begin again, again

There are no words for starting again. You just gain the courage to begin again. To try what you put down because the calling is still in your heart and the need to do the work is still in your head.

Since my last blog post in early 2018, a lot has happened. I traveled to Greece, lost someone close to me,  and worked on my fear of the dentist. It was a productive year for the latter. Today, I jump back on the blog because in attempting to write my third book I find I have nothing new to say, nothing original to bring to the conversation that will fill up a book but I still want to write and get better at doing so.

My resignation to social media overcame me last week. I deleted the Instagram app from my phone. Before you start cheering and paying for land to erect a statue in my name, you should know that I have deleted Instagram from my phone many times, the struggle is real. What I have found, its a hindrance to my thinking life. I log off to gain perspective, to take back my time, and to find time to just sit with my thoughts like today.

I am 31, turning 32 in March. Not that you care, but I think I should just put it out there because I am like you, getting older. I find myself reckoning with my age like never before. You don't feel the effects of aging all at once. You start to get old gradually, my knees tingle in the morning, and I am not sure what that is the onset of. Do you?

My husband is still curious and gracious in the way he moves through life. He allows me to follow my dreams and does not make a fuss when I wake him up at 5am because I am up. He does not seem to care about my hair on the bathroom floor or the fact that dancing is my love langurage. He lets me be crazy, and I guess that is a good thing.

I think about the state of the world more now than ever now. Technology, people, individual desires, our contradictions & the future. Technology interests me because last week, like a slap in the face, I finally understood why it's important, like why the internet matters. As a minority in America, I hear about the stories of the past and what limited access my ancestors had to resources. Today, the power of the internet is that if I am willing to give, be authentic, surprise, build trust, I can form relationships that can change my entire life. No middle man. The conversations are facilitated online, millions of people to meet and engage. WOW! The internet is actually amazing in that sense.

I have a "social good project" coming up this week; cookies, punch and bingo with the elderly. The highlight of my week. Really!

The Story of Jorge

He could not tell I was annoyed or maybe he could from the twenty-eight minute wait in the lobby. The only working bank employee avoided direct eye contact with any of the bank's patrons waiting in the small sitting area. I struck up a conversation with a friend I noticed sitting in a chair not far from where I was. He used to live in the same high-rise as my husband and I. We talked about his travel to London and his plans to visit Japan. We also spoke about business and community politics, mainly broken promises from our city leaders. He was happier than usual. He spent about 90% of his time in London where "business dealings are better than in the states because a handshake is a handshake."

He was up next so our conversation ended abruptly when the bank employee beckoned for whoever was next. The employee, whose name I learned was Jorge, seemed to be having an okay day. He was tall and noticeably uncomfortable about something. He was a big man but appeared as though he could own a small cat and a potted plant. My friend finished his transaction in a short time, and I was up next. Sitting in front of him, I could see that Jorge had a few things going on in his life after he left the bank. He appeared anxious and uncomfortable in his suit.

I gave him my ID and after he made a few jokes about my photo I gave a look that meant "let's speed things up, buddy." He took the hint, and as he was typing my information into his computer, I noticed a slight head nod and then a shake, another one, and another one. He was falling asleep right in front of me. The head nod meant his eyes were drooping and the shake was to keep from falling into his computer. He had the process down. I felt justified in telling him that he probably needed some coffee and more sleep. The unexpected part came when he said it was a medical condition.

"The man has narcolepsy," I thought to myself.

Jorge then proceeded, as if I were family,  to tell me about his undiagnosed diabetes and sleep apnea, all things I was familiar with because I have a family history of diabetes and my brother has sleep apnea. Then, Jorge shared the story of a mini heart attack he had a few months earlier due to his self-diagnosed love of Monster Energy drinks, he did not stay up late, and had a habit of bingeing on hamburgers and fried food. He was going to get his doctor results back in a few weeks to see if he indeed had diabetes and if he needed a sleep device to get some rest.

I could empathize with him. His struggle to live unrestricted and at the same time enjoy all that life has to offer had caught up with him.

I explained that I lost two aunts and my grandmother to diabetes and my mother has the disease. I cautioned him against the medicine most doctors would prescribe and kindly told him to lose fifty pounds, completely cut the Monsters, and take back control of his life.

