On Giftedness, Grace, and the Rooms That Cannot Hold You
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You ever say something so profound or birth an idea that feels way beyond the scope of what you thought you were capable of? Write something that, at least in your opinion, is worthy of mass distribution on a Pulitzer scale? Then you stop, look at what you’ve written or created or said, and you shock your own damn self. And in that millisecond you reflect on what you just said or did or created, and something in you whispers, damn, that’s why. That’s why they hate you.
Just me? It can’t be. There are so many prolific people out here in the world. Even though we are drowning by the inept these days, there are still prolific folks navigating this planet. Sometimes you don’t even know why you are gifted in a particular area. You just are. And somehow that can breed negative commentary, reaction, jealousy, envy, and disdain from people you engage with and those you do not. No matter how much you try to suppress it so others might shine, you cannot help it. You don’t have the power to dim your light. It will shine even when you don’t mean for it to. I also believe it’s on loan and will fade if you don’t use it and study it so it can grow.
I have experienced this quite a bit throughout my life. I’ve never really been a cocky person. If anything, I have gotten to a point where I am pretty silent in most rooms because I would rather listen than talk. Listen to understand. Listen to empathize. Listen to find resolve. Listen to decide how to proceed. Listen to plan. Listen to organize. Listen to be better and wiser and forward thinking about what is going to come out of my mouth next. You don’t always have to speak for your light to shine. Those meant to see it will see it. And if receptive, seeing the light in others helps to activate your own. I find that when I do choose to speak, after all that listening, what I say or write or create or share is often wonderful. Prolific ideation. Noteworthy thoughts. Empowering best practices. And as a result, I have upset some people.
It is hard to be an empath and have folks upset with you. Especially when you’re committed to remaining humble, yet still make people uncomfortable because your light will not dim no matter how hard you try to mask it. Yes, I know all the speeches about walking into the room with confidence, having a seat at the table, not succumbing to imposter syndrome, not dimming your light. I can hear the speeches coming through right now as I write. Calm down beloved, keep reading, the light bulb climax is coming. I’ve heard it all and I respect it. I also think it is important to listen and read the room. Sometimes these rooms you are in and these tables you are sitting at do not deserve to benefit from your light. But there is definitely a reason you are there. Taking the time to reflect on why God placed you in certain spaces matters. Why this stop on your journey is even a stop at all. I love when I figure that out. I love when God speaks to me and says, Cyn, you are here for this reason in this moment so you can get better at this specific thing and be prepared for the next stop. It feels like a full body experience when that happens. I can’t even fully explain it.
I do have the strong sense to apologize though. Why am I apologizing? I don’t know, but I want to. I apologize if I have ever made anyone feel like I was purposefully blocking their light from shining because I chose to shine mine. I apologize if me being acknowledged triggers you, causes you to roll your eyes, or makes you sick to your stomach. It actually makes me sad.
But it will not deter me from actively seeking ways to reach my goals and contributing to dialogue and projects and the bigger picture discussion from a bird’s eye view. Because the reality is, no matter how quiet I try to be, when the itch itches, I am going to scratch it. I am going to say the thing. I am going to share. I am going to organize. I am going to plan. I am going to execute and implement every single time. That is who I am. It is in my DNA to follow through and complete what I started.
So yes, I apologize if you feel like I am in your way. If you feel like you should have gotten it and I should not have. I apologize if you feel like I am not worthy. If anything about me disturbs who you are, I apologize. I do not want anyone to feel that way when they mention me or discuss me or think about me. I would hope folks say, she is kind. She is a bit moody because she is a Gemini, but sis is kind and empathetic, a hard worker, talented AF with a brilliant mind who cares about people and follows through.
I'm always like, dang Cyn Cyn, where did that come from? Where did these gifts come from? I attribute it to God speaking through me most times. To seeing it in my dreams before speaking it into power. I attribute it to Carrie and Randy Dorsey. To late night swims and journaling. To sitting in my car until the sun sets and it gets so dark outside. To the colors I see when I listen to the crackling music from a vinyl record. To the stories rumbling in my mind that have yet to find land and valley space, but I leave room for them all. To my commitment to inner peace so I can bleed peace externally. Honestly.
