How often do we remember to tell our story? Not the story someone wished for us. Not the story someone told us. But rather the story of evolving from a place of nothingness to the presence of being somebody.
Many voices of black, brown, and other people are muffled forever within; some stories thrive, others drown, and merely exist. The late great storyteller Maya Angelou reminds us that we all have stories to tell. As we shuffle from birth to death, what lies between the layers of life?
On Easter Sunday morning, I went with others to see the sunrise.
I reflected on the talk I was to give students at my Alma mater Howard University later that week. I became full of joy. As I looked back and made a few notes on the life that I lived, I was humbled, grateful, and full of a spirit of thankfulness that I was born at a moment in time when a little black girl from a segregated town in the US could have the wonderful life I have been granted as an economist and educator. Hear me tell my story of how it came to be.