Jorge nodded in agreement.

As I walked out of the bank, Jorge told me to take care of myself.

I smiled and said, "no, you, take care of yourself" with a nudge to his left shoulder.

"I will try."

Why *More* is Never Enough

I ran into a girl I used to lead through a recovery class at the church my husband and I attended together. The 12-step recovery group was all about getting to the root of problems like people-pleasing, codependency, addictions, and anxiety. I would describe this girl as one of my "wild-child," she came in every week shared and encouraged other girls but was never satisfied with what God was doing in her life. "I just have never seen him be faithful to me," was her constant cry. She is young, pretty but has a shaky relationship with her parents and her love life was nothing to brag about.

She wanted to see significant changes in her life, which included a husband, and each week she let myself and her group members know it.

Yesterday, she was different.

I first noticed a classic emerald cut diamond ring on a young girls finger. Her head was down as she flipped through wedding magazines. She laid the hand that boosted the wedding ring on each page as if she was auditioning for a hand model position. When she looked up and smiled at me it did not register at first, but I knew, I knew the girl from somewhere. Immediately, it came to me as she said hello.

Getting ALL You Want

After exchanging hello's, she told me about her life now and that she was two weeks into her engagement. She shared how she was so frustrated with the group and never really enjoyed the oversharing. She also took issue with group leaders after I left. Today, she is engaged to an engineer who lives in another state, and they are getting married in May.

"Everything worked out," she mentioned to me while showing off the ring. I was happy to see that she got what she wanted – a new job in interior design, a husband, and a chance for a better life then what she saw growing up.

The only problem, she wanted more. "I can't believe this is it" and "this is what I wanted but I still see other stuff I want," were statements she made. At the same time, she understood why the recovery program was so important, because after getting what we want our faith is the only thing that sustains us. It was the same lesson I learned in my early twenties after landing a high-paying job, a condo in a prestigious part of town, and my perfect doggy companion, Jack.

All I could do was smile and agree. She had the nugget that only life and experience teaches. I was happy to see how far she had come.

Girls Love Beyonce

I've come to understand that even the preacher's wife loves Beyonce.
She also loves the vanity of fashion and celebrity culture.
I hide these things as if not liking them will make me more liked by the women I look up to.
Uninformed thinking.
She like me is human, woman, educated, its no wonder why we share this similarity.
Besides, the shame I feel for feeling Bootylicious is not biblical.
I was born with it.
I was encouraged to love who I am and despise the flesh.
I was told to suppress the parts of me that seek pleasure and strength from the womanhood I possess.
My undoing was mass produced.
Women like me struggle in the same way, hoping that freedom comes in rejecting their wants.
But there is no freedom found just contradictions.
Each woman must live by her own convictions.
In the spirit of rapper and singer Drake, yes, Girls Love Beyonce.
I will not apologize for it.

The Freedom to Pursue Purpose of Life

“As soon as you rise above mere survival, the question of meaning and purpose becomes of paramount importance in your life.” -- Eckhart Tolle, A New Earth

I use this quote in the new book I'm writing but came here to discuss the implications of this statement for 1.3 billion people who live in extreme poverty in the world today. DoSomething.org states on their website in an article titled 11 Facts About Global Poverty, "nearly 1/2 of the world’s population — more than 3 billion people — live on less than $2.50 a day. More than 1.3 billion live in extreme poverty — less than $1.25 a day." The article also states, "805 million people worldwide do not have enough food to eat."

Do these individuals have room to pursue purpose of life? Do they have enough distance from their problems to see past human needs? 

No, based on Tolle's statement, they do not.

Is this always the truth? We have all heard stories of people coming from absolutely nothing to make something out of themselves. The statement then hinges on the personal meaning of survival, some needing more than others.

My last observation is our belief here in America, our faith in capitalism. The individual always needs something more, new, or better. If we, Americans provided with so much opportunity, living on more than $2.50 a day, are always in pursuit of this kind of survival can we ever rise above merely "surviving" to find meaning and purpose?

Live In The Wonder

What does it mean to live amazed? In awe of the rising sun? In awe of growing children? In awe of metal planes that fly? Where has this amazement for life gone? 

