to be gray

I grew up living between two separate households with two distinctly different sets of rules to follow— two different lives to live. My parents divorced when I was three, and they’ve spoken through attorneys only since. My mother is a blonde haired, blue eyed, tiny Irish gal; and my father is an afro, now bald headed, African American. I cannot begin to describe how different they are. But despite their vast differences, they had one thing in common; they both taught me to see things from both sides of the fence. They both taught me to sit in the gray area between black and white for just a little while longer.

The Seattle, Washington area, provided for some of the most spectacular scenery. So, naturally I spent most of my time outside, despite the ever present rain. I think that’s where my love for wandering grew. I’d often go for hikes with my family and without fail we’d end the hike at a loss for words. Our inability to verbally express ourselves was not because of the physical strain our bodies just endured, but because of the beauty that surrounded us. Both sides were awestruck, despite not ever seeing the view from where the other person stood.

You see, I can stand in one spot on a mountain and someone could stand on another, and we would both see the mountain— but not from the same viewpoint as the other. Perhaps we would be even more astounded at the sight of the mountain if we shared our viewpoint with one another in a manner that never sought to force someone to change their perspective, but instead attempted to share ours from a place of surrender. How would I ever know what took their breath away if I never asked?

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As we ask the opposite side a question about themselves we should seek to ask the questions we don’t already know the answer to. Ask the questions they might not know the answer to. What’s it like to walk in your shoes? Who or what made you the way you are today? What story would you like your life to tell? How can I help share your story?

This is how I grew up. Seeing things from both perspectives by asking what it was like to be them and somehow finding out that it’s not always greener on the other side. Sometimes the other side is full of evergreen trees that have withered and still remain standing, white sand that’s been felt by the feet of many, or snow capped peaks yet to be climbed. I try my best to never come to a definite conclusion about the other side of the fence out of fear I would miss an important detail about the life of the other.

So please— sit in that gray area between the two sides for just a little while longer. Sit until you feel you’ve fully understood both perspectives. Sit until you can advocate for both sides with love and honesty. Sit, and please, don't be so quick to choose sides.

My mother is white. My father is black. I am gray.

At some point we should try to be gray.

May 2017