Category Archives: Uncategorized

What I Took For Granted

During a (socially distant) outdoor get-together a few days ago, a friend and I talked about what we missed about the pre-COVID-19 world. As we were talking, it quickly turned to what we had actually taken for granted.

  1. Going out to eat indoors at a bustling restaurant. I haven’t gone out to eat anywhere since March–even outdoors. I always enjoyed the occasional long lunch or dinner with my husband or friends. It was our time to shake off the cycle of going to work, coming home, watch TV/read/workout and sleep. I even miss looking over at other tables to see what they are eating, the clang of plates, forks and knives and the multitude of aromas floating from the kitchen.

2. Concerts. I hope I never say “I’ll see him/her/them next time they come” because now I don’t know when “next time” will be. The energy of singing along and rocking my body to a live performer in an arena or club with other fans is the kind of connection I miss sorely. It cannot be duplicated online.

3. Travel. I know some are masking up and taking the risk to fly but that isn’t for me right now. All those times I searched for flights to London, Ghana, to go back to Aruba but dismissed it, just knowing we would go later now seem like missed opportunities. I know there will be a time where it will be a safe reality again but I really didn’t know what I had until it was gone.

4. This one is big for me–time spent with family. All of my immediate family and cousins live hours away from me and out of state. Since my household is immunocompromised, taking the risk definitely isn’t worth it. There is an ache within me I know will only be soothed when I get to see, hug and kiss them safely again. If I could go back in time, I would have been in North Carolina, Pennsylvania, Michigan, Wisconsin, California, New York and Florida more often and never put it off because I thought the time would always be there. This virus has even taken away my husband and I being able to safely pay our respect in person for the loss of my beautiful Auntie in New York. I took for granted that I would see her again at another family function, a familiar and loving presence.

5. The feeling of safety. As a Black woman married to a Black man in America, safety isn’t always a guarantee but I never imagined the feeling of security would be robbed from me in this way. No one did. I can take all the precautions I want but if I don’t feel safe, it doesn’t matter. I won’t have peace.

Nothing is worth sacrificing my peace.

All I can do is watch and wait and work, connect with who and what I love and breathe.

And forgive.

Forgive myself for taking these small pleasures and great joys for granted.

My First 5:00am Post

I am up at 5:00am for Miracle Morning. This morning is my power hour which means it’s my time to work on whatever I choose. Through heavy eyes, all I can think is another group of ladies: See Jane Write Collective.

I rejoined the See Jane Write Collective last weekend after being away for a couple of years. In an effort to be stricter with the household budget, I left it with the intention of coming back once I got my house in better order. I have and even though it’s only been a week, I already noticed a difference.

Here’s where leaving me up to my own devices to just sit down and dedicate time to my writing projects fails me: I never follow a specific writing schedule!

I have had designated days where I posted here over the years and moments where inspiration hit but never a specific hour where I said here is the time. Here is the quiet space. Plant thy buttocks in a chair and don’t get up! I also have been part of groups where we made spotty efforts to convene but inevitably, life gets in the way one too many times and the world shuts down because of a public health nightmare.

So what does See Jane Write Collective have to do with any of this? Knowing I was going to be part of a group of women led by freelance writer Javacia Harris-Bowser with access to online courses, webinars, coaching, virtual write-in and critique sessions was incentive enough to believe I can create the writing schedule I have long aspired to.

Last night was our first write-in session. It was comforting to speak openly about what I planned to work on, hear the other women share their plans and get to work! The hour I spent profoundly changed a few pieces I have been working on and I actually loved the quiet. My habit is to embrace the chaos of sound while writing but last night I opened myself up to the community of women, silently pursuing our writing goals.

As Miracle Morning came to an end, I thought about how much writing I will get to do if I stop getting in my own way.

Writing is not only a part of my work but it is sacred time for me to commune with creativity. I look forward to more of that with the women of the See Jane Write Collective.

Keeping my Promise

I missed my Miracle Morning session today. Some version of me woke up at 4:45am, shut off the alarm and passed right out.

