How It Feels To Go 10 Months Without Experiencing a Racial Microaggression

How a trip to the post office ended a writer’s streak

“The lady ahead of me was nearly my white carbon copy. Both of us were in our mid-thirties and dressed in black, poofy coats and Sperry boots to shield us from the Wisconsin winter. Her blond hair was pulled back in an untidy bun, like mine. She even had the same-sized priority mail boxes.