When I spend even twenty-four hours away from social media, I rediscover things about myself that got lost in the noise. I believe the reason most of us can not see the beauty in life because we are overexposed. We have allowed ourselves to live quietly in the corners of other people's lives. There we are the judge and not the judged. A simple rule applies in this space, no harm, no problem. 

However, there is a problem, one that has grown under the skin. The issue that always arises when we choose to take the easy road; being bystanders to the lives of people near and far jade us. It creates lapses in our mind, spend more than fifteen minutes in someone's social feed, look up, and it feels as though the world has changed or at the least, that time is lost in a space that belongs to the curator. 

To live in the wonder means to go on a journey, being content with your view, and changing that which is changeable. 

Living in the wonder means that I know when to engage and disengage from that which darkens my soul. It means that I live more aware. The awareness of my faults and shortcomings have not come without a fight. In 2014, I had a social media addiction that was out of control. It hindered my writing, and I felt it could derail my life so much so that I addressed it, among other things, in a twelve step program here in Dallas. 

I was able to return to the wonder. 

The wonder for me now is serving my husband, being present for my friends, checking on my sisters who live far away, spending time with my mother, undisturbed and undistracted writing time, and working out because your girl enjoys a good sweat. 

The wonder can be found in the ordinary. 

Memoir or Inspiration

I'm in the thick of it now. My desk stacked with books, half-emptied water glasses, tea, pens, note cards, and more books. I am a mad woman during this stage of the game. With 6,089 words down on an inspirational non-fiction book I've been pondering over the last couple of months, a new thought came to me. I hate when this happens. "What about your memoir?" A two-year project I put aside, the book I submitted to MFA programs, the book that devours my attention most nights and the book I can't seem to shake. In my head, I reserve memoir writing for those that are much older than me. Although, the last seven years have been interesting: a devastating breakup, a twelve step program, a comedy show, and marriage.

I'm just not so sure if it's the story I want to share at this moment, and then I am reminded:

GOD
YOUR MISSION
YOUR PURPOSE
TO YOUR PEOPLE

The notecard reads hanging above my desk.

Gosh, its hot in here. One second, I am going to turn off this heater. Where was I? Yes, memoir or inspiration? "How to" or "my truth?" It's like deciding on whether to start a new relationship or build out, go deep, be broken in the one you have.

Okay, God, where to?

This question, posed to the Big Guy can garner exciting results or at least unexpected outcomes. The real question is about playing it safe or going for whatever it is. Here, at my desk, butt in chair, I am faced with who I am as a writer and what kind of writer I want to be.

Her Name was "Birdie"

Do you think people stay in places and situations longer than they should?

Around four o'clock yesterday a baby bird landed nineteen floors up on my patio. When I initially noticed the flying creature, I did not think much about it. Birds fly, that is a fact. There was nothing unusual about the small bird flying through a crack in the balcony between two sheets of glass and landing on my porch.

My husband and I headed to a movie around seven to conclude the Thanksgiving celebration. It was a chilly night. We started Saving Capitalism on Netflix with Robert Reich before we had to put the documentary on hold to catch our movie.

After the movie, we returned to our posture on the coach to complete the film. From the couch, looking out into the night, the Downtown sparkling with lights, I noticed her, still perched on the balcony was the bird I saw earlier. I slowly walked over to the patio door, gently unlocked it and then cracked it. The small bird did not move. I opened it some more to catch a closer look. Nothing. The winged creature was not afraid and did not move an inch. What was wrong with her? Why was this bird just staring out into the night on my patio? My husband offered up a little advice. He figured that she might have clipped her wing flying in. I immediately wanted to bring her in and care for her. I ran to the refrigerator and peeled off some bread from the Thanksgiving leftovers. I ran back to the door, gently opened it and tossed scraps to my new friend. Birdie did not move. She did not walk towards the food.

"Maybe she's blind." I thought to myself.

"A bit clumsy like my husband, maybe she ran into the glass head first and damaged her eyesight."

It sounds silly now that I am replaying the possibility back to myself. But what was it?

I knew my husband would not go for bringing the bird into the house and after coaxing him into bed, he said, "Babe, please don't bring the bird in the house." I said okay but knew if the baby bird needed further assistance I would do what was necessary.

