Bought Lessons

My dad used to exclaim, "Ain't nothing like a bought lesson!" I still have to fight the urge to sigh and roll my eyes even though this 31 year old version of LeKechia agrees. I have been "buying" lessons for a number of years now, and I must agree. There's nothing like a bought lesson.

Good Night, Sir

"Good night, Westley. Good work. Sleep well. I'll most likely kill you in the morning."

I Trust You

I cannot decode Fear. He was there when I took leaps that were ultimately reckless, devastating falls. He was there when leaping gave way to soaring. He coursed my insides as I learned that leaps can be beautiful, life-affirming, and neccessary. Back again, Fear is neither threatening nor disarming, and I wonder if He is affirmation or warning.

 ...Though it doesn't really matter.

I have lost faith in Fear, and I no longer trust Intuition, Logic, or Peace. I am not fearless. It is not instinctual. It may never make sense. And, I experience doubt and confusion every step of the way. But...When I reach the ledge, nothing will stop me from leaping. Fear will be there; He will course my insides like only He can. And, I will know this is a reckless, devastating fall and beautiful and life-affirming and neccessary.

Untamed | Glennon Doyle

The 90% Percent

"The remarkable thing is we have a choice every day regarding the attitude we will embrace for that day. We cannot change our past...we cannot change the fact that people will act in a certain way. We cannot change the inevitable. The only thing we can do is play on the one string we have, and that is our attitude...I am convinced that life is 10% what happens to me and 90% how I react to it. And so it is with you...we are in charge of our attitudes."

-Charles R. Swindoll

Free Fall

"My problem," she loathed to admit, "is that I prefer all or nothing. I am a most fearsome risk-taker. I cling to the fence until it is time to leap. Then I jump as if everything is certain." 

Good Lies

Last night I dreamt of that lover from a past life, the only one who will ever know me as wife. This was the second dream in as many weeks. What does his appearance mean? 

I chose him when I was 17 and married him at 21 yet I cannot remember how his skin smelled, lips felt, or the sound of his laughter. Parts of our life together are as fresh in my memory as yesterday, but he has faded. And, I didn't even try to remember.

No, this isn't lingering regret.

There is a piece of me that still craves normalcy. Naturally, he represents that; the time I tried to be good and do things as I should. I distorted his vision, and he saw all the markings of a future life. I contorted my being and forced myself into a lie. I needed normal. I wanted to be normal. He was my normal.

Normal equaled functional. It meant church on Sundays and a home where dad, mom, and children shared a last name. Normal demanded I swallow my passions, hide my natures, and parade in my skin as somebody else. For normal, I sat on closet floors and cried alone; I knelt at alters and prayed to atone; and I hated everyone who loved her.

But, here I am again romanticizing a life that fit me like noose. He is my mental picture of normal because a teenage girl willed him to be so. Fourteen years later, his apparition reminds the woman of what she secretly believed for years. "Good girls love good guys and live good lives. And, if it's all pretend, at least it's a good lie."

Cheers to 31 (Happy Birthday to Me)

I am managing a lot of change, and I have not handled it the best. While I typically look forward to getting older, I was stressing about turning 31. "30 was supposed to be a productive year, and I haven't accomplished anything."

The pity party was real, y'all. 🥴

On Tuesday or Wednesday, I decided to make a list of this year's progress. I was surprised that there was progress. Although everything did not happen as I wanted or planned, good happened at 30. Between September 2020 and September 2021:

I earned the most of my professional life.
I reduced my debt by over $7K.
I increased my assets.
I increased my credit score.
I decreased my weight and kept it off. 🙌🏿
I contributed to a travel fund.
I ziplined and rock climbed.
I walked more than ever. (I logged over 1 million steps per Fitbit, and that damn thing was broken for so many months throughout the year. 🤦🏿‍♀️🤪)
I visited my family for the first time since 2018.
I saw Azelynn and met Ariah and Azariah (my nieces and nephews).
I visited two states I never traveled to before.
I fell in love with Fredrik Backman and read/listened to many other books.
I joined the NRWA and started preparing for certification.
I was hired and paid to write resumes. (Technically, I am a paid writer. 🤯)

Good happened. I'm so grateful for all the people who are/were a part of my 30th year of life. I am grateful for these experiences. I am grateful for this progress. I am grateful for everyone who made me feel seen, loved, and valued on my 31st birthday. I am especially grateful for Karina and Tomi.