I made a promise to myself that if I missed a day of anything (even bloglikecrazy), that I wouldn’t treat it as if the world has suddenly come crashing down on me. I am going to keep that promise and focus on what I feel grateful for today.

  1. Being able to sleep a full night. That is not always possible for me but especially not the last couple of days. Between anxiety, general restlessness and the state of the world, I tend to let my thoughts run me ragged until consciousness gives way for a few hours. Even with prayer. Even with deep breathing. Even with counting as if I have a residency on Sesame Street. Last night was peaceful and my journey to sleep was swift.
  2. My self-care writing session with my co-workers yesterday. Saying yes to vulnerability and the willingness to express how they combat loneliness were acts of bravery. I was facilitating but it was still one of those experiences where you say to yourself: “I got to be in the room for this.”
  3. Receiving a picture of my precocious and beautiful niece, masked up and ready for socially distant kindergarten. I am sending all of the “Auntie loves you. Auntie is proud of you” vibes I can.

Maybe there should be more but that is all I want to recognize today.

Even finding one bit of joy is enough.

I Did My Part

She said ” We all hold a lot of tension in our hips.”

The she I am referring to is Alee Williams and it was said during this morning’s 5:00am session of Miracle Morning. My next thought was I am holding tension in more places than my hips.

I went to bed late because I knew after this morning’s session, I was off of work because of Election Day. I was tense, worrying about who would be our next President and more specifically, praying for a change in leadership. This person who could influence the country’s trajectory with climate change, equal rights, health care, forming an organized response to COVID-19, the way the U.S. is respected around the world and the future of my beautiful and innocent Black nieces and nephews. I know they are mostly teens but there is so much about this world they don’t fully understand yet. I understand whoever becomes president won’t fundamentally change racism and inequality.

That is a matter of the heart.

But this heart needs hope.

I gave myself some when my husband and I drove our immunocompromised selves, fully masked to the registrar’s office, waited 20 minutes 6 ft apart and cast our ballots over two weeks ago. I did my part. I left nothing to chance.

I hope you don’t.

I am going to gift myself the day to plan writing prompts for a class I am leading tomorrow, read Octavia Butler, pray. nap and distract myself with television that reflects a different reality than the one this country is currently facing–the one we are all facing.

Because I did my part to relieve this tension.

I gave myself hope.

I hope you do your part, too. Remember if it didn’t matter they wouldn’t work so hard to suppress it.

Representation

When I was growing up, I could see myself on a handful of TV shows. Some people thought I looked like Rudy on The Cosby Show (I didn’t). A boy in my homeroom in 9th grade thought I looked like Tia or Tamera from Sister, Sister (Again, not at all).  Our images were so few and far between people had to think of the one or two characters they knew and attach you to it. It also felt like there were a group of shows that no one outside of the Black people I knew watched and if they did, they NEVER talked about it.

I remember excitedly anticipating the premiere of Moesha. A show that centered on a Black teenage girl (played by “I Wanna Be Down” Brandy!) I. Was. Sold.

I taped it on our family VCR. That’s right. I said it. An old rickety VCR. She was smart! I was smart! She liked boys and writes in a diary?! Me too! As I got older, I watched shows with my sister (mostly) and friends that we could relate to, saw parts of ourselves in and who we wanted to be.

Then the UPN and the WB eventually became the CW before they took all of them off the air to gear their programming to an unmistakably whiter and younger audience.

Where was my Girlfriends? I loved seeing 4 Black women with distinctly different backgrounds. I missed the freewheeling artistic vegan Lynn, the smart and sassy Maya, the neurotic but loyal Joan and the sexy and ambitious Toni. Where was I ever going to see shows like Half and Half (Mona’s hair and those boots!), One on One or The Game again?