I tiptoed back to the door, opened it, stepping into the cold night I called out to Birdie like one would do a dog or cat. She ignored me. She still had not gone for the bread pieces. As I approached, she turned and fluttered away.

I was heartbroken. Birdie was fine. She knew exactly where her home was and was merely taking in a different view.

Ripples and Life Lessons

I decide to have a bath this evening. I chose a bath over taking a shower to slow the week down. I ran the water and added a few drops of Roman Chamomile. While in the bathtub, I dried my hands and grabbed my phone to finish listening to a Youtube video on the laws of attraction with Allan Watts. Watts has been one of my favorite philosophers since I was in my early twenties. He espouses simple disciplines to sound living and does not hold his tongue on calling BS on the our perceptions.

Once the video ended, I sat in the dim light of my bathroom thinking over what I just heard. Why do I want what I want and where is my focus? I gently ran my hand over the water and then slowly into the water. The act created ripples. What I noticed at first was the feedback I immediately received from the motion and how it shockingly relates to life.

With my leg protruding out of the water creating a barrier between the side of the tub, the water bounced off of my leg and created a ripple effect back to me. As I stared at the ripples over and over, I took it to mean what I put out comes back to me or as the old Proverb goes, you reap what you sow. As it relates to Alan's lecture on attraction, I am getting what I put into the world. If I like what I am getting, true relationships, honest conversation, mutual love and respect with my husband, and clarity on the world around me, I should put more of that into the world. Why does this work and why do I want more of this? For starters, it feels good. It feels better than the life I lived before that was full of my wants, needs, and desires. I also understand that to make the "world beautiful" I have to first draw the circle around myself and fix everything in it, the relationships I have today, matter. If I nurture and master them, then I can give that energy to the people around me and get more of it in return.

Every day we are putting out ripples. If you love your life and like what you are getting, do more of that. If not, if you want to create change in your life, then put out different ripples.

The same thing happens in our digestion system. When I put in the trash, I felt like trash.

So now, I am vegan.

A True 'Hallelujah Anyway'

Imagine that you decide to attend an event of one of your favorite authors, you go alone, you register early, arrive early, find the perfect seat and wait for the show to start. You are joined by a group of ladies, strangers; one strikes up a conversation with you. At this point you are warming up to the idea of chatting, you place your mediation podcast on pause, and you dive into a conversation about faith, the world, and comfort the woman on her daughter's misfortune.

You have found a companion. You feel less like an uninvited dinner guest and more like a welcomed addition to the family.

A woman approaches, she is the friend of your new companion. She has "special access" and therefore has seats in the front but notices your seat is in just as good of a location and next to her friend. She talks to you about the school, brags about her pastoral position at the university, and then ask for your seat. First, she ask politely, not wanting to impose but still feeling familiar with you after the brief chat. You politely decline knowing that you chose the seat for a purpose and you don't have the special access to take hers. She adds pressure. "Will you not allow me to sit with my friend? I will give you my pass?"

You look at your new companion, the woman that made you feel less alone at an event full of people twice your age, all with a different but shared skin tone than yours and resign yourself to the fact that you are outnumbered. Your new friend has her loyalties, so you will get no help there. You politely and quietly get up, thank the woman for her access pass and move to a different seat.

How do you feel? 

In that moment, I felt pressured. Bullied in a sense. Powerless to hold onto what was rightly mine. There is two train of thoughts running through my mind at this time, the idea that there are some people in this world that feel entitled to everything, and I do mean everything. The other thought was one of empathy and understanding. She, like me, was sitting alone.

Where is the truth here? Where should I attach meaning? Does the public conversation on race and privilege play any part in this situation or have I taken on the sentiments of the world and layered it onto this particular experience?

The author of the night was Anne Lamott. Lamott wrote my favorite book on life and writing, titled "Bird by Bird." Last night she was there to talk about her latest book "Hallelujah Anyway." Anne also spoke about grace and mercy.

Maybe the conversation I want to have here is no matter the situation you and I find ourselves in we still have control over how we respond and even how we think and add meaning and context. Just maybe grace can be applied here.

The truth is all of us are messed up and are out for ourselves at times, so the criticism I want to place on this woman for how she made me feel, how she took what was mine, is the same criticism I can put on myself. I hate or feel strongly toward actions I am guilty of doing or better said I strongly point out the things in other people that exist within myself.

