becoming “other”

Back in 2015, I rented a small “artist’s studio” in Maine and spent a glorious 7 weeks by myself writing, discovering walking trails and lakes, and driving around getting to know coastal Maine.

My best friend, who is Black, asked me if I was ever afraid during this trip. She wasn’t asking because I was traveling alone (she did that too). She was asking because I was often alone in predominantly white spaces, where I was the only non-white person around. I told her Maine was beautiful (and still is one of my favorite places on earth). I told her I felt safe and never once felt scared. 

Today, unfortunately, I can’t say that anymore. I sometimes walk around in Florida and wonder what they are thinking about me because I don’t look like them. Maybe I’ve been naive all this time, but I finally felt what it means to be “other.”  

I feel a certain kind of loss that this is how it is for me now. Maybe I’ve always been “other”; I just was never made to feel that way so blatantly before.