An introvert’s white space reflection: searching for shades of grey in a sea of black boxes

As another day blurred into night, I watched my social media feeds fill up with black boxes…

I wasn’t quite sure what it was about the collection of black boxes that was preventing me from adding my own. Maybe it felt too extroverted being in a crowd of black boxes instead of a more intimate gathering of clearly differentiated thoughts or images. Maybe it was because the black boxes reminded me of that last sequence in The Sopranos that still causes me to think (or hope) that there’s a frame yet to be discovered beyond the darkness that will tell me for sure what happened to Tony. Maybe because the logician in me was still confused as to what I was supposed to be learning about the people and the brands who chose to go dark en masse without distinctive explanations.

Looking at black box after black box, I wondered, am I the only one feeling like maybe the darkness is actually giving me permission to hide the things I really want to say at a time when people might actually need to hear them? The things that might feel less comfortable than the things said in “daylight”? 

Growing up, sleepovers were always the time for confessions. The time when no one could really see you and your disembodied voice muffled by a sleeping bag that somehow sounded like every other 13-year old girl in your clique of the moment. In the morning, one could always disavow something particularly embarrassing or out of character. Would this day of blacking out give us the cover to think the bold thoughts needed to lead to even bolder actions for us to truly emerge from this scary moment? 

As I pondered the black boxes, I kept thinking about a play that I saw last year, Fairview by Jackie Sibblies Drury. I can’t say much or I’d give it away, but there’s a sequence about needing space to think and away from the view of others, as people can be prone to project loudly and guiltily at times when a person just needs quiet. I’m paraphrasing and badly, but you get the point. I am not perfect. I know I’ve been guilty of trying to fix a situation rather than sit in the discomfort of raw emotion.

I hesitated over whether to add a black box of my own with some reference to that play or many others that call attention to the performance 

of race (blackness, whiteness, and other shades we use to differentiate our shared humanity) 

of gender 

of sexuality

of civility 

of ourselves. 

Then, just as I was starting to feel like writing something slightly provocative, I shied away and wrote to my former therapist instead. To call her, a straight white woman closer to my parents’ age than mine, an ally does her injustice. She was in the foxhole with me and every intersection of myself as we worked together reclaiming a safe space for me to perform away from the bright lights cast by the people I live with, work with and love every day. 

Therapy helped me find the voice you’re getting to know through my posts. It’s what’s made me a more effective leader. It’s what’s helped me realize that I use “goodness” as a shield. A way to protect against being perceived as “difficult” or “angry.” I want to go along to get along because it’s more fun, but it’s also safer when you’re a gay black woman in America. 

At work, we search for as much “white space” as possible to be able to think clearly, innovate better, go deep into a thought without interruption. In college, the black box theatre was a stripped down place to go to try out performances, experiment, focus on the story and players more than the production elements. 

I’m realizing that the danger for me (and I can only truly speak for myself; now and always) in the black boxes and my wondering what people or brands are up to (or not) by posting them is that it pulls my focus away taking the time to sit in my own black box, my own white space. There aren’t any easy answers when it comes to what the future holds, but we’re going to need a lot of creativity, compassion and permission to get it wrong. 

To have a chance at a different kind of ending to this story of injustice, inequality, oppression and systemic racism, we’re going to need safe spaces to experiment with breaking out of the usual boxes we construct for ourselves and others, for coloring outside the lines, getting comfortable with shades of grey and having the courage to step into more public, potentially less forgiving spaces where each of our voices will be seen and heard getting it right and more often, likely getting it wrong. 

For an introverted black gay woman, this is a terrifying thought. But, some of the greatest opportunities have come when I’ve acknowledged my fear and stepped out anyway. 

I’m going to give it a try. 

I hope you’ll join me when you’re ready.