Celebrate Your Own Damned Season - A Different Way Of Celebrating For A Different Kind Of Growth

A younger coworker was doing her best to convince me to go to the company holiday party. I smiled at each of her reasons for why I should go, but was not moved in my decision. Another coworker closer to my age who had been observing our exchange joined in... “You’re just not there right now. You’re not in that space.” She said it with such knowing, such easy acceptance that I was not only grateful for but comforted by her understanding.

End of year is usually a time for celebrating. Celebrating what you achieved, what you survived, what you learned, how you grew. I’m usually the first to call out to my group of friends: “Who’s hosting?” Or, “Who wants to come over for...?” during the holiday season. 

But this year... 2019 has been a different kind of year for me. And I feel the need for a different kind of celebrating. This year was one of many losses for me and for several people close to me. The losses themselves were a shock, emotional bombshells each one. But each loss came with a gift inside. A jewel of learning and of becoming that the loss necessitated. There was gain and growth this year as well, but not the flashy growth and gain of here-and-gone spring annuals, but the unfurling of a few leaves and a slow, upward stretching and outward thickening of a central trunk - the decidedly unshowy growth of evergreens and perennials. 

Celebrating that kind of growth looks a little different. It looks like more intimate gatherings with smaller groups of friends - people who appreciate leaves as much as they do flowers. It looks like quiet time alone to reflect and sigh and smile and cry. It looks like notebooks filled with lessons learned from moments of confusion and hurt. It looks like opting out of the company party to go to a neighborhood gathering where the conversations will be more authentic, the hugs inappropriately long, the food cooked by hands I know. 

When I look back and recall the ways i chose to celebrate the end of this year, this decade... I believe i’ll be glad that I consciously chose to not just celebrate the season as dictated by calendar or custom, but as dictated by my own life’s season. 

Today, another coworker sent a text, “You missed out on a great party...”

I replied: “I didn’t miss out. I chose.”

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The All-Too-Obvious Truth About Black People & Office Potlucks

PSA: Tis the season. The season... for office potlucks. 

Or as I like to call them, the one time black people will gladly turn down free food. 

Cuuuuz... in case you didn’t know...

Black people don’t eat out of everybody house.

Now, I know i may be telling ‘family tea’ right now, but I think it’s needed in this day and age where workforces are more diverse and radical candor is becoming a way of life. 

The next time your office has a big potluck... pay attention to your African-American colleagues. Oh? You don’t even see half of them? Maybe, you think, they’re in a meeting right now, and they’ll stop by later. Nah, bro. They ain’t comin’. The moment the pot luck invite hit their inbox weeks ago, they made plans for lunch off-campus. Or! If they do show up, be very clear that they have already conducted a private survey of their fellow black coworkers to find out which of them brought a dish and have identified exactly WHICH dish in advance. At chow time, they will only eat those dishes and perhaps store-bought ones. The most diplomatic among us will surreptitiously invoke a ne’er-before-revealed food allergy or digestive disorder to explain why we skipped over certain dishes. Others prefer the approach of putting a small scoop of most everything on their plate - scoops that will remain untouched until they touch the trash bin. 

Some might say this is racist. It can certainly be construed as such. But, this behavior is not only reserved for non-black colleagues. If u are a POC that owns a pet, you may also be on the receiving end of this behavior. Especially, if at any point in time you have revealed that you let your pet: sleep in your bed, walk on your counters, lick your face or eat out of ‘people plates’. You, may be a victim of Potluck Passover. Try not to take this personally. It really isn’t a personal attack, as these same folks will still hang out with you, look out for you and enjoy your other creative outputs. They just ain’t eatin’ out yo’ house. 

Just thought I’d share this PSA as I make my way back to the office after off-campus lunch. 

I hear there’s still plenty of chili left in the breakroom. 😏

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