Remembering The Carefree Black Boy

I first wrote about being a Carefree Black Boy in 2016. Then, my thoughts on the catchphrase were tangential to larger conversations society was having at the time about violence against trans women of color, Black men, and Black people in general. I felt a need to express that despite the onslaught of hatred thrown against my Black body that I too was capable and deserving of happiness. A few years later, my feelings have not wavered but the ideation and practice of a Carefree Black Boy means something different, a consideration of self that retains layers of complexity day by day in media, culture, education, and society.

The act of existing as a Carefree Black Boy is an inherently political statement.. Trans women are still being murdered at a significant rate (read: at all), two gay men were found dead on a White man’s property within the last year, and the Black community is grappling with ways to address toxic masculinity, sexual abuse, and other crimes committed by Black cis-men. I live within a body that experiences great privilege and oppression at the intersections of race, gender, and sexuality; balancing these identities while navigating authentic and humanizing ways of being whole, purposeful, and joyful is a job in itself. However, I find this job to be a dutiful responsibility of freedom-making for myself and others. The ability to imagine greater circumstances is a powerful tool against oppression and I consider it my duty to show Black men and boys across the spectrum as loving beings that are worth more than the sum of our body bags, more than the percent of Black men incarcerated by the prison industrial complex, more than Eurocentric beauty standards that push us to the margins of self-worth.

In practice, being a Carefree Black Boy is highly nuanced. Sure, there are some that embody the insta-famous glowing skin, flower crowns, and bright pastel colors, but what do we make of the men and boys who exhibit liberation without these externalities? Admittedly, there are days where I feel a roar of happiness that only God can see or hear, other days, I am quite literally the opposite - a mess beyond compare that would rather retreat from the world than face its judgment. In either case, my center of gravity remains and I feel whole, and when it comes to wholeness, it is not something that can be bought. It comes from a way of knowing that while yesterday was amazing and today is terrible, everything is everything and you have the agency and ability to move forward with purpose.

The essence in being carefree isn’t to suggest that you exist without care; its manifestation is more complex than a conservative definition of meaning. To be carefree is to make a choice - everyday - to engage in the work of freedom: freedom from beauty standards that marginalize Blackness, freedom to break normative assumptions of your identity, and most importantly, freedom to define your right to survival, existence, and liberation. To quote the notorious Audre Lorde, “You have to define yourself for yourself. Otherwise you will be crushed into people’s fantasy of you and eaten alive.” May we all find the time, every once in a while, to smell the roses, and define what makes our Black skin beautiful, less we become the very thing that inevitably eats away at our peace, happiness, and liberation.