Cheers to 31! 🥂🥳🎉🎂 May good & progress continue to happen. 🤞🏿🙏🏿 

48

"May God bless and keep you always
May your wishes all come true
May you always do for others
And let others do for you
May you build a ladder to the stars
And climb on every run...

May you always be courageous
Stand upright and be strong...
May your hands always be busy
May your feet always be swift
May you have a strong foundation
When the winds of changes shift...
May your heart always be joyful
May your song always be sung
And may you stay forever young"

-Bob Dylan

31

It was just like a movie. It was just like a song. My God, this reminds me of when we were young. Let me photograph you in this light in case it is the last time that we might be exactly like we were before we realized. We were sad of getting old; it made us restless...

Oh, I'm so mad I'm getting old; it makes me reckless.

- When We We're Young | Adele

Acceptance vs. Suffocation

I need room to be all of me.

So, let me breathe. Allow me to be.

I am home to curiosities,

Id​i​o​syn​cra​sies, and deficiencies.

Eventually, you will see

As I cannot hide perpetually.

If you cannot live with all of me,

Set me free. Allow me to breathe.

A Loss I Feel

I thought, "Stocks are on sale today."

And, I smiled.

It was good to hear your voice.

Even in my imagination,

Your influence lingers.

Your perspective still gives.

Your friendship is cherished.

You are still missed.

Ap​por​tion​ment

I was unsound before You; You are not to blame for my madness. I knew depression before You, and You're not at the root of my sadness. I was on the fence before I met You. No, You did not force me to leap. I was here before our paths crossed, so You are not liable for me. I am responsible for my madness, sadness, and leaps, but You created this need. And, it is for You alone. it is for You alone. 

Inglorious | Imagine Us In Glory

Babies

Laughter

Rainbows

&

You

Sunshine

Books

Hope

&

Me

We

Are

Among

The

Beauty

Even in our brokenness

Even with our chaos

Even though we are flawed

Even if we stay lost

Phantom

"As it is, I can’t settle, I want someone who is fierce and will love me until death and know that love is as strong as death, and be on my side for ever and ever. I want someone who will destroy and be destroyed by me."

- Jeanette Winterson | Oranges Are Not The Only Fruit

Wondering in the Dark

I read that God is not the author of confusion. I heard that the devil lives in details. I wonder if this constant state of flux is divinely inspired or a living hell. I once felt it would all make sense; today that smells like religiosity and bullshit. For the life of me I cannot see the connections, and I need the context for peace. What happens next? I wish I could say. As for me and my mind, confusion continues its assault on clarity. And I am both conspirator and casualty.

happier

I hope you're happy just not like how you were with me. I'm selfish. I know. I can't let you go. So, find someone great, but don't find no one better. I hope you're happy, but don't be happier. - Olivia Rodrigo

Where do we all go?

Another day, another sin
Another day I'm late again
Oh, just like that my money's spent
Where did it all go?
Another night, another heart
Another one leaves in the dark
And I'm searching for my counterpart
Where did they all go?

And I lock every single door
And I look behind me even more
Now turned into someone that I swore
I would never be

I wish I could go back to playing barbies in my room
They never say that you gotta grow up, quite this soon
How fast things change
And now I'm here, and all I wanna do
Is go back to playing barbies in my room

And I see it on my father's face
Another line that comes with age
I know that time will have its way
Where did it all go?
They say that things were simple then
Although I don't remember when
I wanna know what happens next
Where do we all go?

And I lock every single door
And I look behind me even more
And now turned into someone that I swore
I would never be

Oh, I wish I could go back to playing barbies in my room
They never say that you gotta grow up, quite this soon
How fast things change
And now I'm here, and all I wanna do
Is go back to playing barbies in my room

Pink canopies and grass-stained knees
Putting fireflies in a jar
Getting home before it's dark
Scotch-taping posters on my wall
Rolling pixie sticks to smoke
Couldn't wait 'till I was older

And I wish I could go back to playing barbies in my room
They never say that you gotta grow up, quite this soon
How fast things change
But now I'm here, and all I wanna do
Is go back to playing barbies in my room
Back to playing barbies in my
Oh, I wish that I could go back
I wish that I could go back
I wish that I could go back
Back to playing barbies in my room

-Barbies | P!nk

I hope that you're okay.

