you are beautiful
That’s what the little sticker said. Black font on white background. Simple, direct, unassuming.
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A moment on the radio: A guy “pulls out all the stops” for his date and can’t figure out what went wrong. He explains: “I wanted to make a great first impression and really treat her ‘right’ like a true gentleman. I gave her flowers, took her to the best restaurant...
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Downtown, under the shadow of the skyscrapers, a man walked towards me. I was 70% sure he was going to ask me for money—he had a look of desperation.
“How ya doing?” he called out.
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If I’m honest—really honest—I’m afraid of cooking a turkey. It’s not about the worry of something tasting bad; that’s a whole other article of vulnerability. No, it’s that sack of guts that lives inside the turkey. Some turkeys don’t even have it in a sack. You have to be a pilgrim or pioneer and go in there blindly. I SHUDDER.
Something—no, everything—about this sack of guts grosses me out. I try not to think about it. But something in this “small” moment of fear seems relevant. Let’s dig into these past weeks.
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Last month, Oprah, Will Smith and Stephen King were all in DC. Our Nation’s Capital powerhoused the National Book Festival and the opening of the National Museum of African American History and Culture: big people and big moments. However, true to Brave Tutu, I’m going to focus on a small striking moment: a kid with a self-made cape. This child ignored stretching lines for famous authors like Katherine Patterson and Salman Rushdie. Instead, he laughed and laughed, chasing his friend as the red power source flowed behind him.
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MISSION: Find and eat the sugar cubes! As kids, we spent HOURS playing church hide and seek. To be fair, we felt like finding sugar cubes was a simple extension of the game. Parish halls = coffee. Coffee = sugar. Simple math.
When were really young, sugar cubes were still a thing and our dad was a visiting minister. We had many new territories to explore.
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Lightning lit up the terminal. “We will load the plane in 15 minutes. When there is a break in the storm, we will be ready for takeoff.” I looked at my phone: the three-hour forecast showed 100% next to clouds with tiny bolts. I was 50% relieved and 50% terrified.
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I was running late for work. In accordance with parking-late-law, that meant zero convenient spots. Up in the heights of the garage my green beetle climbed. Around each turn…Oh is that a spot? SMART CARS, you tease! Jumbo SUVs were in the compact car spots. I imagined they were embarrassed, jammed in and refusing eye contact. Ultimately, the Nissans and the Elements kept Forrest Gumping me— “this spot’s taken.”
I should have arrived earlier. “You do this to yourself, Rebekah.” My negative voice takes a microphone when I’m already frustrated. I got to the highest point in the parking garage and thought, “Great. Outside and it’s raining. No wonder.” I pulled in and grabbed my things. Just as I closed the car door, I looked up!
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Last weekend, our Dad was rushed into the ICU, not for the first time. Two of my dearest college friends came to support me, also not for the first time.
“Bow, how is Brave Tutu going?” Amanda asked.
“Struggling. It’s hard to pump out positive, uplifting articles when my heart is feeling so low.”
“Bow, I don’t think Brave Tutu has to always be happy…”
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