There is no bow I can wrap this in. I felt the way I felt. However, somehow, understanding, empathy, and grace found its way into the equation.

power balance

The stories of sexual assault cases in Hollywood continue to come into the light. The women who are brave enough to share their genuine and heartfelt stories have the world behind them.

What now? What about the perpetrators who committed these heinous acts? What will be their punishment for such indiscretions? Will the law hold them accountable for treating their positions of power like wishing wells to have and to take whatever they want? How do we make sure this does not happen again?

The real question should be how do we balance power in industries and communities where the power balance is greatly one-sided? Who stands to gain and who stands to lose? In a capitalistic society is this achievable?

History does not typically root for the underdog. It has been those wielding the bigger stick that has ruled, wrecked, and mastered the world.

What am I, are you, willing to give up, if anything, to rebalance power and give those voiceless a voice?

Not me, the online me

Then the world’s economy collapsed. People were so desperate, they turned to their own social networks for cash. Some of us didn’t even want cash: attention was good enough. - Daniel Kolitz

Daniel Kolitz piece for Hazlitt, titled What I Learned at Personal Branding School, blew me away. A comedic review of his personal experience on taking an online Coursera course.

I've been trying to figure out for the past couple of years what the heck is happening in our society, besides the obvious -- man's need for God. Kolitz's article sent me in the right direction for answers.

Back in 2013, I wrote a journal entry titled "Overexposed," with the simple premise that we were overexposing ourselves for the sake of "experience" and "living," only to regret that exposure because it opened us up to be criticized and encouraged partaking in activities that we wish we had not. I argued that we also had the possibility of losing ourselves in the process. Today, the competition happening online for attention, influencer credits, and money is fierce. What I believe we all now know, if you can build a "platform" on some idea or something you believe to be true or universal about yourself then you can sell anything, and I do mean anything. This has created in the words of Kolitz, "bad jokes about the Oscars, or posted pictures of our asses on Instagram."

Many other more sinister things are happening online as well, like how "churchporations" market religion, how our celebrities feed us causes that donate less than 20% to the actual problem they say they are fighting against, and how our very "democracy" was blown to pieces this last election cycle by "fake news" and other outside threats. We asked for this connectivity. Will it be to our detriment? Besides, what else hoards attention besides our debased and perverse nature?

I know, cat videos!

How much attention do you want?

How much attention do you want is the question I thought to myself after two females plopped down beside me in super low halter tops and midriffs. My mother and the culture I was raised in asked me to pick one or the other. I could either slightly expose cleavage, a slither of my waist, or my legs. To show more than one of these things was "fast" or what "loose" women did.

So, how much attention do you want I ask again? The generation coming behind my thirty-year-old self will make up their own rules, and that's okay, but again how much attention do you want or how much do you need? How much did you go without as a child? How much are you trying to make up for as an adult?

The argument that women get tons of unwanted cat-calls and lude remarks is valid. Yes, some men need to learn self-discipline and impulse control. However, just like a back and forth argument with my sisters, who is going to be the bigger person? Who is going to put a stop to the madness? Women, are we brave enough to address our need for attention and the need to feel love and belonging are the true reasons why some of us leave the house showing everything God gave us? That is the real question. I am concerned with the "why." Why we engage in this behavior? What are we after? Why we look for and push away certain kinds of attention only to go out looking for it the next day in the same way.

How much attention do you want?

If it is a lot, then do what garners you a lot of attention. You can do a Google search for what gets instant attention, your options are limitless. If you are after mild appreciation, there are examples of that in our society as well. If you want none, well scroll through my Instagram and gaze at my cleavage-less pics. I'm cool with it because what I am after cannot be manufactured (plus, I'm married. Things change after making such a commitment).

What about you?

Whatever you want, you will have. You just can't always control the response to your output.

"You're Okay, Its Okay, You're Safe Now"

You learn a lot about yourself in a hospital, like what the end of life looks like, how to exist in a space where death is breathable, what comforting the sick and injured feels like, and how to accept that this life, like everything in it, is fleeting.

