A Personal Challenge: Two-A-Days

There is one goal that we should all move towards: self-improvement.

In my efforts, a thought struck me last night before I went to bed. It’s almost like the Two-A-Days that athletes go through to make sure that they are in top shape for competition. Well, my Two-A-Days involve reflecting on myself and taking a hard look at what I could have done to be a better person all around.

Essentially, this idea began as journaling twice a day. After I thought about it more today, I realized that this still kept me “closed off” from others and the experiences that they’ve lived (and are willing to share). With that being said, I will now tell you all what’s involved in my Two-A-Days!

 

To begin with, there will be some period of reflection in the morning and at night. The morning will consist of writing out my daily goals — doable things; at least four and one of those has to be outside of my comfort zone. It could be as simple as sitting in a different seat in my class or not bringing my laptop at all (I can’t think about how hard that would be for me or I won’t do it). Along with the goals, one must be slightly “out of reach”…one of those things that I didn’t think I’d be able to do (finishing a paper…at the very least, a rough draft or calling a long-lost relative). Four goals! Attainable…and worthwhile. I’ll also have a period of reflective writing, whether it’s simply a few minutes to write out how I’m feeling and why. This is to set the tone. Something to measure the progress in my day by.

 

The “evening workout” will consist of reading (because that’s what nerds do!) a book that I may not otherwise read. This actually began as personal down time in my evening and reading things that I liked. But then I thought to myself, “That’s NOT challenging…at all,” and decided to find books by people who’s beliefs are “fundamentally” different from my own. This way, I get to see what my “opponents” feel on issues and I also get the opportunity to examine why I hold the stance I do in the first place. This also comes with some reflective writing (because I like to write duh).

 

But anyway, as I’ve said before, I’m doing this to challenge myself and to grow. I want to look back a year from now at what I’ve written and say to myself, “I’m different. I’m better. I’m more at peace. I’m of sound mind.” Things like that.

 

All are invited to join!

 

“Because if you’re not becoming better, you really are just wasting space.” – My Grandpa

“I’m Not Hating But…”

I really can’t think of any other phrase I hate to hear more than this one (or any other variation of said phrase). To me, that’s exactly what you are doing. Anytime you have to announce a “disclaimer” along with a said phrase, odds are, that’s what you’re doing. Hmmm…are you still confused?

 

SAY THAT MESS AND I’LL DECLARE YOU A HATER!

 

That’s all she wrote….for now.

Just Let Me Speak My Peace

So, I recently felt compelled to write this blog because of current events that took place earlier today (Wednesday to be exact). After a few hours of dealing with issues, I took to my Twitter to tweet! I simply let out my frustration over the entire situation and since it was already after midnight, I wrote, “Thursday is going to be a horrible day.”

Someone, in trying to remain positive, told me that I shouldn’t write things like that. In all fairness to them, I understand their position. However, I’m a person that tends to hold a lot of things in…and sometimes, I get really frustrated. I let it out. I effectively vent.

See, whether or not people realize this, there is a time for everything. You can vent. You have that right. As a matter of fact, I think people should learn how to perfect that craft so that they too can let out their anger and frustration in a healthy way. I’m not saying, “Don’t be positive.” I’m not telling you to not look for your silver lining. No, I’m saying that sometimes you have to let that anger out with your words. If you feel that something is going horribly wrong, say so. Other people, namely your friends, will be there to offer those positive words and bring you back to your happy place. Even if you don’t have those people there to do that for you, trust me…you feel better.

See, what happens for me when I don’t vent is that I spiral deeper and deeper into a “bad” mood (my moods have degrees…it’s crazy). So, if I say to myself, “Things will work out” after something horribly dumb happens and it leaves me (for lack of a better term) pissed off, it usually doesn’t get better. I stub my toe, roll an ankle, forget an important assignment at home, etc., and my day continues to get worse. So, I’ve learned to vent.

Which leads me to the next thing that I want to say. I’ve come across people who’ve told me that I always seem to be angry. I can’t fault them for that. It’s what I project. See, when I began to blog, it was to come to a place where people didn’t know me and I felt comfortable enough writing about the things that bothered me or happened to me and left me confused. The more I began to write, the easier it became for me to say to myself and for myself, that “this is what went wrong and this is how I felt.” To some, I can see how I’m always “negative.” I would find myself in a defensive stance because I’m always the friend, in REAL life, to offer encouragement to someone. I’m the person that listens or offers a shoulder when someone needs to cry or to lend support. You know what happens when that kind of person doesn’t get those things reciprocated?

It all goes to hell.

So, I started to blog. I wrote and I felt better. I felt better because I would vent.

