Why am I still searching for the cowboys like me. In the classrooms, the office and creative spaces. The spaces that non-inclusive of music and sports. I yet love music, and tolerate sports. Continuously looking for me, and perpetually finding blank ballots waiting for their owners. By now, I should have given up. I have not. Distributing individual contributions, as if there is enough to go around, and searching for the elusive community that promises to reveal itself. Only closed doors and empty rooms manifest. The time has come to fill the void with faces like mine.
Not faces exactly the same, but faces that recognize my experience. Ones capable of giving and receiving respect for mutual contribution, shared challenges and similar journeys. I’m looking, requiring, and demanding the gathering. I know all of you are there, as much as, I know all of you need this. Potentially unable to recognize the need in yourself, yet willing to fill the need in others. Risk it. Individually able propel and inspire ,collective able to effect change. Spread this message of inclusion, and allow it to grab you by the collar. Shaking and shaking until apathy breaks loose. Shaking until your value is apparent. I recognize it, and mourn it’s disuse. The space is cleared, the door unlocked, waiting for the impending reunion.
The responsibility of a writer is to excavate the experience of the people who produced him. – J. Baldwin