I slept well for about 45minutes or so, got up, grabbed a bite to eat, and headed on out. The walk was only about a mile and some change to the Art Institute Auditorium from where I was living at the time. Right down in the loop, everything was pretty close. As I approached the building I saw the line to get in stretched to the corner. My anxiety kicked in. That was a long line and a lot of humans. What if I couldn’t get in? Would they run out of seats if I was at the end. I shushed the voices in my head and hit the back of the line. I was this close, yet it seemed so far. It was a bit too early for the line to move forward so it just grew, backwards.
Isn’t it crazy sometimes how when we get right up on what we say we want, the reverse gear feels so good in our hands. I’m thinking that may be a fear of success or our own light. Doubt starts creeping in like roots from some foreign species threatening to choke out our garden of dreams. Do something before they get too deep. Jar yourself outta that space however you have to. Action has a bit of magic in it. Looking around, I began to think about being inside the auditorium. Then a little voice in my head prompted me to head toward the door.
“Why…?” I countered. I couldn’t just go strolling past all these other people waiting in this stationary line. That would be rude. My Mama taught me better. Some had been there longer than me. Who was I to go traipsing to the front of the line? It was finally about time to go in. The line was still. If I moved, I couldn’t just reclaim my space again. “Excuse me, I had these big dreams but they didn’t work out. Could you let me cut line back in front of you?” If I left this safe space, it was all the way forward and in or all the way back. I peeled myself from my spot in line and began the walk toward the door. I could feel the yes on me. I didn’t stop ’til I was inside the double doors. The air was cool and inviting with no real smell. The low nap carpet muffled my footsteps. A woman walked over and asked if she could help me. I told her my name, and what the director had said. She turned, went to a table, came back and asked me to follow her. I was expecting to go to the door where people were gathered. Instead she lead me to a side door to our right away from the crowd. She pointed toward the front of the auditorium. “Anywhere down there if fine.”
“Anywhere..?” I repeated with a little disbelief and enthusiasm. “Anywhere.” She affirmed.
I stepped right down to the front row of the auditorium and sat down like I owned it. After taking in my surroundings, I called the friend and told her where I was in the auditorium. She couldn’t believe it. And to boot, the lady standing over me whose purse kept hitting my shoulder, was playwright and director, Cheryl Lynn Bruce – the wife of Kerry James Marshall. I stood up and joined the conversation, introducing myself like I was the speaker. We exchanged cards, had a laugh, and took our seats. I caught a glimpse of the other professor in the back; the one who told me there were no more tickets. My partner in crime soon joined me and we enjoyed the presentation to the fullest. A key message to the crowd, then to me specifically as KJM and I connected as Alabama native sons, was to continue and don’t be deterred.
Afterwards we chatted it up with Kerry James Marshall, Cheryl Lynn Bruce, and John White, son of Charles White. Our conversation lasted out the door into the tepid Chicago night air. The evening had gone even better than expected. Kerry’s words to me hit fertile ground. It was an honor to stand in the presence of an artist who has gained his level of accomplishment, holding true to his practice, and doing it on his message. I consider him the GOAT in that arena. He, in turn was taught and inspired by Charles White, a GOAT before him. It was one of those times when there was no doubt in my mind, what was possible, and where I am going. The kid eventually grows up. Stay the course, each step is a stroke toward your shine.
Notes of A Native Son 