I said all of that to say this — if you don’t agree with what I write, you don’t have to comment. Just take your disagreement and keep it to yourself. If you don’t like what I’m saying when I’m obviously having a shitty moment, don’t say so…you’re going to make the moment “shittier.” If you would like for me to be more positive, then maybe you can say so…but I guarantee that if you really pay attention, you’ll notice when I start to feel better. I usually feel better. There is a 99.99% chance that I WILL feel better…so you don’t have to tell me to erase my negative thoughts.

I promise, I’m okay. I just need to speak my “peace.”

Until Further Notice…

…whatever I was writing about has been put on hold. Recent events that have taken place have been the push for writing this.

In the news today, I read a story about a young man named Derrion Albert. He was a high school student beaten by members of his community, who happened to belong to a gang. He died as a result of this (the event happened on Thursday). Now there are many issues that I have with this whole situation:

The first issue is that people in the community feel that they can’t live a life that is free from violence. People feel that it’s necessary to join a gang, or some group, for their safety and sanity. That scares me. Gangs promote violence and often operate with a mentality that is detrimental to a healthy and functioning larger community. Gangs, as we know them, promote fear and instability. No person should have to live through that and when communities are subjected to that, they suffer.

The second issue is that people feel they can’t tell. I know the reasons and the rationale behind why people choose not to. It’s understandable. Everyone doesn’t feel the way I do. I’d tell (I’ve done it before). There are some communities where some members enough grief, stress, and fear to the point that other community members just silently wish for better days and hope that their children are not caught in the crossfire.

But that’s not really what this post is about. No. This post is about the ignorance of people. On Twitter, I wrote a pulse and stated:

“There is especially one kind of person I don’t like in this world – one who CHOOSES to stay ignorant about the world around them.”

This wasn’t in reference to educational attainment (and I can see why some people may feel that way). No, this was about the people who live in communities where rage becomes the pulse of that place and dictates the actions of its members. The ignorant people I referred to are those who would readily tell someone to stop snitching or to hush someone else when asked if they’d heard about what happened to another person. These are the people who witness crimes, yet close their mouths and their minds when the police come to question. These are also the people who will offer their condolences to a family who is grieving over a family member lost in the violence.

I’ve taken this stance (and believe me, it’s not always easy to argue why a person needs to tell when they see wrong-doing) because of an experience I had when I was 10, almost 11. You never forget what it’s like to hear that a family member passed and their death was from the hands of someone else who wanted to play God for a moment (or make a point). You definitely don’t forget the image of the person who did it, if you witnessed it. You don’t forget how your Mother reacts to the news that her “only” son (who was actually her eldest child and was 16 years older than his next sibling) is gunned down because a “woman” was mad at him. You don’t forget the funeral. You don’t forget the condolences. You don’t forget the police. You don’t forget the depression. You don’t forget any of those things.

Most of all, the one thing that you don’t forget is that “life is not fair” or that he “was taken too soon.”

I remembered those lines from the wake. I remember how rigid my Mom became. I remember how cold the room suddenly felt. I remember wanting to scream and just ask the person how could they say that. A Mother lost her oldest child (a parent should never have to bury a child). Siblings lost their role model (he was our “Male” figure). Children lost a father (my nieces were young and I still see what this has done to them). A Wife lost her husband. I mean, I can go on and on about this…but I won’t. You all should get the picture.

But I think about all of that as I think about the family of Derrion Albert. I think about all of those things as I think about the community he lives in. I think about where I am now and I can only wonder if he dreamed of getting here. People don’t realize what happens when someone passes.

A void is left. A void that is unimaginable and may never be filled. Dreams are taken. Laughter is removed. A family is fragmented in the worst way.

My only hope, after all of this, is that something happens to restore the communities that Derrion Albert comes from to better places. Happiness needs to come back. Safety needs to come back. Peace, it definitely needs to come back. I just hope people take the necessary steps so that those things happen and another mother doesn’t lose a child to something so senseless.

This is an original work of Miss C. Jayne. © September 28, 2009.

Recognizing My Personal Bias

**Warning: This post IS controversial and highly prejudiced. No offense is meant. If you find yourself feeling that way, then you can respectfully post a comment.

In working through the program for my Master’s degree, I’ve come to realize a few things about myself. The biggest hurdle that I’m currently facing is one that is very personal in nature. But before I get into what this post is about, I’ll state a few facts:

1. I’m a Black woman.

2. I grew up in the inner-city (many times while homeless or in transitional housing) and I’ve made it this far because of teachers who pushed me forward.*

3. I am in my field to help students, more particularly students of color, succeed academically…so that it becomes the rule and NOT the “exception”.

Now that those truths have been stated, I’ll share my bias:

I’m in a cohort that is diverse by definition (racially) and a field that is highly politicized. When my classmates are discussing things in the classroom, I get this sickening feeling in my stomach. This feeling is something that I’ve been trying desperately hard to deal with and to even put it into words. Sometimes, I feel that I make sense, other times, I don’t. This feeling also only comes up when certain classmates speak on a topic. It’s my prejudice.

