“How are you doing?”
“I’m good!”
The default answer. But really, how are you doing? I think a lot of people are not doing that well. Me? I guess you could say I’m doing okay overall. But there is just...so much from this year that has made it one to forget. So much pain has permeated the fabric of this year, challenging people to survive one emotional journey just to become suffocated by another. In the past week, a new surge surrounding the BLM movement came to a head in the sports world as players across the NBA boycotted against playing in playoff games in response to Jacob Blake’s shooting at the hands of another police officer. The WNBA, the MLB and some MLS teams followed suit in a unified effort that shook social media platforms and reinvigorated voices that have been shouting from rooftops, and demanding justice, all year long.
I don't think that I ever intended this blog to become an outlet for larger political or social issues, because that's a little above my pay-grade, I think. I wanted it to be cute and light -- about fun books, music, pop culture! Woo! And it has been...to some extent. It would be easy for me to simply focus on my own self-interested and self-motivated life. I play soccer, I write a blog, I text my friends, etc. But in my heart I know that the larger world is hurting, and people (myself included) are in pain. Being unwilling to talk about those things, even if it seems small, is an ignorant attempt at deflecting reality. It seems unfair to pretend like things are always rosy, just for the sake of keeping people comfortable reading a blog. Remaining comfortable is such a big reason as to why I sometimes find myself trying not to reflect on pain, however that might present itself. And sometimes I even feel phony posting on social media when I, and the world around me, is simply trying to get through that pain. Social media has become a hub of both facing and challenging reality, but also forcing people to consider how their own lives are actually affected by things that happen outside of their immediate bubble.
The power of social media has shown its full prowess in 2020. Even from remote, quarantined locations people have come together to fight for human rights and have overwhelmingly exposed the problems in our country’s systems that perpetuate violence and have set up rules that only serve a select few. Social media has mobilized millions behind the death of an icon, Chadwick Boseman. It has given people outlets of expression in protest. It has allowed people to actively organize in protest. It has allowed people to interact with sports once again. However, there is a toxic-nature about social media that I believe has desensitized how we digest and process the information we have available at our fingertips.
When I first came across the video of Jacob Blake being shot SEVEN. times. in the back by a police officer from less than 3 feet away, I was horrified. But, I wasn’t so devastated that I couldn’t finish the video. The pop of the gun shots made me turn my phone over, but I played it back to get a full scope of what the hell I just watched.
And a few seconds later I found myself scrolling again. Scrolling to find other reactions, explanations, anything to make sense of yet another blatantly obvious example of police brutality.
When I get caught in the cycle of scrolling and scrolling, liking and retweeting information, it becomes overwhelming. Where is the moment for self-reflection? How do I allow myself to truly understand the exhausting events from this year? The quick answer is that I don't. I simply scroll onto the next, never fully healing and processing what I see. Maybe that's a generational habit -- the instant gratification of information and responses from our phones that have become ingrained in how we process emotions. Right now, there are so many calls to action that I feel pulled in a million different directions. But the moments that put things in perspective are always the lowest points of the day or the week. I’ve been thinking a lot about the frailty of life recently. I’ve thought about my family’s recent personal losses. And I’ve thought about Jacob Blake.
I was sure that Jacob Blake died, in front of his sons, on video for the world to see. But I was wrong. Jacob Blake lives. He lives and is paralyzed. And somehow, that’s supposed to be deemed a victory because he's not another dead trending name. One day soon he will tell his story and will continue rallying more and more voices to wake up. His life will now inspire change as a retroactive response to undeserved trauma. That same trauma was inflicted upon others with the deaths of Breonna Taylor, George Floyd and Ahmaud Arbery. Any way I look at it, the same thing rings through: this life is not guaranteed. But for some reason, why does it require death or misfortunes to inspire me to live? I find myself focusing on the lowest moments to make me appreciate the life I have, instead of proactively making my life the best that it can be just because I have the opportunity to do so. It's like I get up only once I've been knocked down...how do you break that cycle?
