, even for that moment. I felt it. They felt it. We were all nurtured and fulfilled by each other’s energy and commitment in our lives.

That seemed a far cry from the work I had been doing as a performer and as a writer and even as an activist. At least with performing, there is an expectation, one must promote themselves and their work. A friend once told me, how do you get exposure if you don’t expose yourself? It made sense to me. What did not make sense to me was the industry of social justice I somehow trampled into. I grew up in a community of protesters and advocates and activists. My siblings, my friends and I grew up singing spirituals and protest songs. We learned to speak up, and out, for what we believed in and to fight against injustice and for those who suffered and struggled. I have never been more disappointed than I was, when I discovered, what I call, “the business of social justice.” People who fight as hard for their careers and television placements as they do for the justice they advocate for. A community where folks tear each other down as quickly as they build each other up. So much division amongst people supposedly working towards the same vision. So much arrogance. Where is the reality show? People excited to take photos with parents of children slain by corrupt police, raising fists, as if that means much more today than a hipster wearing a grateful dead t-shirt.

I lost faith. I lost faith in change. I saw our self-preserving government as stronger and mightier and scarier than I ever imagined. I saw my ability to effect real and true change on a large scale as a farce. I know that my work, day to day, in small increments, in the real, true, meaningful moments make a true difference. But where does that leave me? To be kind and good. To try and support my family. Where does it leave me with my goals? With my career? What is my purpose with work? We are taught to reach for the stars and be successful. What happens when you figure out that success is in the kindness, the goodness, in loved ones, in education (the free, personal kind)… What happens then? I think, in this country, they call you lazy.