As a child who grew up in an “urban” center and who attended an “urban” and “disadvantaged” school, I feel quite ill when the discussions take place in the classroom. When I was younger, I began to notice the inequity that plagued our school system. During my 3rd grade year, I was invited to participate in a testing session to see if I would qualify for a scholarship to a private school that was in the same neighborhood as my elementary school. Until that invite, I assumed that the elementary school was in fact a college because the building was that nice. I scored high enough to be placed into a classroom and when my Mom asked if I wanted to go, I said no. There was something not quite right about the situation, but instinct told me that I didn’t want to be at that school. When I graduated from elementary school, I tested into a Magnet school for my 7th grade year (I didn’t graduate from this school however). The same thing happened when I graduated from Middle School and while I was proud of my school, I also recognized it for what it was — the lowest performing school in the city. For High School, I had the distinction and privilege of going to the best high school in the state.

This is when things became dicey. You see, during my elementary and middle school years, I’d attended all-Black schools (I kid you not, every student was Black). High School was a huge shock all around. Here, the kids had lockers. Here the kids didn’t walk through metal detectors. Here the kids did NOT have to eat inside of the cafeteria for lunch if they didn’t want to. Here the kids had books for every class that they took home, no paper copies. Here there were enough desks in every class. Here every kid was expected to succeed and they had no choice. If you didn’t do well, you were asked to leave. I don’t remember seeing a girl who was pregnant (maybe one) and I don’t remember there being a shooting or anyone ever being taken out during the day by the cops.  I don’t remember negativity. What I do remember is it being “white-washed”.

From the administrators, to the counselors, to the teachers, to the majority of the students. It was white. It was happy. It was the status-quo. Here you made it, even if you were a “student of color”. Anywhere else, you might have been the exception. Here, you were the rule.

That experience is taken with me everywhere. From being embarrassed in a French class because I forgot my homework on the bus that I had to catch at 6:40 am to being mistreated by a Biology teacher because I had to explain that I couldn’t take my work home with me (it was a project about worms). Both of those teachers asked something that I will never forget, “What’s wrong with you that you can’t keep up or do your work?” The better question would have been, “What’s wrong with you all that you don’t understand that not everyone lives in a house with a white picket fence?” I remember the very nice guidance counselor who did her best to help me complete my English homework (which always had to be typed) by getting me a computer. I also remember her disdain when I explained to her that I couldn’t afford the floppy disks (y’all it was old) to save my work on or a printer to simply print things out. I remember how everyone would praise my High School and I would remember how I wanted to go back to the schools that I’d come from. I wanted to go back to the teachers that were like me.

So what does this have to do with my bias, you wonder?

The classmates that usually rub me the wrong way are the White classmates. They are the ones who point things out about their schools and how great they are doing. They will juxtapose their schools and compare them to other largely “minority” schools in the district and tell you how much better their kids are doing. Now, I’m happy that someone is picking up the task of educating our children, but I always want to ask, “Why are you doing it? Why do you have to speak in that way?” They talk down to their classmates and strike below the belt in their comments (and I’m sure all of us do this). Many times, I feel that they are somewhat elitist. They remind me of the guidance counselor that I had who initially wanted to do some good, but then made me feel as though she knew what was best for me or that I wasn’t good enough. Hearing them speak in class about things, I can’t help but wonder if they truly understand their students’ experiences (as I’m sure they do, they are there enough). I can’t help but wonder if they bring that same, “I know better than you” attitude that comes across in the classroom to meetings with parents. I can’t help but wonder if they KNOW that they give off a sense of superiority.

Or maybe it’s just me.

Whatever it is, it bothers me. I sincerely appreciate their contribution to our society, but after living as a Black child in an impoverished life to grow into a Black woman in this time, it is very hard for me to listen to my White classmates (and sometimes other classmates) when they begin to talk about all of the good they are doing (look at the emphasis there). Maybe they don’t get that it’s a community? Maybe they don’t understand that the child’s aptitude plays a role? Maybe they really do believe that they can “save” a community of people not like themselves?

And that’s where my problem lies.

So, I’m working on this. Hopefully, I can work through this issue enough to speak up in class without feeling as though I’m going to say something HIGHLY inappropriate because there are many times that I want to. But most of all, my hope is that I can really see that they are good people (because they are) and that I’m able to digest their comments without taking any personal offense. Hopefully.

*That isn’t the only reason. I’d like to think that my faith has allowed me to come this far as well.

This post is an original work by Miss C. Jayne. © September 2009

The Things They’ve Said (What Will They Say, Part 2)

I’ve come to recognize when I’ve changed for the better. One thing that I’ve noticed recently is that I’m no longer concerned with the things that were once deemed important in my life (although some people around me still hold on to these things). I don’t worry about what someone said to someone else (I’m also not interested in what people have to tell me about other people, it actually disgusts me). I don’t care about what the person next to me is doing (unless they are endangering the community). Those things don’t concern me.

