On Speaking Up Against Racism

(and the time I was called out on my own racism )

Back in the day, I loved live-tweeting awards shows, especially the Golden Globes - adequately bejeweled and just chaotic enough to guarantee a good time. This was, of course, back when “Twitter” still existed. It used to be my favorite social media platform, a place where I felt somewhat anonymous and free to sound off. I was more than capable of being witty in 140 characters or less.

The following memory from 2015 lives in me like a frayed wire. It sparks when necessary, a quick shock of humility. It was Golden Globes night. I sat curled up in my yoga pants with my thumbs in position, simultaneously watching the show, replying to other watchers, and dashing off commentary of my own. I was never interested in being mean. I just called it like I saw it.

The next day, I published a blog post which highlighted my most clever (and most popular) quips. All in good fun!

And then I got her comment. This was hurtful to me. I’m surprised. Help me understand.

The room spun a dizzy circle. My cheeks were hot. My ears rang. I was instantly defensive, low-key “She doesn’t even know me!”

But in the very next breath, I knew she was right.