I attribute it to belting Belle loudly when I'd put on the VHS tape of Beauty and the Beast. “There must be more than this provincial life!” I attribute it to that car notebook my mama put together when we were little, full of Black History facts, short stories, scripture references, songs, and poems. I love Eloise Greenfield, Honey, I Love. Because I do, I love a lot of things. A whole lot of things. A whole lot of things. To learning every word of Lift Every Voice and Sing so when folks sing it wrong, I correct it in my mind. I attribute it to my AP English teacher accusing me of plagiarizing my senior paper and failing me, until I sat in a dark room at school and rewrote another one on the spot. I attribute it to his apology. I attribute it to my students, colleagues, and their families who nominated me for an Excellence in Theatre Education Tony Award®. To teacher burnout inflicted by adults not children. I attribute it to seeing my writing in popular lifestyle blogs and dissertations and read aloud on stages and screens. I attribute it to the rejection and the “you are overqualified” emails, to the “we cannot give you feedback on your application.” To Obama’s Senate Office and Obama For America. To slate boards with Director: Cynthia L. Dorsey written across the top. To my face in Playbill. To creating opportunities for myself by myself and for women like me.
I attribute it to the People to People Student Ambassador program. To traveling to South Africa in the sixth grade and falling in love with a boy from Flint, Michigan who I never saw again. Speaking of boys, I attribute it to what I thought was my first love, Said. He died. I went to the funeral. He was Muslim. There were so many of us crying, so many girls all my age, the ones who thought they loved him too. I attribute it to the speaker who said Said would come back as a tree, and how I spent a year trying to figure out which tree was him. To “nights like this I-I wish rain drops would fa-a-a-a-aalll.” To scraping my inner thigh trying to climb over bathroom stalls, seeing the white meat in my leg for the first time, and bleeding profusely. To my third grade teacher, Ms. Tracy Wallace. Thank you. Where are you? To the late 90s. To three way phone calls on 0893. To the basement of my childhood home that kept my secrets and stored my dreams. To Daddy’s living room chair and indigo blue water cup. To Mommy’s jewelry box. To Andrew’s love of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.
I attribute it to hustling Girl Scout cookies out of the trunk of my mama’s car after church on Sundays. To the Black Baptist church and that burgundy hymnal that felt like braille under my fingers. To theology’s finest: Reverend Dr. H. Joseph Franklin, Sr., Reverend Jeremiah Wright, Reverend Dr. Frederick D. Haynes, III, Reverend H. Beecher Hicks, Reverend John K. Jenkins, Sr., Reverend E. Dewey Smith, Reverend Michael A. Walrond, Jr. and Reverend Howard-John Wesley. To oratorical contests and standing ovation speeches. TED Talking before TED even came on the scene. To the power of ministry as consumption and contribution. To liturgical dance ministry.To church heartbreak. To the antidepressants for the anxiety. To Dr. McGinty suggesting medical marijuana instead. To my godmother’s chicken and rice and my grandmother’s collard greens. To being cast as a sumo wrestler freshman year of high school to kick off my “too fat girl” acting career. To DC who raised me. To Chicago who nurtured me. To Paris Noir who affirmed me. To thinking I lost my virginity to a Kaiser Permanente after my first Pap smear. To the handwritten love letters with Lil Wayne lyrics as prose. To matching tatts.
I attribute it to being traumatized by the Trayvon Martin case. Haunted by the Sandra Bland case. Retraumatized by Laquan McDonald, Alton Sterling, Philando Castile, and Breonna Taylor. Breonna Taylor. Breonna Taylor. To having to stop watching the body cam footage of Black and Brown bodies being used for target practice and Jui-Jistu mastering. Feeling guilty for not watching George Floyd, like watching was some form of having his back. Like watching could’ve saved him. I attribute it to the arts activist in me birthed out of necessity. Paranoid that I could be next, or a family member, or a friend. To my childhood best friend who showed me the pain of friendships ending. To my adult friends who do not play ‘bout me and who I love whole. To witnessing so many of my friends be great parents. To My Ladybug, who one day I will tell how she saved my life. To holding hands with my grandmother on beaches across the world. To being a daddy’s girl who lost her daddy but found refuge at his camping safe place. To New Orleans. To Louisiana gumbo with a roux as dark as me. To the Tree of Life. To Urania.
I attribute it to the SAC of DST. Marcella and Miranda specifically. To the Delta who followed me in her car when I was walking in the rain. To the “Soror, you okay?”To legacy. I attribute it to being Black. Blackity Black, Black. Black and so unbelievably proud. I am my ancestors’ wildest dreams, so I have a responsibility. I attribute it to everlasting love. 1 Corinthians 13. To agape love. I attribute it to this magical and unimaginable life I am living. To God giving me everything I need and not giving me what I thought I wanted. To living in my calling no matter how hard it can be.
All of this and more has made who I am today and continues to make room for who I will be.
And I apologize if you cannot see the blessings in your life because you are too irritated by mine. My excellence efforts are not an attack on you. I don’t desire to compete with you.
You deserve to bask in life’s joys and share your light too.
Asé.
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