However, there is one thing that will always concern me – my reputation.

There is a quote out there that says, “You shouldn’t be concerned with your reputation, but your character. Your reputation is what others think of you while your character is who you really are” (or something like that).

I agree…and then I disagree.

Nothing has shown me more that your reputation directly influences your interactions with other people more than the events that have transpired in the past year. Roommate issues, I’ve had them. Organizational issues, I’ve had them. Personal issues with people I don’t know, I’ve had them (thank you Facebook, cue *eyerolling). Personal issues with people I know and love, I’ve had them. Losing family members and spiraling into some deep internal abyss, I’ve done it. There’s really nothing new in the arena of interacting with other people that surprises me.

My surprise comes along when I hear or read something about me that is not true. What’s (not so) funny about these situations are the sheer numbers of people who listen and believe what they are being told (the innocents, I can’t fault, especially if they don’t take the time to know me). In the past year, I’ve heard:

“She lies.”
“She’s fake.”
“She’s a bitch.”
“Don’t trust her.”
“She’s a hoe.”
“She steals money (or insert whatever else you can steal here).”
“She’s dirty.”

I’ve heard this, and more. Most times when things come back around to me, it’s negative. Not only is it negative, it’s hurtful. Especially since I can count ALL of the people that I hang/hung out with on one hand. I mean, I know people and I have friends and acquaintances that would total more than the digits on my hands. But my closest circle isn’t even enough to fill a “Top 8” on Myspace. Seriously.

This is why my reputation concerns me. It’s what the general public believes. It’s what I’m working against when I’m putting in the extra effort to seem sociable (which is a very hard task for me to do). It’s what I’m working against when I’m representing various organizations. It’s what I’m working against when I’m rushing across campus (or was rushing across campus) and people would speak and I would mistakenly not see their greeting. It’s what I’m working against when I’m trying to negotiate with people. It’s what I’m working against when I’m trying to have my ideas heard.

So, the fact is simply this:

You can be fooled into believing that your reputation doesn’t matter, I bet you won’t win a position you run for. You can be fooled into believing that your reputation doesn’t matter, I’ll bet that the first response you get from a random stranger who is acquainted with your name will not be something that you’d say about yourself. You can be fooled into believing that your reputation doesn’t matter, but that’s what people look at and base most of their decisions on.

Think I’m lying. Try this out – Start a malicious lie about yourself (this works better if you’re super involved in something in your community). See how fast it spreads. Wait a few weeks and attempt to make a new friend. I’ll put money that they’ll recognize whatever malicious foolishness you’ve started.

Since I’ve said all of that, I’ll finally tell why I decided to write this as part two. I was recently dealing with some frustration on an online account. I got the funniest response from someone and it basically said that they had heard that I was a bitch and what I was putting on the site confirmed their thought. The thing that initially made me pause (actually, it was a few things) was that they felt comfortable enough calling me a bitch. Okay. The next thing that concerned me what that I did NOT hang out with them. We knew similar people BUT we never ran in the same crowd. My folks kept to themselves and their people kept to themselves. We just knew of each other. Never mind the fact that I was involved in many community activities. Never mind the fact that I had a kind word for them when I spoke to them or saw them. Never mind the fact that this person asked for my advice once after sharing a problem with me and I gave sound advice. Never mind the fact that they couldn’t remember whom initially told them that.

Those things are irrelevant. The “fact” that they immediately recalled was that I was a “b*tch.” That came from my reputation.

So, I’ll let the people continue to talk. I just hope that they learn just how hurtful some things can be and how jaded some people become. The fact is that everyone will hear (at some point) something about themselves that isn’t true and may possibly be able to find out the source. When that happens, since I’m not them, I can’t even think of a possible ending. When I find out, that person loses so much respect from me. And that is something that you’ll never get back.

People. Just be careful about what you’re saying.

To be continued…

Saying “No No” to Espresso

For those of you who regularly read my blog, this will be a departure from my “thought provoking” posts that I usually publish. Instead, I feel it is my civic duty to remind you all about the dangers of drugs.

So, the Health Department and Friends have launched a campaign (it’s been going on for some years now) about saying “No!” to drugs and “Living Above the Influence.” In these campaigns, they bring to your attention drugs (controlled substances) such as marijuana, alcohol, and other ones that people regularly talk about (cocaine, heroine, and others). I think this is good. Great, actually, and very much needed.

BUT I THINK THERE IS SOMETHING MISSING!

So, before I go into my story, I would just like to give a brief disclaimer:

This is the real me. I joke. I make fun of things (that’s synonymous with joke). I actually like to find the funny in situations. With all of that being said, I DO NOT CONDONE DRUG USE OF ANY KIND! Unless, it’s a Love Drug (peace, y’all…not war)!!!

