Yesterday, I went to the frame store Eric’s I’ve Been Framed, a Detroit institution, with a piece I’ve had for years. It’s a print of Watch Meeting: Waiting for the Hour by WT Carlton, which has long hung in the Lincoln Bedroom of the White House. I learned about it from this tweet, and purchased it shortly after:

It’s always been challenging for me to walk into unscripted situations like this. First, I know very little about framing and need to discuss it live with an expert. Second, I have to navigate to a part of the city I never visit and know little about. Third, this is no normal outing. I am a 40-year old white man walking into a Black man’s business, in a city that has historically made that ownership very difficult, to ask him how to frame the end of slavery. That’s a lot of layers of anxiety. And then, Kyle died.

And so, nearly 6 years elapsed with it rolled up in a tube.

Spring is when my momentum returns (’22, ’23, ’24). After last year’s spring post, I took stock: I was doing really well. So, I tried something new — I forgave myself for having ADHD, and went to the doctor for medication. I’ve had it pretty dialed in since July, and the difference in my ability is stark. I’m sure it looks like nothing from the outside, but internally I can often make decisions or change tasks without the aid of a deadline or emergency or other coping technique, which is huge. It saves a ton of energy, and creates a virtuous cycle of having energy for the next challenge.

As spring returns, I’ve realized winter didn’t drag me down so hard this year. Everything I have control over got at least a little bit better. I’m well aware of what’s happening in the federal government, but I’m not panicked or constantly angry, I’m ready and doing my small part. When I think about how it took me 6 years to get a print framed, I remember I am still climbing out of a deep, deep hole. But I have made peace with the climb, now. I can finally see where I’m headed.

The owner, Eric, told me he’s framed shackles more than once. Think about that. Those are not pieces in a museum to remind you of our country’s history. They are in someone’s living room, displayed like my grandfather’s World War II medals, as family history. They are still being passed down and sent out for framing in the 21st century because it was recent history — the shackles of grandmother’s grandmother.

I was born on Juneteenth in the 80s, but I didn’t know what Juneteenth was until Obama was president. I learned just today that Mexico abolished slavery in 1821, a whole generation earlier than the US, and their work is why California was never a slave state. We have so much left to learn.

When it’s complete, the framed print will hang in my dining room opposite McSorley’s Bar by John Sloan, depicting the interior of a New York City bar built within a couple years of the Emancipation Proclamation by an Irish immigrant. You can still visit the bar today. I’m sure the slave’s quarters are long gone. I hope the juxtaposition is as uncomfortable as I imagine it will be and causes reflection.

We all have so much work to do, but it can be done. The power is in your choices — recognizing them, understanding them, and making them. Even the small ones.

Especially the small ones.