Last week I was working on a post for this space. It never made it to the light. I got stuck. Rather than force myself into creativity, I chose to investigate why. I relaxed my mind and observed my actions, and in actions for that matter. What I uncovered surprised me. I was procrastinating, but it was not about my writing. There was something else. I could almost feel it.

Over the years, I have learned that procrastination is an emotional release valve. I believe this is true for most people, but it can look different depending on the personality and emotional palette of the individual. Our emotions are how we express energy in our lives. They are tools for creativity and growth. However, if not used with care they can be they can be very destructive.

Most of us keep our emotions in the shadows. Maybe this is a good safety precaution until we learn how to use our emotions consciously and productively. Emotions are “energy in motion,” whether we express them appropriately, suppress them or divert them into new emotions. So, they tend to work their way out of the shadows at some point. The way I see it, procrastination is one of the ways emotions move away from the shadows. But this is still not bringing it to the light of conscious awareness.

I had to ask myself “What emotion is trying to work its way to the light?” Obviously, something I find difficult to express. I had a sense that context was key. I meditated and looked into my heart and realized that the coverage of the incident in Ferguson, MO was bringing up the amalgam of rage and fear that is the peculiar cultural legacy of Black men in America. I thought I had come to grips with it a long time ago, but there must have been something about it that I had deemed unacceptable and inexpressible. I needed to open up and explore my own shadows around this issue.

Unconsciously, I took a news-cation for about 10 days. I averted my gaze from the TV screens in the gym playing the “Ferguson show” on 5 different channels. It was hard for me to listen to NPR, difficult to look at Facebook. I felt stretched to my limit watching/listening to unproductive chatter and squawking. That was my judgement. Then I let go of the judgment with some compassion and loving kindness directed at myself. Then I could see the painful unraveling of anger and fear.

I accepted and loosed a spiral of my own mixed feelings of frustration and sadness over racial profiling, institutionalized police brutality and widespread popular apathy. I cannot speak for all Black men, but I can confidently say that most have learned to smolder in silence.

I first learned about this state of being at 13 years old. I was shocked to discover that my height and skin color could elicit frightful reactions like clutched purses and locked car doors. I would sometimes react with disbelief, anger, sadness and even humor. Soon it became so commonplace that I grew numb to it. To succeed in academia, I mastered the high art of “non-threatening” behavior. My facade got hairline cracks every now and then when I had to deal with police. It would flare into deep shades of anger, or fall into dull tones of fear, but I patched it up quickly with heavy doses of stoicism and calming tones. In my freshman year of college a White friend observed my interaction with a highway patrolman and commented with surprise that I would let the police officer talk to me like that. I really couldn’t say one word in response to him. He had no idea. And how could I explain in that brief instant all that I had learned from history, family stories and my own survival instinct?

I have had many police interactions throughout the years. Some good, some bad. I am grateful that the tense ones never erupted into violence. However, the sum total of those experiences had me feeling vulnerable and paranoid for years. The really sad part is that I wasn’t aware of these suppressed these feelings.

The archetypal personal experience for me was during my third year of law school. I was walking to a health food store in my neighborhood (it’s now a Whole Foods). Just before I got to the parking lot, I was suddenly surrounded by three police cars and men running on foot. I stopped. Stood still and calmly answered their questions. I didn’t have my JD yet, but I did have a PhD in Survival as a Black Man. So, I acted like it was as normal as rain and flowers; Doesn’t everybody gets surrounded by police cars on their way to the grocery store? I stood there for about ten minutes, showing my drivers license with my nearby address. They were a little intrigued by my empty cloth shopping bag (recycling wasn’t as prevalent then), but gave up when they got a call on their radios. They vanished as quickly as they appeared. I went in and did my shopping for bulk foods and fresh veggies and then went home to mind my own business.

For the most part, I had forgotten about the incident until this past weekend when I was on the receiving end of a “pay it forward” experience at Whole Foods. The genuine kindness and positivity of the experience shocked me a little. I sat in my car “pausing” in gratitude. Then this memory came flooding back to me. I am not sure why it did at this time; maybe it was the unconscious connection of Whole Foods. I am sure that I had been processing decades’ worth of feelings unearthed by the Ferguson coverage. My heart started releasing all of that old energy and by the time I got home I felt as light as a feather.

I am grateful for Ferguson and all of the pain it unearthed. My practice of gratitude with compassion is helping me honor my emotions: anger may have been an appropriate response for my earlier situation, but I did not know how to express it. So I held onto the anger, but that was more harmful than I could have imagined. Accepting it allows me to let it go.

So, when I look at all of the people expressing their anger and fear about the incident, I am glad that these feelings have outlets. But I know the feelings don’t have to linger. For me, I make a conscious choice that anger and fear will not define my existence. I am more complex than that. And so is life. This awareness may not change institutionalized behaviors and assumptions, but it did help me open my heart and admit light into a place of shadows. I hope it can have a similar effect for others.

*Readers will note that I used the terms “Black” and “White” because I am not talking about literal colors, I am addressing concepts about identity.