Now that I’ve gotten that out of the way, I’ll tell y’all about my time with the most powerful, fun, amazing, scary, detrimental drug known to man — THAT CHICK CAFFEINE!

I was “gone off”** of an espresso drink. It wasn’t even made the regular way either…what I had was an Espresso Lite.*** Here’s how it went:

I was sitting in the library, chatting with my Sorority Sister about my daily goals (by the way, none of them were reached). Then we both decided to stop chatting with each other because we had things to do. At this point, it is 12 Noon. So, I go on my merry way to find something to eat and drink (something affordable…which is hard to do when you are broke student who is sick of Ramen Noodles). I hit Thayer Street and for some reason, I had a slow moment and decided that Starbucks would be a good decision (This is the first clue that you have no business doing what you’re about to do — if you have to justify whatEVER it is, then just stop!). I also decided that “breakfast” would be the best thing to get because I hadn’t eaten anything since I’d been up. I also decided to “live on the edge” and order something I never do — a Caramel Macchiato (which is delicious, by the way). So, I place my order, get my food and drink, sit down, and enjoy it.

Right about 2:00, I decided that I had to make a move on campus. I had been at Starbucks now for 2 hours and I had to visit a Dean of the Graduate School before her office hours were over (she’s a real cool lady). So, I send a message to my friend that I was chatting with over AIM to say that I’d be back in 30 minutes. I also forgot to send a message to the other three people who I was chatting with…blame it on the Espresso folks. My eyes were getting jumpy at this point. Anyway, I gathered my things, walked across campus (which ISN’T that big), chatted it up with the Dean, and then went to the Library. Something in my soul told me that it would all be downhill from there:

It was only 2:15 pm (go ahead and laugh…this mess had me feeling like I was floating at this point). Anyway, I’m sitting in the library just….shaking. It was to the point that I began to giggle. Not worry…it didn’t scare me yet. It was just super funny. So, another 40 minutes goes by, and things just get more heightened. I felt enlightened and I was going down memory lane. At one point, I was consciously aware of AT LEAST 14 thoughts running through my head at once. I wish I could have typed them all out at the same time lol…but that’s not the point of this.

At this point, I actually wrote on Twitter:

MissCJayne: I had a drink with espresso & I’m jittery like a mother right now….lol. HELP! I’m bout to run though this library. I can’t sit still!!!!

YOU, yes you, reading this can laugh. It was funny. Then it all went downhill in a matter of minutes. As I’m sitting at my table, trying to look normal, I’m pretty sure that I did since no one reported me to library officials, this chick walks in and looks around for a place to sit. She walks over to my table and asks if she can sit down. I say, “Sure…go ahead” and clear space for her (that’s another reason I knew I was “high”…I had a table covered with my stuff. It fit four people and I was the ONLY person there). Then she sits down and I became paranoid. It didn’t help matters that she left after about 30 minutes leaving her laptop and taking everything else that she brought with her. This resulted in these tweets on Twitter:

MissCJayne: So, the chick sitting at my table left her laptop and took her bookbag. I’m bout to move. I feel like it’s a bomb.

MissCJayne: If something blows up at Brown Univ, the chick had shoulder length brown hair, she was about 5′2″, thin and she had a European accent.

MissCJayne: Okay, so I just realized that when I’m on espresso, I’m super paranoid. SUPER PARANOID!

The actual time between writing those tweets was seven minutes. In that time, I’d packed up my own stuff and alerted the proper officials at the Library Circulation Desk (I’m not a fan of the Stop Snitching Movement…I’m telling everything…and you can quote me!). Then I went across the street to see what would happen. Two cops showed up and I guess things were fine.

Okay, I actually KNOW that things were fine. I went back in and students were once again sitting at their respective tables/on couches and settling back in. The poor girl at my table looked so shaken…but I couldn’t help but tell. I was extra paranoid because of that drink.

So, I stayed at the library for another hour and then I’m not really sure what happened after that. I remembered feeling calm around 6:45 pm or 7:00 pm. Then I remembered going home around 10:00 pm. Then I remembered going to sleep around 11:45 pm. Then I remembered waking up around 5:00 am this MORNING because I just woke up. I had a horrible migraine and I actually felt like I was hung over. Class today was a struggle, I almost fell asleep in my first one and I really couldn’t participate in class two because I didn’t read anything during my “high moments” from the day before.

I’m still feeling a little “off” but I’ll bounce back in no time. I just wanted to bring attention to a drug that people often overlook…because well, it can be very serious. I mean, I almost had an international student sent home and all she went to do was use the bathroom (I STILL want to know why she took her bookbag and her purse and just left her laptop; she could have left that bookbag too???).

So, kids. The point of this, besides hopefully giving you a laugh, is that you all become aware of the danger that is caffeine. I’ve heard about people who are really addicted and I still tried it. As you can see, it wasn’t too great. So, I hope you all stick to herbal tea! Celestial Seasonings is a really good one…and they come with a coupon in EVERY box!

