Hello gentle-people,
This week, I was
, writing virtually alongside some Black, Indigenous, and Writers of Color here on Substack. It all began when a few weeks ago, wrote a Note asking if anyone was interested in creating/joining a virtual writing group. Alongside Alex, , , and planning and organizing this group has been such a source of deep joy. The goal wish to commune and focus on writing for the majority of the time, with our energies surrounding the sessions geared towards connection and fellowship (with no unsolicited advice offered!).As the facilitator of this first session, I was so excited to begin, that I was dressed and ready a whole 2 hours before we began. I felt I was singing in that space, via my keyboard, of course. I look forward to sharing the piece I began writing then in the future. However, this post is a reflection on what it means for me to keep my words close (to my body) sometimes, as a writer who hums.
a writer who hums
In this season, I feel loquacious. But I am reminded that I have learned to carry this weight in my words and when I share, I am inviting others into navigating some heaviness. This is a space where I hope to craft “a gentle landing.”
I place my little g’s with their feathers where I hope I can inspire folks to pause and breathe.
But I put them where I come up for air—I have no idea, really, how often you need to come up for air as you read what I write, but I hope to be the kind of writer who cares for your breath and mine.
Most of you don’t know me well enough to know how often I hum. I hum all day long. I hum in places I want my voice to go when I can sing louder. I hum to get through the hardest parts of my day.
Wordless moments between friends
The weight of a hum
These are the things I seek
A good friend of mine, Dzidzor, has this beautiful incantation she guides people through in her collaborative performances: “Sometimes if we…don’t know the words we hum….”
honor the hum
I have memories of movies and TV shows that portray a suspicious character as one who hums and whistles.1 But I have grown to learn that humming can soothe your nervous system and calm you in a life-preserving moment.2
These days I am working to honor what I am learning from the hum. In it, I remember the parts of me that need the pedagogy of the body. I often cannot find words to describe what the hum has told me as sound meets my rib cage. Though I often raise my voice from silence to singing into yelling (which is still singing)—I still go back into a humming that feels older than time.
I am reminded that we all are like that, in different ways. So I am making space here in this work I call “A Gentle Landing” for the hum.
Those who are paid subscribers, aka members of “The Landing Zone,” will soon know what I mean.
Too marvelous for words
And so I'm borrowing a love song from the birds
To tell you that you're marvelous
Too marvelous for words—Frank Sinatra, Too Marvelous for Words3
I want to honor what it means to say you are “too marvelous for words.” I am often trying to find a place to perch in borrowed songs. Which is why I am excited to work on more collaborations in this coming season.
This will be my last essay-ish thing for awhile, so I am taking a bit of a break from pushing out “more lines for perching” as I cultivate ways for us to honor the hum together.
I will be consulting the hum within myself, umm-hmm.
Hmmmph—there is truth there.
Hmmm….I’m gon’ stay here….until “my soul has got to move”4
Landing Tracks
🐦⬛For soft-spoken truth-tellers: Here’s a podcast on a similar topic reflecting on my journey with my voice and the choices that come with raising it, quieting it, or remaining silent:
🐦⬛ Ways of supporting my work: I am trying to get better at this part—where I name the support I need as I seek to create a gentle landing for myself. Here are some ways you can support my work, other than contributing as a paid subscriber here:
Buy a book or select A Gentle Landing as a beneficiary when you buy a book on Bookshop. I wanna especially highlight this growing book list based on conversations on the season 4 theme for Black Coffee & Theology, “Black and Alive.”
Buy me a book (through Buy Me A Coffee) and support my book-buying habit.
🐦⬛ Practice perching in the archive: If you find yourself wanting to dive back into some old posts, remember the hum. Stay with the sounds within you waiting to be born—into parts of speech or action. If you remember to, come back to A Gentle Landing to testify to the truth you heard within yourself.
🐦⬛ Learn from folks who honor the hum: I have been enjoying the blackout poetry
has been making in his newsletter . I continually learn from how my sister-friend interacts on Substack notes with a community of writers in ways that nurture and uplift us—plus everything she writes hums. I am so glad another sister-friend, has returned to writing on Substack, after taking a break to honor the hum through rest after writing and publishing her book. Every time shares his musings, I am reminded to slow down and take life in at the pace of wonder.A Tom and Jerry scene runs through my mind as I write.
I have learned about this from Resmaa Manekem’s My Grandmother’s Hands and Barbara Holmes’ Joy Unspeakable. (These are affiliate links.)
This song started playing in the coffee shop I am in as I wrote this post…what a wonderful turn of events that was for me.
I am thinking of this moment of synergy this past week with a friend on Threads, @thebethanynicole, who was reflecting back her own experience of the hum. The words she quoted reminded me of last week’s post “eclipsing vocations,” which talked about the slippery foundations I am moving away from: “there’s a leak in this old building/ And my soul has got to move /Yeah my soul has got to move /My soul has GOT TO MOVE.”
Every time I read what you share it feels like my soul takes a breath... Is that a sigh? I don't know. Thank you! This piece feels sacred for me for a few reasons
- it finds me at a point of tension and confusion and it felt like the resting place I needed
- my youngest nibling has always hummed, seemingly involuntarily, mainly as she eats. And while other folks find it bothersome or confusing, I adore this trait she has... It feels like your offering honors her... And in doing so the parts of us humans that are misunderstood and then feared/ mocked/ pushed away
- it helped me recognize that as I've been sharing more of my writing and myself I'm sometimes doing it with punching words that I'm hoping send out huge blasts of fire (think Zuko from early ATLAB -original series, animated)... Fueled by emotions I'm not acknowledging, trying to burn everything while pricing my worth. I'm not hoping my readers find gentle places to land, rest, and breathe... I've been trying to shake/ slap them awake - it is violent...I am not good at violence... And maybe that's some of the tension I've been feeling within...
I could go on... But really I just want you to know the profound depths of my gratitude at your share... As soon as I have more than $1.57 in my account😁😬, I'll be subscribing... And until then and beyond, I'll be calling to the helpful, guiding forces that be to support your endeavors. And I'll call to the forces that attempt to block our paths and demand they make themselves known.
ASÉ. May it be so.
Talking about the visceral experience of the hum in the body has reminded me of the vocal therapy I had to go through a few years ago after my vocal cords got damaged. So many of the therapeutic exercises I had to do involved all sorts of weird ways of humming: with my tongue out, into a straw set in water, pitching up and down, over and over. All off this literally rebuilt my ability to speak and be heard, and I am forever grateful to the people who helped me reclaim my voice by teaching me to hum.