A brief explanation of the title of the blog:
Growing up my family–my abnormally large, loud, Irish family–was, in fact, the minority in our neighborhood. We were a rowdy, ever-increasing bunch of white kids in an area primarily settled by families who emigrated from the West Indies (as a matter of fact, Hartford County has the highest population of Trinidadians outside of Trinidad). As a result we got quite the cross-cultural upbringing, which came with all sorts of difficulties, as well as all sorts of rewards.
I am in no way immune to the challenges ahead, in being abruptly immersed in a culture totally foreign to my own. After I finished my Bachelor’s degree I spent a month in Livingstone, Zambia, which was the first time–since very early childhood– I could remember being a racial minority. I can remember the feeling of isolation, surrounded by people I could not easily communicate with, while I was there. On the other side of it, there was also the return to the Atlanta airport, feeling startled at how very, very many white people there were around me. And how weird they all looked.
This isn’t to claim I have some superior virtue in the arena of adjusting to unfamiliar cultural territory. Only that I am acutely aware of what I’m heading into, specifically that I really have no idea what I’m heading into. Being the minority, however my history has prepared me, is going to be a strange sensation. The title is in reference to a sense of impending displacement: racial, cultural, spiritual. And I cannot wait for it. It is going to be so interesting (one of my favorite things about Life. There is always an adventure to be made).
Truth is I’ve never actually seen the movie.