When I was a small child, my parents moved me several times between my birthplace of Minneapolis Minnesota and my mom’s birthplace of Detroit Michigan. In 1968, race riots erupted in the city of Detroit and my parents made the decision to drop my mom and us (me and my older siter) off at her parents’ cottage about two hours north of the city. Mom did not have a phone or a car, just enough food to hold her over until Dad arrived for the weekends. Mom recalls how she could see a thin black line of smoke on the skyline coming all the way from Port Huron, which is a Canadian border town about one hour north of Detroit. Both my sister and I were babies; we have no recollection of this event.

Through the years, our family visited Detroit every year to be with my Grandparents and visit with other distant relatives. I do not recall hearing anything about the different races of people, yet I do recall very distinctly that Detroit was made up of ‘different’ people than where I lived in Blaine Minnesota. I was aware of this because Grandma used to go to different markets for different grocery items. There was the Italians who owned the produce market, the Polish who owned the meat market and the Greeks who owned the bakery. My Mom, her parents and many of their friends, neighbors and community were made up of darker people than the people I saw back at home. I remember my mom’s sense of pride as she spoke of her city, of Motown, of Belle Isle and of many of the unique things that made Detroit, Detroit. I recall my Grandparents boasting of boxing legend, Joe Louis, and singers Smokie Robinson and Diana Ross among the legions of greats that emerged from their city. This early exposure to many first generation and ethnic cultures made an indelible impression on me that became part of the foundation of my interest in a bigger world.

When I was in elementary school, I met a Mexican girl and our young friendship was also an early eye opener to the window of diversity as she invited me to stay at their home, eat their food and partake in their cultural traditions. Fast-forward, I started college as a teen and had little to no support from family. During the midday breaks, I did not have money to buy lunch (I did not have money to pack a lunch either) so I stayed to myself for the most part. A young exchange student from Pakistan noticed and started sharing her lunch with me (frequently) and we quickly became friends; the exposure to her mother’s cooking ignited a love of exploring international foods and a desire to know more, taste more and experience the world more, was now a central focus of my life. At twenty, I met a man from Norway who belonged to an international club on the university campus. We dated, then married and I was brought into the fold of his friends that were people from Tanzania, Nicaragua, Finland, and Columbia. Learning his language, food and traditions was an incredibly good chapter in my life. As the years passed, I noticed myself looking to find the ‘ones’ who were ‘different’ the ones who might be alone in a sea of sameness; this heightened awareness brought me to meet people from Cuba, Ethiopia, Romania, England, Jamaica and more recently Armenia.

I am now fifty-three years old, and I cannot imagine a life without these faces, these hearts, and these souls. The smiles, the love of life and family are the things that attracted us to each other, but it was our common humanity that kept us together. This common decency of doing the right thing, of being honest, of being hardworking and forward focused on a brighter future. I cannot imagine a life without diversity of religion, color, locations, beliefs, food, traditions, and art.

The events happening right now break my heart.

I am caught off guard by the rage, by the insanity and by the unproductive destruction of property and souls. Ugly deeds provoking ugly words that just bring more ugliness. Murder, mayhem, and criminal behaviors that are happening and the majority of the peace-loving, law-abiding citizens are left wondering how they can encourage the few (who get 24/7 press) to stop and assemble and to focus on a plan, not just complain about the problem. I want to believe that part of the ‘sensationalism’ we experience is due to our current culture that embraces obsessive 24/7 interaction and event coverage. 24/7 digital connection and a hyper-driven addictive need to speak, act, record and react without thinking. There is an element here of racing to the finish line…a finish line that does not exist.

I repeat, the finish line does not exist.

Outrage over injustice is necessary, millions walking holding their phones for self-celebrity is not. Progress has felt slow for us because our lives are so short – it feels like an eternity to see change happen. However, during the timeline of humanity, which is about 200,000 years, we have packed a lot into the last few hundred years. In fact, our country, often referred to as the ‘Grand’ experiment is just 243 years old, a mere speck on the timeline of human history. My heart breaks to see a new generation of people who have not studied history and who have only a few sound bites from the news and internet (whether true or not) sources to use as content for debate.

I thought I was a part of the positive change; my kids were immersed in diversity and now, as adults, they seek it too. I question so many things now; sometimes I wonder if it was all a dream. I thought change was happening when I saw my own first black female Dr. and when America saw its first black president and first family. I thought the age of information would draw out more substantive debates and different opinions would be respected; unfortunately, right now, I see a deepening polarization of two sides of the same coin. I thought the globalization of humanity would spark in us the same things it sparked in me so many decades ago – that is, a desire to learn more, appreciate more and partake more in the that which is the colorful differences that make us ALL so unique.

My heart breaks for all of us right now because the incessant loud banging removes our ability to hear each other, and the perpetual destruction of this place we built stops our ability to see each other. There isn’t room for the universe to heal because the screaming, barking rage makes us flee from our own common sense -- we can neither catch our breath nor exhale. We observed an interesting thing; out of disease, fear and death, our land was beginning to heal because of the Covid-19 lock down. Our trees, plants, animals, waters, and skies were collectively saying thank you to all of us for slowing down.

I wish I could see the future. I hope for the sensible everywhere to take the wheel and turn this ship away from the choppy dirty waters and into the clear and calm so we can all pause to think about how each one of us can make a plan no matter how small. We only have one life and it’s up to each of us to define what we want to do with our precious time. We do not have to be overwhelmed or feel like victims; we just must grab ahold of one day at a time and show up at 100%, then hit repeat. I wish I could imagine how this big and encompassing issue could be slayed, because if it were up to me, I would paint a picture of beautiful diversity and use it as a filter to allow the people to see the things that I have seen. I would tell them, please look through this lens, it’s utterly amazing. Please see that life is amazing.