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.

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.

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?

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.

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. 

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.

The Beginning

The truth is I don't know how to get "serious" about writing. It usually just happens, or it doesn't. But man is there so much to write about. I once heard a famous writer say that if you don't know what to write, write about what makes you mad. Okay, so what makes me angry, like really boils my blood? Rap music that talks about shooting people and putting down women, when Donald Trump speaks, like at all, GMO's in food, and lying. I am sure there are a few more, but that is all I have for now.

This blog will be for my thoughts about the world. Less of my dislikes and more of my hopes in moving the world forward.  In the past, my favorite topics to discuss have been motivation, culture, books, people. I write it all on my main site in a jovial way. But life, at times, has more downs than ups and I want to discuss those too.

People fascinate me, you, whoever you are, reading this fascinates me. Why? Because you exist with your thoughts and way of moving about this life. You fascinate me because you have your own belief system and ideas of happiness. You fascinate me because you are not me. You and I have probably come from different backgrounds, ideology, and upbringing. I like Mavericks basketball; you perhaps like a different team. I love caramel, even though my teeth prefer I stay away from sweets. You probably love Twizzlers. I don't understand their taste. Look, we are different, but even with our differences, we are the same. Human. Red-blooded. I bet sometimes you are sad, frustrated, nervous. I bet sometimes you cannot explain your sadness or why you feel alone in a group of people. Like me, you probably wonder why there is so much chaos in the world. Why the races of the world are still at each others neck and why we, here in America, have not moved on from our racist past, and yes, I said the word racist. I don't want to sugar coat my words here. For so long it took me awhile to call myself a writer and then it took me many years to tell the truth, to say what I wanted to say. It has been a long journey to this point, and I don't plan on peddling backward. If I offend you, it's not my intention. However, the only words worth writing is the truth, how I see it, from my shoes and my perspective, not yours. That is what makes writing worth it for me anyways.

What I hope to give you is my faithfulness. I want to be faithful to the exploration process of articulating the world as I see it in kindness, truth, and humility. I want to be loyal through consistency. I don't have a posting schedule today, but I will come here often to merely speak and be spoken to with respect, remembering our shared humanity.

I want to explore everything, and with the Freedom app, a good cup of coffee and courage I will.

See you soon.

Update: The blog's title, Between the World and Me was made popular by my writer hero, Ta-Nehisi Coates but originated from the pages of Fire Next Time by the great James Baldwin. I use the phrase with respect for both writers. We all share this deep relationship between the world and ourselves.