a mom, like me

I met a lovely woman last night in my neighborhood Starbucks. She, killing time while her kids were at swim practice. Me, waiting for a meeting at my neighborhood Starbucks. I smiled at her when our eyes met because since November, I have resolved to reach out with a kind smile.

She smiled back and more. Her name, she tells me is Fatma. She’s Muslim, she tells me; not that I could not have guessed by the hijab she wore. We talked of many things in a very short period of time – our families, our hometowns, the election and life now after the election.

Is it a political meeting you are here for, she asks me. Yes, I answer and I invite her to sit with me until it was time for her to pick up her kids.

So she did. She sat down next me. The two of us…moms…women.

I embrace the label of bad feminist because I am human. I am messy. I’m not trying to be an example. I am not trying to be perfect. I am not trying to say I have all the answers. I am not trying to say I’m right. I am just trying — trying to support what I believe in, trying to do some good in this world, trying to make some noise with my writing while also being myself.

~ Roxanne Gay