perching lines, no. 11

another day, another try

Hello gentle-people,

Let me begin by saying I am not an athlete. I am not an athlete, though there was once a time in my life when I wanted to be one. I specifically wanted to play soccer. My favorite position to play during recess soccer as a kid was goalie. I frequently gave up walking arm and arm with one of my childhood best friends around the schoolyard to play soccer. I enjoyed feeling like I was able to play and watch the game at the same time from my vantage point. As a kid, I was super competitive. You couldn’t tell me elementary recess soccer wasn’t serious.

The world of outdoor games I enjoyed started to close when elementary school finished, and I lost my connection to the sport. Since I spent most of my free time at home helping take care of my sisters, I didn’t get to play outside much before middle school. So, when it came time to try out for the middle school soccer team, I was out of shape. I also realized that many of the kids who were trying out had played more than recess soccer. I couldn’t compete with their level of experience. When my soccer dreams died, so did my sense of athleticism for a long time.

One thing has stuck with me since then, though, and it is my love of any vantage point that allows me to feel like a goalie. Perhaps because I am (self-)protective, defensive, and cautious. We will come back to this.

Photo by Janosch Diggelmann on Unsplash

🐦‍⬛ about perching lines

A “perch” is a light rest. Much needed in a world where many of us have to learn how to catch a break while standing up. In these lighter posts, I will offer poems, questions, and connections for those brief moments of reprieve. [Explore more in this series.]

Over the years, I have gone through periods of working out and stopping. When I was on a consistent streak, I enjoyed the endorphins and kept coming back for more. When I fell off my streak, it was as if I had forgotten what endorphins were altogether. During one year of my seminary journey, I had a housemate who was an athlete. She had also worked as a personal trainer and taught fitness classes. She decided she would encourage me to work out again. We would wake up at 6 am and go for a walk around the block, then get back and pull out our yoga mats for some calisthenics. I remember feeling like my body was betraying me since I never felt like I got used to it. But the gentle release of endorphins I remembered reminded me that it was worth it.

I am currently in yet another moment of working out consistently. I started by deciding not to go more than one day without doing some kind of exercise. It’s been a few months now. When I am consistent, I find myself feeling less betrayed and more in awe of what my body can do. I hope I can keep this up and not fall off again. Some part of it is about changing the mindset with which I approach working out: I am not an athlete, but I could be athletic. I may never compete in a sport in any official sense, but I am in constant competition with myself as I work on my strength, endurance, and coordination.

I wish I could say every time I work out I feel a renewed sense of clarity in my ability to improve. But it’s more like every 2nd or 3rd time. Sometimes even 4th. My desire to chase endorphins is in constant competition with my desire to veg out. On days when I am deeply depressed or unmotivated, the latter wins. This journey I am on has been a lifelong one. When I look back, I see the ways I have moved in and out of athleticism, unable to hold the identity for too long. I see all the times I have tried to make a sustained commitment to moving my body. I have a bag full of workout gear I’ve collected over the years, each tool purchased with the hope that it would inspire me to continue or renew my commitment.

But an athletic identity cannot be purchased. At the end of the day, to be athletic, I will need to keep trying. Someday, I may be able to look at my past and see all that trying and admit to myself that I’ve arrived somehow. That is what I am working towards:

Another day, another try.

I have recently struggled with ambition since graduating from my second master’s program in January. In some ways, my writing has been a safe place to welcome my confusion. It’s been a place to meander and make sense of things as I moved forward with little to no direction. Sometimes, I make small attempts to hone a desire for the familiar when I feel disoriented—sometimes, my ambition is simply to go home.

I was under the impression, after completing this milestone, that I was lacking ambition. Yes, I have short-term goals, long-term dreams, and longings in between. I am also surrounded by people who are striving. Reminders of the power of ambition are all around me.

