Initially, tonight’s post was set to be 2021’s invitation, or rather re-welcoming, to embracing the state of “not quiteness”. In light of the Thursdaze theme, I’d planned to touch on my current inner tussle of having attainable goals within arms reach but yet to have taken any steps toward gettin’er dun… on how I’ve mastered this tight rope routine upon the fine line between moving at my own unforced pace and just honestly being a professional procrastinator. All while fucking around and figuring out what I want to do and how I’m going to do “it” , I still manage to trust my process.
“Trust your own timing…”, is what I stared at for minutes while drafting until a notification from CNN lit up the phone and broke my already waning concentration. After Googling to confirm what I had just read, my timelines slowly began to fill with images of a goddess. An unmatched talent. A style icon. An epitome of “Black is Beautiful”. A legend in her own right. The pioneer we know as Cicely Tyson had transitioned from beloved actress to beaconed ancestor after 96 years of life.
My first memories of Ms. Tyson are from a little known, but what to me was an extremely impactful, depiction of Harriet Tubman in a TV movie, “A Woman Called Moses”. She had brought to life the Black American hero I had learned about in Mrs. Anderson’s first grade class, had narrated on in a Black History month recital held in Mark Twain Elementary’s auditorium and had eventually made the subject of a sixth grade T.A.G presentation. She gave Tubman a voice and a fire I, up until that point, could only imagine. It wasn’t until a few years later I had come to know her as “Rebecca” or “Miss Jane Pittman” or any of her other lesser recognized yet powerfully performed roles. As I, like most who are familiar with Ms. Tyson’s work, skimmed articles covering her life and career, something dawned on me.
Cicely Tyson, though having made her first on-screen appearance in her early thirties, had not been widely recognized until her first critically acclaimed performance in 1972’s “Sounder”.
She was 47 years old.
I’ve yet to read her memoir, “Just As I Am”, as it was, ironically, just released two days ago. That said, I don’t fully know the story of her pursuit toward her passions. At one point, I’ve heard her speak in an interview on the ceilings of oppression that plagued Hollywood then as they did, and still do, the rest of America. Assumingly, this and her willingness to turn down any role that demeaned the image of the Black woman may have stretched the years between her early days of acting to her breakout role, which eventually lead to her first nomination.
What I do know of is the impact she made in the five decades that followed one of her most memorable films. In her own timing, she reclaimed the awards and accolades of which she was in times past deprived. In her own timing, she blazed trails for many to follow. In her own timing, she redefined representation and beauty. In her own timing, she convicted change. In her own timing, she became an image of poise, elegance and Black femininity that drew generations of awe and admiration. In her own timing, she inspired multitudes. In her own timing, she inspired me.
I am 40 years old now. (Not really, but see “rounding up”)
And while I cannot deny I’ve seen success in some aspects of life, I often struggle with not having done “the thing” sooner or at the pace in which I see others achieving their goals. I do a pretty decent job of refocusing on my own path and accepting my journey just as it is, though the lost of this legend reaffirms that there is no expiration on our dreams. In our own timing, we will have all we need to succeed. In our own timing, we will see the fruits of our labor. In our own timing, we will achieve far beyond what we imagined.
Even if you’re not certain of how or when “it” will come, just trust that “it” will… trust your own timing.
Rest peacefully, Ms. Cicely Tyson