This year has taught me to take accountability for my life -- to really make it so important to live in the constant pursuit of whatever passions I have. I am trying to cultivate a voice that can resonate with many types of people as a means of responsibly using a platform that I have been given as a professional athlete. This year has shown what happens when people fight for the lives they want to own for themselves. Institutions might not be crumbling to the ground all of a sudden, but the paint continues to chip away to reveal ugliness that once was easy for many to ignore. But those inches are only being gained as more and more people like me recognize that their passions are also being fought for by others with similar platforms. What I found so powerful about the NBA and WNBA's boycott, is that for one, athletes were able to use their actions to establish their own terms of protest. Instead of wearing sponsored t-shirts and kneeling for the National Anthem after emotional team discussions (which are both powerful acts of protest in their own right) they chose to deny entertainment to those who are able to ignore the problems that our neighbors, our friends, and our families are experiencing every day.
Black and brown people make up a large portion of American culture -- particularly in sports and entertainment. And when athletes use their platforms to enact change, people want them to shut up and dribble. But instead, in a moment of unity across multiple sports, the players said no, if you're not going to pay attention to our words when you see us on the court or the field, then maybe you will pay attention when you don't see athletes.
"And in my opinion, this year has shown what happens when people fight for the lives they want to own for themselves."
In the fight against racial injustice, athletes have been at the center of the conversation because they have a spotlight. People are paying attention and it's a time when athletes can fight for things that are bigger than sport. This year has given me the motivation and willingness to see that the life that I envision for myself should, at the very least, be fought for and demanded. I don't think I appropriately evaluate and understand what is important in my life unless I am personally affected. I don’t think I have truly understood how much effort and work it takes to have a semblance of emotional stability when the world continues changing around me. And because of that, I take things for granted. I think we as people operate in self-interest. But I would also like to believe that people's self-interests are starting to include others for a greater purpose.
Normalcy has been challenged and many have experienced devastating loss, which has forced me to think about doing and living for the people and things that are truly important to me. My aunty passed away a couple of weeks ago, and when I first received the news via text message, it just so happened that everyone in my family was already asleep. I laid in my bed in disbelief, and for a couple of minutes the whole world felt so small. I was alone, and in processing her passing, I realized how much I have taken for granted. The last time I saw her, the whole family met at a local restaurant in Albuquerque, New Mexico to celebrate my college graduation. For some reason our seating got shuffled and I ended up in a small booth with her and my cousin and my cousin's young son. It was a moment of laughter and catching up, and she told me how proud she was of me and all of the accomplishments that I have achieved in such a short time. As I played with my cousin's little son -- making faces and trying to get him to laugh -- I remembered how my Aunty Theresa used to babysit me when I was little and my mom had to work. She would laugh at the outlandish things I would say as a six-year old and always bought me candy. She was a good woman, to all of her children, and to everyone she loved. I was lucky to be loved by her. And even in writing this now, I know I took that intimate conversation in that small booth for granted, because I just thought it'd be the last conversation until the next one.
But I'm not guaranteed a next conversation. Jacob Blake is not guaranteed another conversation. And professional athletes aren't guaranteed another conversation, either. So until real change is felt, when trauma and pain are not unifying commonalities for people, I choose to approach life with my passions and my heart propelling me forward. Athletes are not the immortalized versions that people make them out to be. We experience struggle and heartache, and have to be reminded to self-reflect every now and again, too. What are my passions? How do I find them? And how do I want my passions to shape how I approach my friendships, relationships, and purpose in this turbulent world? Fortunately, I have the option and ability to hug my people, tell those who I love that I cherish them, and to continue living actively. I have been given the incredible opportunity to find passion and love and create a platform that continues pushing me to be proactive in how I live -- not only reactive in times of pain. Xo.
This post is dedicated to the life and legacy of Quinn "Spicoli" Coleman. Rest In Power.
"Quinn Coleman was a loving son, brother, cousin and friend, a passionate DJ and an A&R executive with a bright future ahead of him who passed away on Sunday, August 16 at the age of 31. At his family’s request, the GRAMMY Museum is honored to establish the Quinn Coleman Memorial Fund, which is dedicated to increasing access and pathways into the music industry for aspiring Black music creators and professionals."
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