My father-in-law had no idea what he was getting into when a caramel girl, who loves books, art, and the insides of people decided to marry his son. It's not like I knew I was gaining a father who loves cookies, spending time at his car shop, having the backs of his oldest friends, and a man who would not leave Cleveland, Ohio if you told him the world was ending exactly where his house sits. We got each other. A decent exchange.

This past weekend, my father-in-law of one year and ten months lay still in a hospital bed at the Cleveland Clinic. He looked tired. I guess triple heart bypass surgery will do that to you. All I could do is stare at the man my husband loves with all his heart. The room was dark, except for the dancing medical machine lights. I sat in a chair next to his bed. He heard us come in and said, ''oh, I'm not sleep" as if he wanted and needed the company.

While sitting in that chair across from my father, I thought about his life, the many choices that led to this exact moment. This distress was what he had hoped to avoid after watching and caring for his mother. She died of a health-related disease.

My mother spoke of generational curses often growing up, and at this time the bad omen of diabetes has my older brother and older sister in its grip. We do unspeakable things to ourselves.

As I do to my husband nights when I can not sleep, in the dark, I rubbed the back of dad-in-law's head and whispered you're okay, its okay, you're safe now.

What I learned that day in the hospital is that family can comfort you in your darkest moments. They have the ability to whisper in your ear -- you're okay, its okay, you're safe now.

In those moments, you and I remember what we have in each other; we remember that in order not to labor in vain we need mission and purpose, we remember that what we have given, we will receive.

Reflection

I've found that a peaceful way to end the day is by taking a walk. Today, I took a long stroll around the city, enjoying some of the new construction in the area. The air was light, the temperature eighty-four degrees, there was a light breeze.

If I did not leave my desk when I did the gas that builds up in my stomach, and the pressure in my legs would have become much worse; this happens because when I work at my computer, I don't take many breaths. It's like I have to focus so intently that to take a breath or look away would lead to a loss of focus and thirty minutes of mental wandering. The ideas that come to me during this time of loss focus I write down if I am to remember them and list them in my idea book for later. I keep the yellow notepad open on my computer for this sort of distraction, but I must keep my mind on my work if I am to finish. Fifteen minutes after the thought, I need to take a walk.

Walking also helps me reflect. It is the only time that I can be entirely phone free without guilt because walking and texting is not an option. Usually, when I try these two things together, I end up walking in front of a car or lost, neither is helpful to relaxation and reflection.

What did I reflect on today? My subtle social media addiction stirs thoughts of the future. Will I have a manicured lawn one day? Will I own a fancy stroller for my future child? Take a splash in the waters of the Tyrrhenian Sea? These are just questions. The questions stir ambitious emotions and thoughts of a life away from the city. However, I love the city; it was New York that was once a city I called home and thought of living forever.

Once I've traveled the world in my head I bring my thoughts back to the present, back to center, back to gratefulness. I remember the life I have today is the life I envisioned yesterday, and if I truly want something different than I better get moving in that direction.

Thoughts on writing my new book and honesty

I thought I knew how to write honestly but after reading the intro's to Shonda Rhimes, "A Year of Yes" and Jen Sincero "You Are a Badass," I think I still have ways to go. Their writing sounds honest. It sounds like they would sound if I met them in a bar or a night club. Shonda discusses her enmity to the truth, hold up, there I go, "enmity," who even says that word. This is what I mean. I get caught up, almost instinctively, trying to sound all MFA like. You would think being rejected from three New York MFA programs would have told me that I will be a gritty, unMFA'ed writer, not all poised and proper. If I can follow in the footsteps of Ta-Nehisi Coates, who did not finish college but writes like a mad genius than I will be in good company.

I guess that is why I started this blog all J.K. Rowling style. Using my first and middle initial represents freedom to me. It frees me from my past success, my previous work, and allows me to write. Before you get to googling me trying to figure out who I am, remember -- all will be revealed in time. Besides, when I say past success, no, I have not won on Pulitzer or a Noble Peace Prize, I just mean in my previous life I wasn't a writer and I had some success doing what I did. Success can be crippling in a way so adjusting my name is more for me than you.

