But the real difficulties, the real arts of survival, seem to lie in more subtle realms. There, what’s called for is a kind of resilience of the psyche, a readiness to deal with what comes next. These captives lay out in a stark and dramatic way what goes on in every life: the transitions whereby you cease to be who you were. Sometimes an old photograph, an old friend, an old letter, will remind you that you are not who you once were, for that person who dwelt among them, valued this, chose that, wrote thus, no longer exists. Without noticing it you traversed a great distance; the strange has become familiar and the familiar if not strange at least awkward or uncomfortable, an out-grown garment.
Some people inherit values and practices as a house they inhabit; some of us have to burn down that house, find our own ground, build from scratch, even as a psychological metamorphosis. As a cultural metamorphosis the transition is far more dramatic."
Take a break and a deep breath. You’ve nearly made it through May. ^u^
It’s easy for polite American society to condemn Cliven Bundy and banish Donald Sterling while turning away from the elegant, monstrous racism that remains.
this, like everything ta-nehisi coates writes, is a masterpiece—and you should stop what you are doing to read it in its entirety.
For a lot of young people, the question of which label to put on their feelings is nothing short of an all-consuming, obsessive anxiety. The closet door won’t budge, they figure, until they slide the right linguistic key into the lock. There is overwhelming pressure, both within the queer community and outside of it, to find the right label, and to use that label forever.
I’m going to make a suggestion. It might be controversial.
This is all pure, unadulterated bullshit.