I have a blood pressure monitor, which is a thing my doctors recommended I get. I haven’t used it in two weeks. I don’t need to. I know what it will tell me. I wake up every day with my heart racing and I go to sleep every night with my heart racing and I spend my waking hours reminding myself to take deep calming breaths as if they will somehow make the hourly onslaught less brutal.
Onslaught of what? I am fine. I am safe. I have a job. I am grateful that those things are true, despite the pandemic that has killed hundreds of thousands of people. Ah, right, the pandemic. And that grim parade of names memorialized on protest signs around the country and desperately, cynically invoked by #brands trying to stay on the right side of, if not history, as least customers’ purchasing habits.
Now, all at once, everyone has a black friend (but none of those folks are on their boards or in their C-suites). Everyone has an indigenous ancestor. Everyone is very sorry for all the things they are now being reminded that they said and did, up to and including yesterday. Yesterday, they did not know better. Today, though, today they are listening and learning and ~growing as a person~ and they want to make sure you know that.