But back to honesty, the writers I mentioned earlier are writing in what my writing teacher would call "their authentic voice" it sounds like they speak. On the page, I seem to come off sounding older, like I've lived a whole bunch of other lives. It frustrates me to no end because I have not always been sure of the balance. The balance it takes, to tell the truth in "my voice," and win a National Book Award. I've read readers who've won the prize but still feel it's outside my depth, so I will continue to try here, with you, you and I finding our voice together.

Observed: The Businessman

photo credit: Ryan Plomp

The average businessman in my neighborhood is white, he has 2.5 kids, enjoys time alone and spends an ungodly amount of time on his phone while out with the children. His uniform is typically a baby blue or white button up, tie, no tie clip, so the thing waves in the air like an American flag in a schoolyard. 

He is on his second piece of pizza. I guess his wife is not cooking tonight. He flips one side over to meet the other, eating the thing like a hotdog instead of enjoying it the proper way, from tip to crust. The man in my sight is a 'suit,' brown shoes, white button up, black slacks. He spends his days in an office near a window. By the way, he enjoys the calm fall day, I figure his wife is out of town, and he is in no hurry to get home. Home means four walls, television, and a place to rest his body. Who could he be texting? Could he be like most men I observe in this sterile, characterless area of town, maybe satisfying his secret passions for women with dogs and selfie sticks on social media? That would be typical, let's give him a better story. He is looking up God questions on gotquestions.org curious how this whole thing, the world, is going to end. He doesn't believe in the ethereal but enjoys the thought of heaven, eternal peace, and a chance to meet the man that created this all. 

The man in the white button up finishes his pizza, recycles the trash, and heads on his way. I guess now its time to go home, the destination for all of us sooner or later. 

The Dangers of Living Brave

I never thought about the dangers of bravery until I heard Kyle Steed, artist, muralist, and Dallas resident, give a presentation about the resistance his artwork has received. When telling people to live brave, I ask them to leave where they are, to change, and you and I know that change can be hard. It requires work, perseverance, humility,  and self-discipline. It also challenges current notions of identity, ways of thinking and firmly held beliefs. That is what Kyle's artwork encountered, painted on a public space in Fort Worth.

Should the artist, in my case, the writer, or the singer not ask? Not ask you and I, the receiver, to change, to be more, to leave established comfort zones? Of course not. Why? Asking introduces new ways of thinking, and it produces ideas and innovation. It also makes us a more inclusive society. I'm sure Jonathan Haidt is shaking his head because, yes, sometimes "diversity can be divisive," but we should still try to move closer to communal oneness (click here to listen to Jonathan's interview with Krista Tippett on On Being).

Asking my readers and those who show up to my book tour to be brave is asking them to be who they know they can be. At least that was the case in the story I heard from an older gentleman today named Lonzo. I'm sure Alonzo had no idea what he was getting into when he sat at the small circular table positioned directly behind my book signing set up. But what he received was two millennials, my husband and I, who love to engage strangers and encourage those who have turned their backs on their dreams for whatever reasons. Lonzo wants to be a singer. He has had the dream since he was young, and now as an old man, he sings in his Baptist Church's choir. But Lonzo wants more. He wants to create a life and provide for his wife with his vision. Lonzo merely is too "afraid" to go for it. After an hour of corralling, encouraging, and strategizing with Alonzo about the potential technology, especially Youtube held for him, he smiled and thanked us for the uplifting conversation. Who knows, we may have given Lonzo exactly when he needed.

The dangers of living brave are this, today you occupy a space in the world but you, like Alonzo, want more. More cannot be found in your comfort zone; it cannot be found in the habits of your today, it cannot be achieved through good intentions, it takes action. It takes an artist like Kyle, writers, poets, filmmakers, and teachers to challenge, ask, and reveal the flaws and potential. But you must be willing to look at that which disturbs, that which calls out, that which stirs you.
Engage that which disturbs.

Two dates remaining on the #FindYourBraveBK book tour. Click here for more information. 

Lessons from Timothy Snyder's "On Tyranny" (Chapters 1 & 2)

In politics, being deceived is no excuse. - Leszek Kolakowski

I decide to start "On Tyranny" by Timothy Snyder because I wanted to know what was possible if all of us stay quiet during this time of political uncertainty. I not only received a lesson in civic responsibility but a deep look at the history of nations and what happens when the citizens of that nation "stay home" or tell themselves "I don't want to get involved." Snyder blew me away. He understands that the needs of the future are the needs of today. There is no "they will take care of it" because "I" am breathing, talking, human being on this planet and "I" must protect the future.

