Tag Archives: listen

“she got that whoa there”

Today was “Tyrant” from Cowboy Carter. I have heard it many times before. While listening each day for these musings, I try to divorce the part of my mind that is searching for the exact meaning, the story she is trying to tell. I want to feel it and write from there. Today, reading the lyrics had me wondering repeatedly who she was singing about? Herself? A shoot-em-up, heartbreaking supermodel, cowgirl fantasized version of herself who loves ’em and leaves ’em? Is that who she envies or is that fantasy she sometimes longs to be?

These questions made me wonder how often we live in our fantasies. I know I have my moments when even some of these fantasies are reduced to imagining what I could have said differently in an argument or maybe a compliment I could have paid a complete stranger and the smile that may have spread across their face as they thanked me. Of course, my fantasies can be much wilder and almost inconceivable. Maybe it’s best I was not gifted with a voice to sing about those.

I also found myself thinking about how she was envious of the coldness of this tyrant. I am sure many of us would live life differently or perhaps more boldly if we didn’t think about how our actions would affect others. Or if we just lived on a whim or were ruled by our rogue impulses.

It can be a burden to care but also a necessity which begs the question when can we let our inner tyrant out?

“I ‘ve been waiting my whole life.” and “This the real you. “

Three listens of “II Hands II Heaven” on Cowboy Carter. I would have thought after “Riverdance” that I would have continued my thoughts about my own relationship but the relationship that kept coming up was the one I am having with myself. I understand Beyonce is very much singing gorgeously about her husband. But I keep getting the feeling, even as in love as I am, the one I have been waiting for is me.

Each step forward in my health, my writing, my willingness to speak up for myself unveils the woman I was meant to be.

The real me.

I found myself resonating with “ten thousand steps towards the time of your life” with every repeat of the song. Since I was 23, I have had the feeling I was meant for something greater. I remember sitting on the couch at my parents’ old home and telling my mother that. I didn’t think I was going to change the world but I knew my whole life wouldn’t be centered around a cubicle and I would need an outlet. And for years (especially when I would find myself in those environments) and denying how much I wanted to call myself a writer, I saw the people who enjoyed this work as zombies which is unfair. They were trying to make a living. Not unlike me. But some of them could barely part from their cubicle to eat when there was a lovely walking path outside and did not take their paltry fifteen minute breaks. I was devastated for them even though they were probably numb to it. I still don’t know what that “grand” thing is but I am willing to find out.

Like the song says “Only God knows why though.”

When I meet the most realized version of myself, I want to feel like I “partied in Venus and woke up in Mars.” What’s occuring to me right now as I am writing this, is since growth, as long as you seek it, is neverending, some moment of finality may never come but it won’t stop the undeniable bursts of joy and recognition along the way.

The mystery of this life and how we love ourselves and others can be written and sung about for milennia on end and we will always find new ways to treasure and immortalize it.

I am filled with gratitude and happily throw up two hands to heaven as I am privileged to read and hear so much of it.

“Yes, indeed.”

Today’s back to back to back listen was “The Linda Martell Show” on Cowboy Carter. Although this intro was right under 30 seconds, what struck me was the gleeful voice of Ms. Martell, over the roar and claps of an audience. It reminded me of the adoration and acceptance Ms. Martell should have received as a country artist decades ago instead of the vitriol and the closed doors. She is the first Black woman to perform solo at the Grand Ole Opry. I read an article about the shunning and how it forced her out of the spotlight. What’s sad is that all these years later I have heard Black female country artist still struggle for the recognition and fame. Although the landscape is changing, the process has been slow. I am grateful the women singing background on “Blackbird” won’t have to wait for so long for the world to know their names.

Thank you, Ms. Martell. I am sorry you had to wait so long.

I am proud to know your name.

“Shine On Your Own”

The fourth day of my Cowboy Carter musings. Three listens. Back to back to back. Today’s track was “Protector” featuring her daughter, Rumi Carter.

I wondered if I was going to be able to write about this. I wanted to run away from it so I stalked my own floors in circles as if it were going to take me someplace else, far away from my wishes. In November of 2022, a door was shut on me. Life most likely would never be able to grow within me.

