Knucking.
Recently, the idea of me being bolder has come up. My homegirl Joy was like, “Shara, sometimes you gotta cuss people out.” This was right after my buddy Lester told me, “Shara, you gotta start using the back door.” Now, I know he didn’t mean it literally but I think people often overlook the fact that I am deeply, profoundly an introvert.
It’s the small talk I’m bad at. Bartending didn’t help. Sure, it thickened my skin and gave me a talent for spotting bullshit, but social circles move too fast for me. I’m the type who craves deeper connection with people. Maybe it’s the Virgo placements, maybe it’s just who I am. I get how the arts world runs, how connections and timing play a part in everything. But, honestly, I wish I knew how to navigate these connections without it feeling like a series of back-alley deals. I believe in the work I do. I make dope shit and I do it well. Still, I know every artist has their own journey. Mine just seems... a bit more personal. Or at least, I hope it is.
Back to the bravado. I have toyed with the balance of bucking and reservation, trying on both extremes to know their feel. Each has its kind of prickliness. Each serves a function. But I can’t help but think my unease comes from the remnants of identity instability of being biracial. The perpetual question of where, or if, I belong. Joy said I don’t act like I have a white mom. I take this as a compliment, but in my head, a montage of my past flashed before me, all the ways I became who I am. Essentially, I am mom. Not that I don’t have a mother who loves me, but growing up, I was the emotional support dumpster, left to figure out how to care for myself. It left me spending most of my life guarded.
As a child, that guardedness showed up as rebellion. I was wild. I skated, I fought, I spoke out the side of my neck. I told people about themselves, and I was often right. Detention became my second home, and teachers would try to hide their smiles while handing me my sentences. It was the trope of not being white enough or black enough or too broke, or whatever stereotype people want to place… but it worked. It worked because, back then, my world wasn’t safe, both at home and at school. I was angry. I was a walking protest. I wanted to run from everything, so I ran into whatever outlet I could find (see the 5x5 entry for more details).
Then, in my twenties, I did a complete 180. I went quiet.I kept quiet, and let my wildness come in the form of disappearance. I could stand in the same room, and no one would know I was there. Outside of performing, I don’t think anyone knew me. I disappeared for days, sometimes weeks—traveling, mostly solo. I lived in Brazil for a year, I roamed through Thailand for a month. I just wanted to figure out how to be. How to inhabit my skin, how to speak to my ancestors, how to feel like I was enough. In those years, I didn’t want to be perceived, but when I look back, I see the quiet ferocity of my spirit trying to break free. A fire. It broke out in bursts—through my performance, my style, my travel—but, inside, I was still scared to voice my inner world to anyone.
Now? I’m somewhere in between. I’ve got the fire, and it comes out in my work, in my sound. But as a freelance artist, I juggle so many roles. I wear so many hats that I feel like all my energy has to go toward my art and whatever few pockets of rest I can snatch. Sometimes, I wonder how much longer I can keep running this marathon at a sprint. Because, like I said, I believe in the work I do. But, let’s be real—I’m also just trying to survive. And in this world, survival is getting bleaker for so many.
Maybe that’s the trick to boldness: it’s not about loudness, but about daring to be even when everything is on fire. Maybe it’s about accepting the wild and the quiet parts of yourself, letting both collide without trying to pick a side. It’s a matter of deciding when to let the fire burn, and when to let it smolder. Because sometimes, the only thing more dangerous than being loud is being silent. And when the fire’s out, you still have to live with the ashes.
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