On a crisp January evening in the historic city of Sofia, I sat amidst a group of five. We were in conversation at the end of an otherwise empty, long, dark wood dining table that probably seats 20. My mentor and friend (an elegant, dark-haired woman born in the Middle East and raised in the United States) and her husband (a brown-skinned, Indian businessman originally from its bustling capital of New Delhi who is now an American citizen, too) had invited my husband (a middle-aged, White man who happens to be blind and now Muslim) and me (a tan-skinned, Indian-American woman, also blind and Muslim) to an informal dinner. Joining us wasf her husband’s friend (another brown-skinned, Indian businessman living in the Middle East and Europe).

As our gracious hosts unobtrusively moved in and out of the dining room to serve us, their friend, my husband, and I started discussing my experiment – the idea of putting myself out on social media, communicating as “The Blind Hijabi.” Curious, my new acquaintance asked why I was calling this project and product “The Blind Hijabi” – what did it mean? Did I mean to evoke an image of people blinded by their faith, or that faith itself is blind and universalistic? Was this project about discussing faith at all?

“No,” I said. As I told him, and now share with you (my social media community), I entitled this “The Blind Hijabi” because, no matter where I go in the world, no matter which room I’m in, when I walk in, before I ever open my mouth, what those who can see viscerally perceive is two indisputable things about my identity:  that I’m blind (with my long, white cane in hand) and that I’m Muslim (draped in a long, sometimes flowy skirt touching my ankeles or sometimes the floor, a medium- to long-sleeve blouse, and a head covering that glides over my shoulders and hangs in an umbrella shape over my hands).

People who see me might notice my tan skin color, my sometimes freckled complexion, my chubby cheeks, disheveled strands of my dark hair popping out from the unkempt corners where my hijab intersects my face, or a myriad of other elements… But they might notice all this. They do notice the cane as my eyes search to position themselves to match the voices coming at me, and the hijab unmistakenly draping my exterior.

And based on what they notice, synapses in their brains start firing off a series of assumptions. Does she speak English? What can shee see? She seems to be looking at me, so can she see something? She must be very conservative. She must not be able to do this, or that. How is she here? How did she get here? Oh, someone is there to help her… Oh, no one is there to help her… Does she need help? Is she in the wrong place? If she’s in the right place, how? Why? Who?

As they still process, I open my mouth. “Hi!” And suddenly, there’s at least some confusion in the brain. And I know this. I’ve been keenly aware of the confusion for much of my life. And I’m very comfortable with confusion, even chaos, and trying to help people through it. So why didn’t I call this “Helping People Process Confusion and Chaos?”

Simply put, it’s not as memorable and pithy a title as “The Blind Hijabi.” Too often, and sometimes embarrassingly, I’ve been reminded that I’m very memorable. Pithy I’m often not (a work in progress!).

If I’m going to be memorable because of my identities, then I may as well leverage those identities to educate, inform, help people think about my identity and theirs – seen and unseen – and ultimately transform.

Transformation often doesn’t happen overnight; it’s a process – an evolution stemming from often revolutionary ideas. I’ve had to transform – to change how I perceived myself, how I did things practically and logistically, how I adapted in the face of resistance and how I resisted those who would say something isn’t possible or those who wanted to exclude me, how I set the example or chose to follow the example of others..

All of these are conversations between you and me. So that they don’t become monotone, tell me what you’re interested in talking about – which parts of my story fascinate you, scare you, surprise you. We will be talking about identities, inclusion, exclusion, access, character, confidence, candor, and hopefully, it will be a shared journey.

In my first post, I shared some personal reflections after the passing of my friend and mentor Judy Heumann; her loss left a vacuum in the space of credible conversation on inclusion from the perspective of women with disabilities and other intersectional identities, such as being people of faith. I don’t aim to fill that vacuum. No one person can. But I will do something Judy taught me – use my voice, amplify the voices of others, and work together with resilience in the face of hopelessness and resistance, with as much kindness and grace as I can muster. I’m human, after all, and need to be given grace myself!

Until next time, like, comment, and share. I look forward to hearing your thoughts as we get this discussion going. Talk with you all next week!