Lesson 1: DO NOT OBEY IN ADVANCE
"Most of the power of authoritarianism is freely given. In times like these, individuals think ahead about what a more repressive government will want, and then offer themselves without being asked. A citizen who adapts in this way is teaching power what it can do."

Snyder goes on to state later in this chapter, "At the very beginning, anticipatory obedience means adapting instinctively, without reflecting, to a new situation."

Where in the last eight months have I simple went silent or turned away to the growing noise about the state of our politics? What did that look like? Why?

For starters, and truthfully, I got into the habit of looking out for policies and actions that only affected me personally, because the noise had grown so loud I did not know where to look. The mess of the media and the marching of the press stalled and ever deterred me from engaging. Now, remembering to breath first thing in the morning, I can see what that silence will cost my community and the country. I am fully awake. I was not "adapting instinctively" but rather trying to keep my sanity.

Today's version of democracy, I don't believe can sustain itself if you and I don't take active participation to see to its survival. We cannot afford to "think ahead to what a more repressive government will want" and give it to them but instead think about what we want the world, our communities, and our families to look like and produce, champion, and get behind that.

Lesson 2: DEFEND INSTITUTIONS
"It is instructions that help us to preserve decency. They need our help as well. Do not speak of "our institutions" unless you make them yours by acting on their behalf. Institutions do not protect themselves. They fall one after the other unless each is defended from the beginning. So choose an institution you care about - a court, a newspaper, law, a labor union -- and take its side."

History has a lot to teach us about the need for humility and wisdom. Snyder uses telling examples from Hitler's reign in Germany to convince us that we should not take in vain who we have placed in power and what their position is there. If our candidates made promises on the campaign trail, those promises could be an insight into what is to come. We should not vote against our best interest under the assumption that action of loyalty will garner loyalty. It does not work like that. In the case of German Jews, voting for Hilter's leaders who they thought would keep them safe, well, we know how the story goes. There is no loyalty when power has run amuck. You and I must be loyal to humanity in the preservation and protection of it. 

What institutions do you care about, is it religious, education, marriage? Fight for it.


The book referenced is "On Tyranny: Twenty Lessons from the Twentieth Century" by Timothy Snyder.

  

Emille

I met a young girl named Emilie today. She went by Ems for short. She attended my book signing with her mom. As I spoke with another interested customer about my book, The Beginner's Guide to Finding Your Brave, Emillie sort of hovered around. Usually, when people do that at one of these events, they are trying to decide if I am worth the $10 in their pocket. If I can get them to chat for one minute, then they are mine, and I have earned their audience and money.

Ems went away and came back with her mother. I explained to her that my book was about bravery in every sense of the word. "We need to choose bravery every day" and "the question of bravery is about the choice of progression or stagnation" are my favorite lines. A few words landed right with Emilie, and she recommended the book to her mom. She mentioned that she had no problem speaking her mind, it was "courageous" action she had trouble with. Her mom interjected, "yeah, like deciding not to go to homecoming." Their relationship reminded me a lot of girls in my high school that could talk back to their parents; my sisters and I did not have that luxury.

During the conversation, the young girl whispered to her mom that she did not want her to mention the depression. I could tell that she wanted me to hear because she said it in a way that I could understand precisely what she said. She said it in one of those talk-whispers. Standing behind the small round table, I thought to hand her a dum dum from my candy bowl, but the thought registered as foolish, so I just stood there unsure if she wanted to converse about her depression or not. If she brings it up again, I thought to myself then the topic is open for a deep dive.

Emilie's sister and her boyfriend walked in and asked what was going on. I smiled and encouraged Emillie to write her story. Share what was bothering her and what she had done in the past to move past depressive moods and thoughts.

I ask two questions when people stop at my table, are you a reader and a writer or both. No matter when the answer is I suggest writing as a form of therapy. I recommend the practice because most of us don't know what to say to each other. We care too much about our words and less about our mental health. We need to do more talking, and maybe we will found ourselves.

I did not say this, I signed her book and hugged her. More hugging may also save humanity as well.