Why I Attend (Two) Church (Services)

File this under — As of 11:24 p.m. on February 5 I anxiously wish to write more on this topic but hastily want to scribble something down now.

-Until I began biweekly Horton classes two weeks ago, my Queens church was the most racially diverse place that I inhabited in the city. As church ought to be. And actually, I think my church maybe better than Alvin Ailey. (Though in all fairness, my office is quite diverse too.)

-I don’t have children and teenagers in my life unless I’m at NLF. Seriously, it’s jarring to think that there are whole seasons of life where 11-year-olds, 12-year-olds and every other age up and down can just be entirely invisible. Sometimes I want to lock them in the Young Governors dungeon but most of the time I’m grateful to be around people who make sense of the world absolutely unlike me.

-I now have a group of people that I eat one meal a week with consistently. There was a time in college where that occurred daily for a year and a half but those were the days of luxurious meal cards and now everyone’s trying to buy time by buying takeout.

-I have to join a community that does not have my best interests at heart. (This may be one of those idealized answers…and TBC)


To “Insurgent”

I’m agitated by the fact that if I had swapped between the A and C trains at 14th Street, when there was still ample time to dally across the platform, I might have turned my head and found behind me the “Divergent” sequel. But I am not wholly confident that it was underneath the seat…after all, I stood up before I changed cars and there was a man sitting adjacent to me. My Carmel leather back on my hip and overtaking my boundaries, my GRE book on my lap, and so unless I had taken the book out of my bag and laid it under the purple test albatross, it probably made it all the way to Alvin Ailey with me.

In my haziness, I find more logicality in the belief that after I horrifying awoke to the fact that Karen had begun pumping life blood into my Horton workshop 10 minutes ago and me still gabbing to Kara on the phone, that I stuck it on the dressing room bench and fled upstairs sans library treasure. If only it were possible to….

(You are not in control and this is only a reminder. You are not in control and may you rest in peace. You are not in control and God chortles ‘Hey’ from above. You are not in control and you are finite. You are not in control and welcome to a hike in your library fines.)