**gone off – to be under the influence of some substance.

***Espresso Lite – a drink in which the normal amount of espresso is reduced.

This is an original publication by Miss C. Jayne. As soon as I figure out how to do that copyright symbol, I will. Don’t steal my thoughts without giving credit. At my university, you get kicked out and are horribly shamed. I’m not so nice! lol

What Will They Say? (part 1)

**So, this isn’t necessarily a long post, I just can’t finish my thoughts in one sitting. So, I’ll add to it as I go along.

In this past week, I’ve thought a lot about life and the opportunities that we are presented with. I’ve thought about our interactions with other people and how we wield our influence. I’ve thought greatly about the impact that I wish to make in my life and hopefully, I improve the condition of other people. I’ve thought about my successes (thus far) and the goals that I’ve set for my future. I’ve thought about all that I want to do.

But the question that has plagued me since last year, September 13, 2008 to be exact, “What will people say about me?”

The question is not what they are currently saying about me. I’m not really concerned with that and I don’t really care. In the last year, I’ve learned that people are malicious and will speak a lot of untruths about you. I’ve learned that those people that you once held respect for can’t even respect themselves and simply can’t return that to you. I’ve learned that we often speak about the future as if it will always come.

In the past year, I’ve learned one lesson repeatedly: The “future” is quite possibly a tomorrow you may not see and the present is what counts.

The one thing that taught me this: Death.

So, in light of many people passing, family members and famous people alike, I’ve re-evaluated my current legacy and myself. It’s summed up in a great quote that my cousin has on her Facebook page:

“I know the date you were born is important and the year you pass will be noted; BUT what can people say about the dash (-) in the middle??? 7/5/1986 – ?”

This made me think about the family members that I buried this year and how everyone had great things to say about them. This also made me think about how some of the people who spoke had a hard time finding those great things to say. So, I began to think, “Why don’t we live our lives as though we’ll die tomorrow?”

We (humans) live as though we are invincible and that the final call for our final performance will never take place. We live as though our final tomorrow never comes. We live as though the wrongs we commit will not be brought to light. It’s sad actually because many of us are living existences that are empty and we think otherwise.

So, I began to think, “What will THEY say about me when I go?”

Because whether you believe it or not, the only time “they” really matter is when you leave. That’s when it’s noted whether or not you’ve been a person that has increased happiness or otherwise. In asking questions though, you have to think of possible answers, and that’s where this blog comes from. I’m not a famous person and I haven’t touched the lives of very many people, but I have touched the lives of important people. They are important simply because they are here.

So what should we do?

We should begin to live as though it’s all going to be over tomorrow.

To be continued…

Tired of Being Strong

On days like this, really bad days, I’m reminded of equally bad days from my youth. One in particular came to mind:

I was 9. At any rate, I was too old and too experienced to have done the extremely stupid thing that I had done today: lost my bus tickets (which were equal to exactly $3.00 in bus fare). The thing that made me most angry though (at myself) was that I would have to tell my younger brothers we were going to have to walk over two miles to our second bus stop, the one that dropped us off at the necessary stop that placed us on our bus to take us home. I could easily make the walk in an hour, but those two, being six and all, would not want to do it. I had managed to finagle an extra bus ticket from a classmate, so I could use 50 cents to buy them snacks. Too bad I didn’t know how long that was going to last. So, I asked my teacher for another dollar (and got an overwhelming lecture about responsibility) so I could afford at least another juice for them halfway between point A and point B.

3:15 (the time that we were let out) got to us just a little faster than I would have liked to. At that point, I had $4.95 cents. A classmate had given me a bunch of her “emergency” change (the change she saved up in case she and mom had to run from her dad) and I promised I would pay her back little by little with interest. At nine, I already understood how to play that game. I figured, I could give her $2.00 and that would be fine (which would take about 4 weeks to pay off). So, I went downstairs. I collected my brothers. We walked to our first bus stop which was conveniently located by a corner store and did what we did every other NORMAL day. We got snacks. Well, they did. The little busy bodies noticed, but I just said I wasn’t hungry. We paid our money and then we went outside. Except this time, I took one of their hands and we walked started to walk towards our Gentilly neighborhood from Uptown New Orleans. For the first 4 blocks, I just told them that this would put us closer to the Broad Express, at an easier stop, so that we could probably actually get on (I felt bad for lying). Four blocks later, the first brother was pissed off and rightfully so. Here he was at 6 having to walk because I couldn’t remember where a bus ticket was.