I booked first class tickets to the Santa Fe retreat that I planned on going to and I sobbed at a dancing hands ritual and wanted to take my bra off in the moonlight and panicked and wrote and cried and dreamed and laughed the whole time I was there.

Listening to this song also reminded me of the poem “Etch a Sketch” in my book, “She Lives Here”:

I maneuvered the white knobs in my head over the years.

Dexterous hands that exist only in my imagination

Sketched brows, thick, heavy, hairy

Noses with width and forgettable nostrils

Lashes so long they rested on the apples of the cheeks.

Narrow hands, bony fingers, wide feet.

An afro

Strands that are coarse, curly, silky, kinky spring to life on this

One head

A buck-toothed smile

He will need braces.

Diagnoses made, the other side of 37 reached and

I could not get my fingers to work,

Manipulate the knobs

Not even where my dreams reside

I picked up the gray, flat screen with the red plastic frame

And shook it

Until

He disappeared

And I crumbled.

The aluminum powder and the beads

Dissipated

Because he

Was never real.

Because he

Was never

Ours.

Even though a part of my heart will always be cracked, I know it’s because I yearn to protect and yearn to be needed. Maybe this isn’t always a healthy thing. But it’s real. And it’s God honest me. I remember wanting to protect my brother since we were both little (I am 20 months older) and peering over my sister’s crib, when she first came home. I wanted to make sure her jaundice was gone. I remember fighting two boys for a friend at 9. I still think of my guest room as a just in case they need it spot for my brother and sister even though that will likely never be the case. I journal about my dreams for nieces and nephews and hope they happily live out their own.

I long to be a resting place for them. Their Auntie who will always be there for them.

I even have to disentangle myself from those thoughts when it comes to my own husband. I want to be his protector but there have been times I have had to realize he wants to be mine, too.

That is the beauty of our love.

While I will not have a daughter where I see her father’s gaze, I know I am that for my mother. When I watch my sister cradle or embrace her children, the joy I feel for her is indescribable. It belongs to them.

When I hear my brother’s children speak or are reminded of him with their mannerisms, I can’t help but be transported to our childhood…it’s so damn beautiful. It all belongs to them.

Everything is as it is supposed to be even when it hurts.

“You Were Only Waiting For This Moment to Arise.”

So on with my Cowboy Carter musings. Today, I listened to “Blackbird”, the second track featuring Tiera Kennedy, Brittney Spencer and Tanner Adell. I was looking most forward to writing about how I felt after hearing this song the first time. As American Requiem fades and the toe tapping and guitar’s presence arrive, I am already in tears.

It may sound strange but there is a purity to the sound and the softness of these beautiful Black women’s voices that make me want to carry it forever. I am 11, swinging my little feet towards the spring sun, waiting for my moment to arise. It is nostalgia. It is the hope that nostalgia brings. I am sure the meaning of Sir Paul McCartney’s lyrics only make it that much more powerful as he wrote it inspired by the treatment of Black girls in the 1960’s, watching in sorrow from across the pond. As I listen, I see Beyonce being passed the baton by the spirit of these women and sharing it with Tiera, Brittney, Tanner and even me.

I carry the hope of the women who came before me and pray to make this freedom count.

I am strengthening my wings.

I promise.

Ascension

Last night, I cooked spelt spaghetti listening and intermittently peering into the living room to catch scenes from Solange’s When I Get Home visual album. I love the scenes with Black cowboys, riding regally down Houston streets.

I cut that part of my evening short to virtually attend Brooklyn Public Library’s event #SAYHERNAME, A Public Reading of Audre Lorde’s Need: A Chorale For Black Woman Voices, hosted by Sheena Wilson and moderated by my storytelling sister from University of Alabama, Tuacaloosa, Dr. Jameka Hartley.

There are times where you should be speaking and there are times where you should just listen. Last night was a time to listen. It was not because Jameka and her fellow poets, Keya and Liseli read Ms. Lorde’s work beautifully.

It was because I needed to learn.