I know now I can watch Black-ish, Insecure, Queen Sugar or grittier shows like Michaela Coel’s “I May Destroy You” for creative and quality representation but there was something special about the mid-90’s-2000’s. Even if every episode of all the shows weren’t classic, we all knew what we were talking about when we referenced “The Professor”, yelled “Go home, Roger!” and sang “Mo to the. E to the…”

There aren’t shows (that I know of) that Black teens are growing up with that reflect their experiences in a comedic way on a major network. I feel bad that my niece or nephew doesn’t have shows like this so they may rely more on YouTube. Network television has failed in representing them in this way.

So why am I writing about this now?! The news broke today that 6 of these shows will be coming to Netflix over the next couple months!! As much as I am celebrating, I know people have been campaigning for years to make this happen.

We have been waiting for years for our shows to be valued.

For our creativity and laughter and silliness and talent and the audience who enthusiastically appreciated it from Day 1 to matter.

I know there will be many people like me who will be joyfully singing theme songs, lamenting about 90’s to mid 2000’s fashion and falling in love with these characters all over again.

And for those who really know:

Through this journey of discovery (x2)
In finding you, and finding me (x2)
Now that I have someone special
That brings out the joy (x2)
Inside of me (x2)
We can become whatever we want
All we need is loving you
That’s the way our feelings should be
You and Me…

 

 

 

A Party

I dreamt of

Toiling and frolicking in the sun

Together

I dreamt of us

Around the table

Eating the fruits of our labor

Leafy greens massaged with marinade

Inviting mangoes sliced

And plantains sweet

To the party.

I dreamt of

Brown faces.

Smiling with mouths open

I couldn’t hear the words.

I didn’t need to

Because

I dreamt

Of our future.

Winning?

I had a conversation yesterday. Let me be real. A therapy session yesterday.

I talked.

About lots of issues. Family. My own marriage. A need for me to let go of the things I cannot or should not always control. My lack of trust and faith in others. I am not sleeping full nights.

And I kept talking.

About all the “shoulding” I have done during the quarantine these last couple of months. I should have written more and read more than 4 books. Did I watch all of the revolutionary interviews and experience all of these mind-blowing Verzus battles live? Did I watch all the shows? How about getting back into perfecting burpees to return back to the shape I was in at Strongman competition time? Shouldn’t I take more than just the one writing class? What about daily walks? All of those people in this motivational FB group are going live, talking about their insecurities and constantly interviewing for podcasts… should I be in this mix? Did I donate enough? Did I contact everyone for Mother’s Day? How about starting an indoor garden? But oh wait!  I did learn to play poker and I am working with Hubby on this 1000-piece puzzle and I continue to work from home.

Then I stopped talking.

It was pointed out that I was listing goals, checking off imaginary boxes, obsessing over what the next few months may bring (financially and otherwise) and whether I am doing enough right now in order to do what?

She observed all these mental gymnastics I was performing were not just in order to keep up with family, friends, stay distracted, entertained and to make a living but I was acting as if any of these things were going to change what’s going on “out there.”

As if any of these things were going to make me “win the quarantine.”

As if I accomplish all of these things, come out on the other side with a stunning body, a thick and voluminous curly afro, a couple of manuscripts ready to pitch and new languages acquired, I will change the reality of what’s out there.

A scary pandemic, conflicting opinions, no answers as to when this will actually be over and a world where people who are Black like me and my husband are never quite safe. We never know if and when we will be confronted with the fear and hatred people have for us solely based on our race. I never know when we will be perceived as a threat: during a walk? driving? Sitting at home eating ice cream on our own couch?

My lists, my books, puzzles, card games, work, television, dancing to music, working out and social media engagement won’t change it.

It won’t make it all go away.

So what can be done?

I can write about it.

I can talk about it.

I can cry about it.

I can let myself fall into bed, let my mind find the peace it seeks and sleep.

I can sit in the sunshine on my balcony and pray.

I can build myself up enough emotionally to allow myself to engage authentically in the things I truly want to do, not what I think should be done.

I can relieve the pressure.

And let it be.

If some days look like a short walk outside before work, cooking, journaling and putting a puzzle together, I will let it be.