And somehow, we fell out of touch
Hope he took his bad deal and made a royal flush
Don't know if I'll see you again someday
But if you're out there, I hope that you're okay

...

Does she know how proud I am she was created
With the courage to unlearn all of their hatred?
We don't talk much, but I just gotta say
I miss you and I hope that you're okay

...

Well, I hope you know how proud I am you were created

With the courage to unlearn all of their hatred

But, God, I hope that you're happier today

'Cause I love you

And I hope that you're okay

-hope ur okay | Olivia Rodrigo

Buried Wishes

The little girl I long to carry

The island I long to see

The book I long to write

The languages I long to speak...

You are among these

The Anxious-Avoidant Trap

When she is humble, he wants a savage.

When she's savage, he wants a lady.

When he clings, she pushes him away.

As he withdraws she wants him available. 

When she is quiet, he talks freely.

His words are sparse when she requests conversation.

When she is ready for war, he calls peace.

He picks up arms as she declares an armistice. 

They are in a cycle of mutual exacerbation,

So their relationship is filled with agitation.

They are not Yin and Yang, 

Complimentary opposites.

They deadlocked –

In conflicting attachments.

Unnecessary Insult: Kechia is a not dirty word.

When I was 11 years old, someone I admired said to me, "Every Keshia I know is a hoe."

A year or so before this proclamation about Keshias' promiscuity, I heard a most explicit song by rapper, Lil Wayne. Its title and subject was about a girl named "Kisha." My name kept cropping up in derogatory ways. The connotation of Keshia was negative, and I, as a little girl, internalized the messages. I felt shame about my name. It translated into shame about my being.

"Kechias," the little girl me reasoned, "are ghetto hoes. Am I ghetto? Am I hoe?" At 11 years old, I was having an identity crisis in silent intensity. "Names matter." This message was sealed in my young mind through religious teachings. "Abram became Abraham. Jacob became Israel. Saul became Paul. And, I am a Kechia." This, couple with things I will not detail yet, meant I was fucked.

It took me a long time not to want to be an "Anne" or "Emma" or "Susan." For years I was hyper concerned about being perceived as ghetto. My code-switching was exacerbated by a belief that I had to work extra hard to suppress my name-imposed nature. The impact on my fears and beliefs concerning my sexuality is another conversation for another day.

Gosh, the 11 year old me dealt with shit on top of shit. If I could travel in time and convince her she is not utterly defective, I would. Since I cannot, I will correct you with a rebellious, determined ferocity EVERY. SINGLE. DAMN. TIME.

"It is LeKechia. No, it's pronounced Lee-Kee-sha. Correct; it is spelled with ch, not sh. Yes, that is an upper case K. Yes, you may call me Kechia."

Am I ghetto? I can be.
Am I hoe? That is subjective.
Am I doomed? Nope. Baby, I'm destined.

P.S.:
(1) Please, I beg of you, be the information gatekeeper for your children. Ask probing questions. Have age-appropriate, but honest conversations. Little humans go through real shit too! They need our help making sense of this intractable world.

(2) Fact-check the people your kiddos admire and correct them as necessary. Your child's hero may be an asshole.

(3) From the ratchet and obscene to the poetic and cerebral, I love rap, but messages matter. The rap I grew up listening to ridiculed my name, devalued my complexion, and undercut self-esteem. Kat Williams sentiment don't apply to minors. (You know what I mean if you know what I mean. 🤷🏿‍♀️) 

Healing is a process.

Is there a poignant way to admit you have a strained or nonexistent relationship with you father? Is there a compassionate way to say you harbor resentment, anger, or indifference towards you father? Is there a way to not risk vulnerability with regards to a father you may feel has not earned your trust? 

Today is Father's Day, and likely you reflected on your relationship with your father regardless of the health of that relationship. Perhaps, if you were willing to risk vulnerability, you would may vocalize feeling triggered. Because no matter how you rationalize or accept what is, part of you, however small, wonders what it would be like if things were different. 

