This picture was taken by the local newspaper at one of my high school workshops and is a part of their feature story on me for my performance in Helena, Montana this weekend.  So many things on my mind.  I felt for this journal, bullets point might be useful:

• Performing my work in Montana, literally the least Black state in the country, I realize I didn’t have Montana in mind when I wrote this piece.
• When I’m telling my own story, or the story of some of the black characters in the play, I’m scared.  I’m scared that I might be one of the few unfiltered representations of Blackness that these folks, and especially these children, have.  My inclination to be “one of the good ones” grows even stronger.  It is challenging when I’m telling a story of a black male getting arrested for drugs.  Is it any different than what they may have expected…?
• Lots of nice people in Montana.  But as we walked into Lewis and Clark Brewery on Trivia Night, the POC crew got some not-so-welcoming stares.
• Sometimes I feel I’m pimping my butterfly.  I went through a process that made me beautiful in a way, and I have used it to excel in my career.  Now others use it for their purposes: to help the kids of their community, to confront state violence, to represent “diversity”.  I suspect that some of these people would not want to hear from me had I not been the caterpillar, and some would not want to hear me if I were only the butterfly.  Must I always be both?  Must I always show off one to be recognized as the other?  It’s a strange feeling.   To pimp a butterfly is to hold the tension of wanting to be useful but not wanting to be used.  “Are you really what they idolize….to pimp a butterfly…”
• In reference to the quote in the article where I say “I didn’t think it was a problem…” after being caught with mushrooms, I’m not sure why she pulled that quote.  I spoke to her early in the morning so I’m not sure what I said but… I knew it was a problem.  Maybe not THAT much of a problem!
• I had such an interesting experience performing this piece in front of employees of the justice system and then leading a dialogue.  It was the crowd I always had in mind when I thought of people who would have the least sympathy/empathy for my story.  Who would be most suspicious of my account.  I found myself choosing my words carefully trying not to attack that all-white audience of probation officers and mental health workers.  I found myself holding back when the conversation came up about what a “drug problem” is.  I didn’t want to undermine their work or their intentions.  I didn’t want to argue all the hypocrisy.  It was uncomfortable.  But I guess that’s the process of learning.
• Yesterday, I learn that an unarmed Black man is shot in his own backyard by the police in my hometown less than 10 miles from where my parents live.  It doesn’t make it into the highlights of Apple News.  Is this not major news anymore?  Every time I start to feel like maybe I’m making a problem where there isn’t one…
• There was one Black kid in my last workshop I did at this “alternative learning” high school.  I could tell he couldn’t believe I was saying some of the things I was saying.  He laughed super hard at the first joke in my performance, and all the other kids turned to look at him because they knew his laugh was something different than theirs.  He, like I, caught wind that everyone turned to look at him and he got nervous as kids continued to look at him as I said things that everyone can find funny, but Black folks really find funny.  There was this look in his eye, as though I held the weight of all Black representation in my being and in my words, and I felt the weight too.  I hope I did us justice, kid.

Check out the article in the Independent Record about me, this show, and our performance tomorrow.