If somedays I need to sleep longer, eat and laugh at reruns of “The Office”, I will let it be.

Anything else doesn’t work for me.

Because it’s not about winning the distraction or achievement quarantine Olympics, it’s about finding a healthy and real way through it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

What Unfolds

Recently, without realizing it, I developed an obsession with the concept of time. Well, not so much time but the concepts of an alternative future and time travel.

This is not something I would normally write about but this is where I am.

No matter how silly it was (re: Seth Rogen’s Hulu Original Future Man), innovative and emotional (Amazon’s Undone), groundbreaking (the writers’ doomed vision for the world’s future in Westworld) or how prolific (Octavia Butler’s novel Kindred), over the past couple of weeks, I haven’t been able to tear my eyes or hands away from it.

IMG_20200423_112951
Octavia Butler’s “Kindred.” I am only sad I didn’t read it years ago.

Screen-Shot-2019-07-28-at-12.19.00-PM
“Undone” on Amazon Prime.

It was happening and for some reason, I didn’t connect the dots or recognize the common thread.

Each time I read or watched, I was asking myself if I would make the same choices.

Change the past for a better future. Alter a minute detail for a shiny, new me. Attempt to take control over what’s already done.

These stories have made me examine choice in a way I haven’t in a long time, if ever.

I understand there is no sense in longing for a past that never was or clinging to a hope I will one day bend reality to my whim.

But my analytical nature examines why I made the choices I did–picked up the phone at a particular moment, took long aimless drives, booked that flight, didn’t take the leap to pursue teaching overseas when I had the chance, grew silent when I should have been shouting or simply why some people have floated in and out of my life like nameless ghosts and others seemingly tethered to me, part of my DNA.

I have found myself indulging in the fantasy: if I went through this door, maybe I would have been a dancer or an activist or a healer, adorned in vibrant headscarves and crystals or a suburban woman with a brood of children or a tightly wound, bespectacled corporate drone in a more metropolitan setting.

I will never know the truth of any of those closed doors, those unexplored lives.

Choices have been made. Deals have been struck.

And thankfully, more will come.

Everyday, I am living in the abundance of choice, the beauty of possibility. Even now, in the midst of this uncertainty.

I think that’s enough to take with me as I watch and read, in awe at the boundless imagination of others and my real life unfolds.

 

 

 

All of the Flowers

The world needs all its flowers.

I heard it at the end of a meditation today.

I heard it, hurriedly grabbed a leopard print pen that sits on our side table and scribbled it in small orange memo book.

IMG_20200414_164718

I then thought about all of the things and the people that I consider “all the flowers.”

Books. Heavenly books I have run into the arms of virtually everyday these past few weeks.

The pointsetta kept all year long gifted from my mother-in-law that soaks in the sun. I absentmindedly reach out and stroke its leaves from time to time.

Our balcony at dusk where we have spent precious moments relishing silence, the comfort of our mismatched chairs and the sight of the tree where I often catch the same white cat perched on its branches.

My Mom’s text messages full of videos, jokes to make us laugh, inspire hope and advice to be as healthy and safe as possible.

Work. Knowing we are still able to help people even over the phone and via email reminds me it isn’t all over.

Friends. Knowing they are there is enough. Knowing they are there and safe is even better. I haven’t done all of the virtual “everythings” but I am still happy with the occasional phone calls and texts.

My family. I want them now more than ever. They are my first flowers.

Other creators– artists of all stripes still finding their art in the midst of it. Even if their art is a reflection of their weariness in these times, I have fallen in love with your vulnerability.

The small business owners I watch hustling their wares online. I may not have hustle surging through my veins right now but I respect their willingness and bravery to try to do this in unprecedented times.

All of the flowers taking care of the sick, carrying mail, delivering food, cleaning, stocking shelves, manning service stations, driving trucks and buses.

The flowers that bring us closer together and fight for those whose voice has been muted or forgotten.

My husband’s touch and voice that reminds me we walk together, never alone.

My Creator who made all of the flowers a reality.