Blocks 7 and 8 (they trusted me enough to keep walking), both started to complain that they were sleepy. So we took a break. By this time, we were at another busy street, and like a panhandler, I started to ask for spare change. I explained to people that we lived in Gentilly and I couldn’t find my bus tickets. One man looked at me like I was scum of the Earth and made a quip about welfare babies and unemployed moms. It stung. We were on welfare, but my Mom had to work to keep us there. I told him that and that he was a mean old man, collected my brothers, and continued walking. I’m not going to lie. I distinctly remember that this was the time that I started to cry. I had to figure out a way to keep them wanting to walk and they weren’t having it. So, we waited at a bus stop and I had three buses close doors in our faces. By now, it was 4:30, my little digital watch told me this, and we should have been walking in our door and my Mother should have been getting a call at work about our safe arrival.

But we kept walking. I had to carry one brother who almost as big as I was in height, but not in weight, because he was starting to look a little weak (turns out he was too hot and he wasn’t getting enough water) and he was flushing. I’m trying not to panic while holding him. I figure, we have maybe 6 more blocks to go. I counted wrong.

At block 14, I realized we were just a little over halfway there. So, we stopped. I sat them on a bench and asked another lady for two dollars to buy them water. I explained to her that we were walking home and I’d lost the bus tickets. She asked how much would it cost for bus fare. $3.00 the first leg. She didn’t have three dollars. So, she gave me the two I asked for and I bought them water and we kept moving. By the time we got to our needed bus stop, it was 5:45 pm. No doubt I was in for THE ass whooping of my life.

We got on the bus and I realized that like a dummy, I miscalculated the amount of money that was needed to get home. I counted the transfer money as the amount and not the base bus fare. Panic set in pretty quickly. My brothers had already sat down and the bus driver made a move like he was going to put them off. I started to scream. Seriously. At nine, I wasn’t sure what to do in this situation. So, I started to scream and cry. My Mom, who’d waited at work until they put her out, was sitting in the middle of the bus and realized it was her kids who were being put off (this mean ass bus driver was really gonna put us off?!?!?) and paid our fare. She asked what happened and I hurriedly told her the same story that I’ve written out. I also asked that she not whoop me because it was an honest mistake and I wasn’t sure how I did it.

I wasn’t.

__

So, people. I’m now 23 years old. I’m attempting a graduate program at a University with very little help (financially) from the school. I want to go home. I want to give up.

The thing is, people keep telling me to be strong. I don’t want to be strong. I’m tired now. I don’t think it’s the bone-tiredness that women who’ve worked all of their lives talk about. It feels pretty damn close though. I just want to go home and sleep. I feel like I’ve always been strong and once, just this once, I’ve managed to dream a big that was finally bigger than me. You all can pray, just don’t tell me to pray. I’ve prayed every day. Maybe, I’m praying for the wrong thing. Maybe, I’m not praying hard enough. But the fact remains, I pray. So, if your advice is to pray, then you pray for me.

What I know though is that I’m tired of being strong.

Not Having Or Not Having What You Want

I’ve noticed something. It happens with me sometimes, and I’ve definitely seen it in a lot of my friends/associates. There is a bad habit that we have developed and I have my own theory behind why:

We say, “I don’t have [something],” instead of being honest with ourselves and saying, “I don’t have [something] because I can’t get what I want.”

There is a difference.

After a recent conversation with an associate of mine, I was asked what type of phone I had and I immediately thought of this issue. My reply was, “The one that calls people” (I used to say that I had a pre-paid phone, but everyone has an opinion on that subject, so I’ve changed my answer). I don’t need a device that takes pictures; I already own a digital camera (excess, I just “need” a camera). I don’t need a device that accesses the Internet; I already own a laptop with wireless capabilities (excess, I own a Mac). I don’t need a device that makes ringtones; I keep my phone on vibrate. I don’t need a device that also happens to play music; I already own an mp3 player (excess, I own an iTouch).

It would be nice to have a phone that did all of those things, but it is not necessary.

I thought I would start off with my own experience in “not having” something. I was angered when I was forced to get a pre-paid phone because I could no longer afford a contract with a cell phone provider. I mean, who has pre-paid anything?

That’s so poor.

Now, it’s been close to two years since I have the phone and it’s done its job. I have nothing to complain about really.

But back to my friends. I notice that we (my generation) have a habit of saying, “I don’t have something” or that “I can’t get something” when what we truly mean to say is that “I don’t have the ability to get the something that I want.” I think we stop short of speaking the truth because it does two things:

(1)    It reveals just how selfish we are as a person. Selfish! Other words that mean the same thing are self-centered, self-seeking, self-interested, egotistical, and egocentric.
(2)    It reveals how ungrateful we are as a person. Ungrateful! Other meanings include unappreciative, showing no gratitude, or unthankful.

These are two very dangerous things, especially if you have a belief in a Higher Power. It’s also very dangerous because it shows our true character, or rather that we lack character. And while it mirrors the selfish and materialistic society that we live in, it shows that we are unwilling to live a simple life as we are all called to do.

