The Butterfly and the Lion

Right now, I am thinking of burning it all down. I am thinking of torching it and watching its splendid ashes float to the ground. Every time I step outside of my chalk-lined box or circle forever made around me. That is what I am doing.

I am lighting the match. I am knocking down trees with my bare fists, not caring how bloodied my knuckles become. Because I get to be the bulldozer and not the bulldozed. You may think it takes an act of gigantic proportion but to me, it is whipping around Manhattan on tired feet last week or opening my mouth and letting the words fall out, letting them hang and sit for my sister to hear, the words I have longed to tell her for almost 2 years—I miss you.

The act of taking this class and not apologizing for sitting here on a Wednesday morning. Every new thing, everything I hadn’t seen myself doing burns it down, slays a monster, feels like I could give a butterfly the strength of a lion.

Butterfly mosaic

It closes the curtain of who I thought I was, what I “should” be doing, fear of what someone would say or how lost I would become.

That curtain doesn’t get to come back up.

I am not a walking color.

I am not a walking color. I am not a walking color. I am not a walking color. I am not a Black robot that walks and talks. I am a Haitian-American woman, born in Queens, New York. Hearing two languages spoken around me was my norm. Rice and beans are my norm.

I became a Southerner by moving to Virginia Beach at age five. I never became a Southern belle. That is not me. I cry when I pray. I laugh so hard I snort. I dance by myself. I played pretend. I built forts with my brother and took pictures on the beach with my sister. I crushed on boys who didn’t like me and avoided some who did. I have gained and lost hundreds of pounds.

I am married. I am madly in love with my best friend, my husband. I fear for his health sometimes. I joke and tell him we are going out of this world together, hands clasped together on the same bed, Notebook style. I will be 100. You will be 110. Them’s the rules! I joke in an awful country accent.

I wear an afro. Reading was my first love. I have swallowed more rage than I can recount since I was a little girl because to some people, I am a walking color. I am a walking color.

I just want to be seen as whole, flawed and love.

I want you to see the God in me.

I see Him in you.

A Whim

In January, I started a workshop called Life in 10 Minutes. I placed a bid on a whim at the James River Writer’s Conference after attending one of the last sessions. The women who worked the table enthusiastically encouraged me to pick that one specifically. I was a bit hesitant because I saw that the workshop’s focus was non-fiction. I had been so wrapped up in writing my book that I hadn’t given other genres of writing much thought.

I arrived to the first day of class, with my notebook and pen in hand, completely unaware of much else. It was a group of us, all women being guided by Valley Haggard. We all introduced ourselves and I was one of two newbies to the group. The rest had shared pieces of their lives with each other for at least a year. Everyone was welcoming and smiling but I couldn’t help but feel the tension that comes along with exposing your thoughts for the first time to a group of complete strangers. Valley explained we would write ten minutes at a time, and immediately read our unedited work aloud to the group.

I had nothing to be worried about.

It was more than a safe space. To me, it became a space to be free. Freedom space? I fell in love with writing, spilling, gushing, declaring, confessing ten minutes at a time. It pushed me to say things aloud to others that I was unable to before.

I wanted to carry these feelings with me and sprinkle its essence on my husband, family, friends and strangers. It feels funny to think of it as something I signed up for on a whim. I was probably hurtling towards this all along.

My Why

I didn’t think I was looking for “greatness” when I was searching YouTube for podcasts to listen to one afternoon. I happened upon Eric Thomas being interviewed by Lewis Howes, host of The School of Greatness podcast. I listened intently. One thing I know about myself is when I am connecting with whatever I am reading, listening to or watching, I find myself nodding. 

It is almost imperceptible, but it’s happening.

The next thing I know I am subscribing to the channel, receiving emails, listening to a live webinar, entranced during an amazing visualization exercise. As contrived as that might seem to some, it was transformational for me. A girl like me wears doubt and suspicion like a favorite pair of jeans. For some reason, my guard kept slipping down. Although I give much credit to Lewis and The School of Greatness team for their content and execution, there was something greater at work.

It was the thing that God planted in me, part of my Why for being here.

I always knew I was supposed to be a writer and as each year passed, I became more irritated that I hadn’t done anything about it but write unfinished work in the privacy of my own home. Something about setting goals, having a routine, finding mentors and group accountability made my soul want to rise to the occasion.

I had already signed up for the James River Writer’s Conference and a slot to pitch my work to an agent there. I knew there was something else that would propel me forward, help me speak and move in that space with the confidence I needed. I found it as a student in The School of Greatness Academy. In the midst of the class, I bought tickets to the first Summit of Greatness that took place in Columbus, Ohio this past September. Although I wasn’t sure I was going at first, one experience changed my mind.

I was at a book signing for Jennifer Weiner and I saw the only other Black woman in the room, just as engaged as I was. The academy’s lesson that week urged us to meet more people. As my friends and I stood in line, I noticed the woman was right behind us. She was wearing a beautiful skirt and better than that, a smile. I complimented her on her outfit and she encouraged me to go for my writing dreams, as she had overheard our conversation moments before. It turns out this woman is a successful author in her own right and I ended up going to her book signing just a couple of weeks later! (She is now my writing workshop teacher but that is a story for another time).

That was all the confirmation I needed to move forward with my trip to Ohio. I am not sure how to describe it without exhausting clichés but Lewis Howes said he wanted it to feel like Christmas morning. He nailed it. The speakers were amazing. I met Stacy London, someone whose nurturing, humor and confidence I had long admired while watching What Not to Wear. I even stood up, in the midst of hundreds to tell her so. I was proud to tell that I was pitching a novel and I was not going to let weight or psoriasis play any role except for background extra while attacking my dreams.

She had tears and I believe I blanked out a bit as I was sharing and spilling remnants of my heart for all to see.

There was so much more to the experience: dance workout, Top Chef Fabio Viviani, super athlete and motivational speaker Kyle Maynard and the speech and music provided by DJ Irie.

I was bowled over most of all by the love and the energy that being in a room full of people who were not in the business of excuse making could create. They were giving away hugs like candy and were as accepting as they were motivating.

So when I got home and came down from that high, one could have expected me just to go back to status quo but it was impossible for me. I went to the Writer’s Conference, pitched that agent, garnered interest and signed up for a writing class for the first time in my life. I am still at work on my novel, have taken two sessions of that first class and I am currently enrolled in a third where I am already growing from the feedback I have received on my novel. I have met a few writers in my local community whereas before the fall, I knew none.

I am most excited about the fact that this is just the beginning. The fears that eased its way in, wrapped its serpent-like body around my soul and settled in for the duration has found a new home. I know it still likes to swing by and see if there is still a vacancy but my light stays shut off, even when I am tired, frustrated or anxious. There is no rest for its weary head here.