During Jameka’s introduction, she mentioned she was moved to do this after the tragic death of the young activist, Toyin Salau, earlier this year. Need was written in 1979 after the death of 12 Black women in four short months in the Boston area. Sadly, we know why this is still happening.

Black women are still invisible. Our pain is ignored. But when we speak up a little too loudly about our pain or organize coalitions, birth movements, we are a threat–to colonized mentality, to governments, to whatever “status quo” is deemed to be.

I found myself typing and then erasing in the chat “Black women are invisible and perceived to be a threat simultaneously. It is infuriating.”

I erased it because I just wanted to listen and for that night to be about these scholarly sisters honoring Audre. Another one of my storytelling sisters spoke up about the adversity she’s encountered in her quest to secure quality mental health resources. This led to a discussion that included solutions in the form of a “kitchen table”, a close knit group of people with whom you can be vulnerable, calling on an ancestor and “dating” therapists until you’ve found “the one.”

There was commentary from the one man in the room about his need to protect his own sister and other Black women. Recognition of the fight of queer women like Audre Lorde and the founders of the Black Lives Matter was discussed.

At the end of the night, powerful poetry was recited for us. It was the perfect closing. After logging off, my husband asked how I felt. He heard my rejoicing and saw my head nodding vigorously throughout it.

He knew how I felt. He knows I want to be in a real room with those people. He knows I now want to close the door behind me with a stack of books written by Black women and do my homework. I want to write and read and shift my perspective.

I want to ascend.

So last night started with a pot of boiling pasta, being awestruck at Black cowboys and transcendent music and ended with Ms. Lorde’s work setting something ablaze inside of me.

Signals

Before I took a couple of weeks off, my body told me it was time before I did. I was feeling anxious and tired but didn’t realize the extent of it. I thought this is how it’s supposed to be while you’re juggling a day job and trying to build a career from scratch on the side. I seemed to always be in a rush. Rushing to go to work, rushing to complete a blog post even if I knew in advance what it was going to be about and my mind constantly thinking about what I should be doing to take better care of myself: Lose that weight, try that skin product, watch that video on natural healing, finish reading those books, document more, promote my E-book more frequently, submit to other publications on a regular basis and be a better daughter, sister, friend, cousin, Christian, traveler, volunteer, wife, writer, student…

So when I thought I was just going about my business, the signals my mind was sending to my body shut me down. I was not going to share this but I thought maybe someone somewhere is or was going through the same thing and if I want to be anything on this blog, it is real. I am not writing about this because it’s anybody’s business except for mine but to pretend like I took a short break “just because” didn’t feel authentic. My doctor told me to slow down and that I was having anxiety attacks. It’s a strange thing to be told if you believe that everything is generally “ok” and you’re just “busy.” I am one of those people who tell myself, even in the thick of it, that I have blessings to be grateful for but I was telling myself those things while running.

In the last couple of weeks, I have taken time to go to bed and wake up earlier, journal and pray as soon as I get up and to listen to something inspirational. I lean towards a T.D. Jakes sermon or a little of John Gray. I even joined a morning routine challenge on Facebook which has helped to keep me accountable. I also have gotten back to working out and weighing myself weekly. I decided to go gluten-free (I don’t have an allergy) for 90 days. I wanted to see if it made a difference with brain fog and I don’t know if it’s because of that or a combination of all of these habits, but it has worked.

I can’t tie this up in a nice, neat bow nor do I want to. These past few weeks have made me see things with a new clarity. I still want all of the same things but slowing down to write, pray and move myself  has strengthened my resolve to be more patient about getting them and strangely a confidence has blossomed from it, too.

All I can control is my effort, consistency and the time to take care of myself which will eventually take care of the reaching my goals aspect of my life, too.

Even if my body had to tell me before I was willing to do something about it, I am glad I did. I don’t feel like I’m running breathlessly today and all I can do is be grateful for that and set myself up to feel the same way tomorrow.

Your turn: Has your body ever told you something before you realized it? If so, what did you decide to do about it? I would love to hear your thoughts!

See you on Thursday’s post with a wellness journey update!