“All told, perhaps the most significant measure of the Great Migration was the act of leaving itself, regardless of the individual outcome. … The achievement was in making the decision to be free and acting on that decision, wherever that journey led them.” -Isabel Wilkerson.
For the last few weeks, I’ve been reading “The Warmth of Other Suns: The Epic Story of America’s Great Migration” by Isabel Wilkerson. It’s a non-fiction telling of the exodus of Black Americans from the Jim Crow South to the idealistic northern states between 1915 and 1970. Wilkerson breaks down this immense history by following the stories of three people–Robert, George, and Ida Mae–as they leave behind family, jobs, and sometimes mortal danger in various parts of the South and make the perilous journey to a new life in 3 different states: California, New York, and Illinois, respectively.
It’s a really good book, y’all.
I listened to it on audiobook and I heard the stories of the men, women, and children who drove long roads never having seen where they led. I listened to the stories of people who convinced themselves that things had to be better, despite not knowing what was on the other side of the Mason Dixon line. I listened to the stories of Black men and women and children moving forward in both literal and figurative dark, not sure what they'd find, terrified and doubtful of what they were heading to.
But they went anyway. Hearing their stories left me in awe of their courage and their capacity to hope and their willingness to do anything, whatever it took to live a better life. Hearing those stories makes me feel like I can do anything.
I’ve always been inspired and encouraged by history. Specifically the history of my people. I read a lot of historical fiction and nonfiction about the lives of Black Americans: Warmth of Other Suns, House of Eve, Song of My Life, Clap When You Land, the American Girl book series. I find myself inspired by the stories both real and imagined of my people doing dope shit in the past and it gives me hope that I can do dope shit in the present.
If my ancestors can do that, imagine what I can do.
When I started thinking about doing this journaling series, my brain tried to talk me out of it a million times. I thought: Who am I to be writing about my life and thoughts for 30 days? Why would anyone care about my story? But in reality, who am I not to? I can do anything I want to do and I really should, because so many people made so many sacrifices so I would have that freedom.
Antoinette said on a past episode of my favorite podcast, “So much life had to exist in order for possibilities to exist for you. And it cannot be squandered. It's a betrayal of yourself, of God of your life. Play big.”
When I get stuck in my head worrying too much about what I do today, I picture myself in the future, after it’s already done. I think of the story they'll tell about me someday that will inspire my nieces and nephew and my children and step children. I want to be able to say I went for it. I want to be able to say I took a step toward the unknown and gave it my best shot. As a million of my ancestors have done before me.
This entry was written under the prompt PRIDE, Day 15 of the Finding the Right Words 30-Day Journaling Challenge. Follow along using the graphic above and write about whatever comes to mind with the corresponding prompt. Share with me using the tag #FTRW or email me at joliedoggett [at] substack.com.
There’s no wrong way to journal. You just gotta find the right words. Happy Writing!