Every weekday, my journey takes me down Peachtree Street in Atlanta, Georgia. Consequently, I see a lot of professional black women. They are laughing and having conversations while sipping on their Caramel Macchiato. Some look stoic, sad, deep in thought, and others will speak to me with a reticent—wry smile. Nothing needs to be said. All that matters is the 26 or so muscles it takes to gently arch their…