What I really want to ask my friends when they say things like this is, “When did it become more important to have a brand/model/make than to have that bare necessity taken care of” (Or is it really more important to have no phone versus that hot new phone? What happens if you are in a car accident and they reach for something to possibly notify your relatives?* You have nothing. You are unnamed and cannot be claimed)?

After all, these are things that we deem important, whether it be a phone, a computer, a car, clothing, etc.

But this has all led me to think about my childhood (and this is where the belief in a Higher Power ties in) and when I would shop someplace with my Mom. We were poor. We couldn’t afford much. Most times, it was just the bare necessities, but my Mom made things work. One year, I was going to the 6th grade and I wanted a NEW uniform. My Mom would purchase our uniforms slightly larger and then hem them to make them fit and since I’d always been short/small for my age and we’d always been strapped for cash, this worked for us. Well, I didn’t have a growth spurt of any kind from 4th to 6th grade, and I knew that this year my uniform jumper (which I’d had since the 4th grade) was just going to be turned into a skirt.

But being ungrateful, I knowingly asked my Mom if I could get a new skirt. Every other girl, I reasoned, would have a new skirt for school. My Mom explained to me that I already knew the rule and that since my uniform still fit, I would not be getting a new skirt. Besides, my brothers NEEDED new uniform pants (they always grew like weeds) and those were expensive as well. So, I sulked. I mean, I sulked! And being the parent that she is (she doesn’t like seeing her children upset), she caved and got me a new skirt.

I was excited. I had already made plans for the ribbons that I would wear in my hair on that first day, whether I’d wear the white socks with the ruffles or just the plain white socks, and how I would make sure my shoes were absolutely gorgeous (no scuffs whatsoever). I did this all before we left that store.

However, upon leaving the store, I quickly realized that I had no new school shoes. My Mom told me that she would get me a new pair when she got her next paycheck (that was after school started) and that I would have to wait and simply wear my shoes from the year before. Now, the shoes were in great condition (seriously, my Mom made us take our uniforms off immediately when we got home…so that made things last), but they were too small. I NEEDED new shoes. It didn’t take long to realize that I would have to make a “big girl” decision. I told her (5 minutes after leaving the store and while waiting on the public bus) that I would be okay with wearing my “mended” halter uniform because I needed the shoes and requested that we return the skirt.

She gladly obliged my request and as a treat, we stopped at Baskin Robbins for ice cream (granted we had to walk the rest of the way home…but who cares, we had ice cream!).

I said all of that to say this, if you are a believer in any Higher Power, then in that relationship, you probably look to your deity as a parent. Do you understand how a selfish, ungrateful, and materialistic child hurts them? That’s not what they teach you. We are not taught to only want the best or the most expensive at the cost of anything. No, we are taught to meet our basic needs and to live a life that is humble. We are taught that if we do these things, then all of our needs will be met and we would be able to enjoy the treats (extra goodies that are often surprises) that they have in store for us.

But we don’t do these things. We live a life of excess. In church and in the streets, we flash our cell phones, our vehicles, and other personal possessions and we say that this is a testament of the goodness of our God. Then we go home and we’re wondering why we can’t pay all of our bills on time. We send our kids off to school for their first day in new “kicks” (do people say that still?), and then we’re having candlelit family dinners because the lights suddenly got cut off. Or we have the newest (insert lavish vehicle here), but we’re in church wanting to be put on the prayer list because of potential repossession of the house we live in.

We are selfish. We think of our outer image more than we think of our inner spirit. We are ungrateful. We want everything better than our neighbor and we’ll do anything to get it.

So reader, pause.

Then think, “When was the last time you let your selfish character show without realizing it?” Then, you should think about the way that you can change this. Now is not the time to live a lavish lifestyle. Now is the time to live the life that you are called to live. The one that is written for you. The one that shows humility. This is especially important if you believe in a Higher Power. If not, then just do it because you’ll feel better knowing your bills are paid and you don’t have to want for anything.

Besides, you can’t take it (any material thing of this world) with you anyway.

I wrote this note because many of my friends are often my sources of support when I feel I need help with a situation. However, there have been many times that I’ve talked to them and some remark was made about how they couldn’t “live” a certain way or have a certain thing. These things are phones with contracts, cars, vacations that they should postpone but choose not to because they “deserve” it, or other things. What they don’t understand is that “words are some of the strongest tools we possess” (thank you L. G. Hawkins III for that quote). When they say these things to me, those tools then become devices that hurt. And they cut deep. My life may not be good enough to you but it’s the one that I have and if your asking for my advice, you don’t get how you’ve just insulted my hard work AND how far I have come.

Thanks but no thanks.

In the future, I ask that you keep all comments such as these to yourself.

Notes:
*Make sure you I.C.E. the people in your Contacts/Phone book that are important to you or that you would have officials notify in an Emergency. I.C.E. means In Case of Emergency and they will know what to do.