But truthfully, for a while there, I didn’t have a taste for it. In fact, nothing seemed to taste good and I was exhausted. So I wrote down the simplest ambitions I could cling to:

1. I want to land gently, always.

2. I want to write as a practice of freedom, always.

3. I want to question oppressive structures and practices, offering alternatives where possible.

4. I want to connect—when that connection creates warmth in a world that would have us be alone and cold in our siloed efforts to push for arbitrary markers of success.

5. I want to center desire.

6. I want to try to carry a little less shame every day.

---

Remember, remember 
And remember again 
So when things fall apart 
This impression is a friend
Leading you home 

The flowers are trying today
Days after the storm 
Like me with my legs
One foot heavier than the other 
We line the sidewalks while others 
Hurry by 

The flowers are trying
Their green pushing through 
Soil
The flowers are trying
So I try 
not to lean into scarcity

---

I greet the day with “Another day, another try” often. When I was more active on social media, it was often my first post of the day. It is not unrelated to what I do in my writing since every essay is an attempt, an experiment with words. As an essayist, I am someone who tries. Therefore, I have a sincere ambition, even if I meander a little bit. Even if I am tempted to veg out, even here. Most of the time I hope we are going somewhere.

I recently grabbed a few bins from the basement of my family home. One is full of notebooks. I have had quite a time opening them up, reading my past attempts at writing, and showing my younger self a bit of compassion.

So long as I keep essaying I hope I essay a path. I essay abundance. I essay to make a home within myself.

another year, another try

I have been in a six-week masterclass (this is week five) called “Dream Yourself Free,” led by EbonyJanice. It is a space crafted for Black women and femmes to dream with our highest imaginations. We are getting all kinds of tools and wisdom from EbonyJanice to help us actualize our goals. One of the things we’ve been told to do is share our goals with people who we know will be excited for us and our journey. People who will support us and help us see them through.

It is in the spirit of that directive that I share my ambitions here, as I find myself developing a palette for one very delicious dream in particular:

I want to write a book.¹ I want to write many books, but I will start with the goal of writing a book this year. To be honest, the goal truly is to edit the book and get the book out in a way that honors the other ambitions I’ve shared here:

to land gently, always; 
to write as a practice of freedom, always; 
to question oppressive structures and practices, offering alternatives where possible;
to connect authentically beyond siloes; 
to center desire and to carry a little less shame every day.

I want to name this goal here publicly because I want it to be a gentle landing dream. A fledgling that is raised up in a network of communal care. I have had many friends who are authors and have witnessed many journeys. What I have heard and seen has convinced me this journey could not be done alone. I am not asking you to wake up with me at 6 am and walk around the block, but I would be honored if you could join me.

Let me end by saying I am an author. The work I’ve put in here on Substack has helped me realize this identity with every day and every try. Truthfully, I began Substack because I was protective, defensive, and cautious—I wanted to put my words down somewhere where they would be copyright protected. I wanted to put my ideas down in a way that created context, and I was a little bit scared to believe in myself. But in many ways, I have given myself room to grow into my identity as an author in a very public way. I have given myself the vantage point to look at my archive while still creating it.

Friday is my birthday.² Which makes it feel like now is the perfect time to practice another kind of striving. To work on keeping different goals. I hope you’ll join me in this essay. I am looking forward to dreaming this book home.

🐦‍⬛ Landing Tracks

1. Take some time to sit with the perching line, “Another day, another try.” List some things that come to mind when you think of daily striving. What attempts are you making in this season?

2. When you look back at the life you are attempting to build, what does it say about who you are as a maker? Are you making a life that reflects the identities you want to hold? What does course correction look like if you are not?

3. What are 5 simple ambitions you can make that can’t be measured by traditional markers of success? What milestones come to mind when you consider how you’ve lived according to these ambitions?

1. I must admit, I have more than one book idea in mind currently. Perhaps the hardest part of this goal might be trying not to write three books at a time.

2. If you’re feeling generous, here’s my wishlist on Bookshop! I am doing the best I can to read the books I already own and not purchase any new ones in this season. And yet I would not be upset if any of these books were purchased on my behalf.