I visited the whitest state in America
Grief is causing me to make some strange decisions 🙃🙃🙃
Ok I can’t even front, that title was kiiiiinda clickbait 😂. I did in fact, unknowingly visit the whitest state in America recently but it really wasn’t thaaaaat bad. However, before I get into my observations about my visit, I want to take a moment to check in with you all after pouring my heart out about my Dad. I am so appreciative of all of your kind words and loving thoughts, and especially grateful for all of you paying subscribers who have kept their subscriptions even though I have been unable to produce this newsletter as often as I’d theoretically like to. Thank you.
I’ve obviously struggled with the ability to work at all through my grief, but also been filled with anxiety and self-doubt over how to make the transition in this newsletter from something so heavy and personal to writing about travel again. After much deliberation, I’ve decided I’m just going to write what I want to write and those that want to stick with me will stick with me and those who don’t, well that’s fine. One gift from the experience of losing my father is so much clarity. I truly no longer care about what anyone wants from me if it’s not in alignment with what I want from and for myself. I think my Pops would be very proud of me for that.
So, about travel. I spent the most difficult summer of my life traveling quite a bit. Pretty much all of it was family travel and to be completely honest, it was incredibly draining. I love my family immensely and many of these trips were planned around family events that I couldn’t skip, but frankly after two MASSIVE changes in my life (I also moved in with my partner in June) I felt like these trips resulted in me subconsciously distracting myself and running from my feelings. Running from my feelings caused anxiety attacks (feeling like everyone around me was going to suddenly die), oversized anger reactions (hellooooo grief!) and of course, depression during a time when I’m usually already depressed. Yes, I am one of the folks that absolutely hates summertime and experiences seasonal depression during the summer like clockwork. I’m surprised I didn’t have a complete breakdown.
Although it was hard, I had some joyful moments during these travels. A couple days after my father’s memorial service, I had a too short but wonderful solo trip to Urban Cowboy in the Catskills for some much needed alone time surrounded by nature. Then there was a family trip to Martha’s Vineyard in August where we had a beautiful family photoshoot experience that I will cherish for the rest of my life. My mom, aunties and I also went to see The Wiz on Broadway where I laughed, cried and danced in my seat. It was one of the most talented casts I’ve ever seen. Anyway, all that activity brings me to Maine.
Did I know Maine was the whitest state in the United States before I booked a trip there? No. Could I have guessed? Maybe? But honestly, I think there are like 5 different states that could battle it out for that title. I just was in desperate need of solitude among nature somewhere that wasn’t 80+ degrees. Maine has also been on my list to visit for a while, so color me surprised when my Mom expressed concerns about me visiting “that part of the country”. This, from a woman raised in the deep south, who was concerned about me visiting the northeast. But in my experience, she’s right. The first time I was called the n-word was by someone from New Hampshire, and the second time it happened, I was in Boston. From what I’ve seen, so many northerners have a weird, racist fantasy about the south, and are quick to express their white supremacy. The sentiment is better expressed in this article that I helped edit a few years ago from a writer who noticed this trend among her fellow white folks lol.
I am happy to say I didn’t fully have this experience in Maine, but it was still…weird. I only spent a few hours in Portland before spending a few days in the gorgeous Wren cabin in a small town called Bridgton in Maine’s Lakes Region, but I could tell that the city was very liberal. It’s a port town so I was happily surprised to see many Black people taking in the sites, but it was clear they were visiting as a part of a cruise stop. The liberal aspect more-so showed up in a white gay way, which also made me feel comfortable as a Black woman traveling alone but didn’t necessarily make me feel a part of. There were rainbow flags and Black Lives Matter signs everywhere but I feel like it’s really easy to post a sign when there aren’t any Black people for you to share space with. There also were interesting markers of the “Portland Freedom Trail” which highlights the city’s abolitionist history, but that history didn’t seem to affect the lack of the Portland’s Blackness today.
I could sense that the liberal mindset was shared among pretty much everyone in town under 40, but as I came across some older residents there was an iciness in our exchanges I couldn’t quite put my finger on. Were they not personable because northerners tend to be less personable (my bf is from NY and says this is true so don’t come for me)? Or did it have something to do with my race? Ahh yes, that second guessing that Black travelers always have to do anytime we have an unsavory experience with another human. How exhausting.
When I got to Bridgton, a small town, my experience was similar. I went there for alone time so I didn’t care about making friends, but it was such a strange experience for me to so easily be identified as an outsider. I spent some time on the road and yes, I saw a few Trump signs (and in one case an entire barn painted with the MAGA slogan…like why, girl?) and one confederate flag, but the ratio of Harris to Trump signs was about 5:1. In Bridgton I struggled to maintain a conversation with people at first (which I always initiated) but then, in one case where I tried to strike up a convo with a bartender, I noticed he wasn’t really talking to a white couple at the bar either. After a couple days of this, I decided not to take anything personally and enjoy my access to all the lobster I could eat, gorgeous lakes, and the silence that my cabin offered me to work on the outline for a book idea.
And then…on my last day everything changed. I planned to spend all day hibernating in my cabin, but at the last minute I decided to go into town to check out a local bookstore, one of my favorite things to do in a new place. After some perusing, I persistently talked to the owner and not only did he share that his son now lives in my hometown of Arlington, VA, we found out we both love the same book series-turned-tv show (Bosch by Michael Connelly for anyone interested). Feeling heartened, I then went next door to an antique shop where the owners had a basket of vintage political campaign pins, something my mom collects. Of all the pins there are to exist, they had several from the George McGovern presidential campaign, a campaign my Dad was a significant part of. Clearly this was a little wink from my Papa, a man who knew how to strike up a conversation with and steal the heart of pretty much anyone.
Finding this pin led to a conversation with the couple that owned the shop. The co-owner and I cried over losing and missing our Dads, then had a wonderful conversation about politics, American geography, the history of the Bridgton, Stephen King and why the hell DC experiences taxation without representation. I ended my afternoon careening into a seafood market to snag the last lobster roll of the day. So, what’s the point of me recounting all of this to you all? I’m not sure. I think what I wanted to share is that my grief led me to a destination that perhaps in another scenario I wouldn’t have visited and in some ways, it fed into my fear about being a Black traveler in certain parts of America. At the same time, I got what I always get when I travel outside of my comfort zone: a better understanding of myself, a stronger connection with my intuition and deeper connection with the humans around me.
Have you been to Maine? Where did you go and what was your experience? Would you go back? Also, where did you travel this summer? I’ve got a ton of trips lined up for the fall, my favorite season, so I hope to be more in touch on a regular basis. Love to you all.
Shayla
Where I went: Maine edition
Portland
Highroller Lobster Company (the lobster corn dog is a must!)
Bridgton
Loved this piece. Fellow summer seasonal depressive over here. The outside sun of the world does not match my insides. My father also died in a July in Bermuda, and my body remembers every year. Sending you love and solidarity on this path of grief. xx
This was such a lovely read!! Thank you for sharing! The photo of your family is stunning! Thank you for sharing your grief journey. God and your dad were definitely smiling down when you were in the bookstore and antique shop. Beautiful story!!
And I understand what you mean about questioning interactions when traveling while Black. “Oh, they must be racist” is my default response 🥴.