I had a decision to make...

to show up authentically in my work

Friends,

I’m writing to you from snowy Michigan, where I’ve recently spoken at the January Series at Calvin University. Tomorrow I’ll be spending time with The Gun Lake Band of Potawatomi, and on Friday, I’ll be back in Grand Rapids for a book event at Books & Mortar (if you’re in the area, please come by and say hello!).

Often when I travel, I have small moments of breakthrough and discovery. Even after doing this now for nearly a decade, I still have to find ways to show up authentically on the stage when I’m sharing about my work. When learn who we are when we bump up against stories and experiences out in the world, don’t we?

I’ve spoken in so many different kinds of spaces, and I’ve learned two important things by now:

1. I can’t be someone else when I share from my own work—my voice is mine alone, and it’s not helpful to anyone if I try to become someone else.

2. I can’t change what I need to speak truthfully about, even if I know it will be hard for the audience to hold with me. I have to trust in my own ways of truth-telling.

pictures are thanks to Calvin University photographers!

This week, something important happened: I was reminded, once again, of the decision I made a few years ago, the decision that I made to be myself and only myself in my words and in my work.

Between 2020 and 2022, I had a string of really difficult events/responses to my work, and I was forced to ask not just who I want to be, but if who I am is enough. I was faced with the question of whether my presence in the world, on the stage, in my books, could be sustained.

Could I commit to all the parts of myself, and stay committed?

I had to make a choice to embody the seemingly disparate parts of myself:

I am both tender and fierce.

And I continue to make this choice every day.

That means I show up with tenderness, my words an invitation to kinship; and yet, I will not shy away from the truth of where we are today and where we should be headed.

I remember when I first started speaking that I hit a bit of an impasse. I couldn’t only read poetry and share about the tender parts; but I also wasn’t going to shame my audiences into understanding my point of view.

(By the way, who started saying that poetry is tender and soft? Poetry is powerful and mighty, and changes the world; but I’m not sure we always see it that way.)

I was too poetic for some audiences, and I knew that. I was too outspoken for other audiences, and I knew that, too.

I needed to invest in the unique makeup of my own soul, embracing the liminality of being exactly who I am.

I’ve discovered recently in various venues that people respond beautifully to this. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve had really negative reactions to my work, judgments and misunderstandings, or unchecked colonialism lingering in audiences where I wish things could be different.

I’ve also been incredibly surprised by the people who see all parts of me, people I’ve just met, people who only know me based on the poetry I recite or the lyrical way I share stories. Even in the moderated Q/A portion of my event at Calvin, we got deep quickly, sharing about the lingering experiences of grief in our lives, what it means to be human, and how liminality guides us along the way.

As Potawatomi people, we are water protectors. What do the waters teach us about ourselves? That we are liminal beings who are meant to dance between all parts of who we are. That we are to follow the signals of Grandmother Moon as she guides us. That we move in the world like we breathe: in and out, day after day, and we don’t doubt who we are along the way.

What I know is that I cannot show up as anyone other than who I am. Right before I walk onto a stage, I feel this surge of energy, and I know that in the moments that follow, if I trust myself, Kche Mnedo, The Sacred, my ancestors—if I truly practice trust, my words will carry further than I could ever imagine.

I could share every poem and mean every word. And even when it’s difficult, even when we are all uncomfortable, we push through. We choose to show up and name grief and heal together.

In apocalyptic times, when the veil is lifted and we see oppression, injustice, and greed for what it is and the people who oppress for who they are, we step into a really important space in time.

It is imperative that we step into the fullness of who we are right now, in a world of rising authoritarianism, when billionaires gain power and the poor suffer, when war is prevalent and growing on a global scale. We show up to the stages of our lives knowing who we are so that we can shape a better world.

At the end of the day, that’s the kind of world I want—one where we all decide to show up exactly as who we are.

I’ll start here. I hope you will, too.

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Grand Rapids! I’ll be at Books & Mortar THIS FRIDAY from 6-8pm. Please come say hello! I always love meeting folks from this community.

Yesterday I released a new piece I wrote for Religion News Service called 250 Years In: Indigenous Resistance Is Integral To How We Move Forward As A Nation.

“When it comes to Indigenous history, we know the history and brutality of policing well; our families have lived through forced removals and government-sanctioned violence for generations. Our relatives go missing and are murdered, and no one investigates it, and the constant battle between being ignored and being targeted is at the root of the insidious settler colonialism that plagues this nation.”