I know because I know. I have a strained, nonexistent relationship with my father. I harbor varying degrees of resentment, anger, and indifference. I am afraid to risk vulnerability with my father. And, I know that these things impact me on real and meaningful levels. 

I am not a mental health professional, clergyman, or parent. I am a woman whose experiences as a daughter impact the way I exist and move in this world in both good and bad and large and small ways. I know that it does not serve me to rehash negative experiences or reenact them. I know that forgiveness, as cliche as it reads, IS a gift I give myself. I know that acceptance while difficult at times is a weapon in my wellbeing arsenal. I know that setting boundaries is ESSENTIAL as is managing expectations and addressing thought distortions. 

I am saying all of this to say that it is my firm belief that articulation is medicine, and I wonder how many people cannot find the words to say how they feel today. I wonder how many people are waffling between sadness and anger. I wonder how many people feel rejected, abandoned, unseen, and/or unlovable. 

To those of us with strained or nonexistent relationships with our fathers, I would like offer Daniel Beaty's words. "Yes, we are our fathers' sons and daughters, but we are not their choices." Let us change what we can change. Let us create connections that nourish us. Let us create lives that honor us. Let us love ourselves without condition or negotiation. Let us forgive knowing that we are deserving of the freedom forgiveness encompasses. Let us heal with awareness that we are worthy of wholeness.

Check out Daniel Beaty's powerful poem and recitation: 

https://youtu.be/RTZrPVqR0D8

Fidelius Charm

Will you be my Secret Keeper? There are parts of me only you can know. Will you hold my hidden madness? I entrust you with this unseen show. Will you be sacred space where performance ceases and being begins? I've lied too long, but now I want to unearth the truth within. Please be my Secret Keeper because I need this release like I need you. If you are my Secret Keeper, I promise to confide in you. I will bring everything and bear it all.

And both are true...

On Saturday, I saw an 8 year old cousin. I greeted Veah as one greets family, and she said, "Who are you?" I held this little girl when she was a baby, and she did not remember me. What followed her initial question was a hilarious conversation that could be summarized by Veah's assertion that I was a "stalker" because I know so much about her and she has no clue who I am. 

I laughed. I wanted to cry. I thought, "Time can be a bitch."

Today, I greeted my 84 year old Grandma as a granddaughter greets her grandmother. I asked, "Do you know who I am, Grandma?" She could not remember me. What followed my question was my name and statements about my relation to her. She held me when I was a baby, and I told her my name.

We sat. She fell asleep. I cried. I thought, "Time is a bitch."

I know that consistent contact with my nieces, nephews, and little cousins can help them remember. I know that I cannot prevent my Grandmother from forgetting. I also know that it is the privilege of lifetime to be loved well, deeply, and hard by a Grandmother. How privileged am I? How privileged are all the Gray grandchildren? 

My Grandmother naps as I sit and write. I laugh. I cry. I think, "Time is a gift." 

Thirty Years' War

Have you ever looked in the mirror and mourned your reflection? Have you ever experienced an inner dialogue so painfully critical and unloving that you brought yourself to tears? Have you ever wondered, in panic and fear, if you will ever reconcile with yourself? Have you ever sat in the bathtub, shower on, wishing you could wash away your sorrows and self? Have you ever lived with depression so long that life felt like a sentence, punishment for being? Have you ever longed for relief from yourself? The experience of being this person in this body with these thoughts and feelings makes every time I laugh a miracle. Everyday I am here is a rebellion against an insidious, mocking darkness that constantly threatens to engulf my entire world. There is the me you all see, and there is the me that only I know. She walks through hell and battles ferociously for my soul. One day, when I am better, I will hold that battered, brave, beautiful warrior in my arms and thank her for believing my life is worth saving. Today, she cannot end this 30 year war, and today, she will not let me surrender. Today, she battles for us, and I have an inexplicable faith that she will not lose. That look in her eyes is more than resolve and fury; it is certainty. She is fighting like hell. She will fight to life, and she will not lose.  

Red

And another one bites the dust

Oh, why can I not conquer love?
And I might have thought that we were one
Wanted to fight this war without weapons

And I wanted it, I wanted it bad
But there were so many red flags
Now another one bites the dust
Yeah, let's be clear I'll trust no one

You did not break me
I'm still fighting for peace

I've got thick skin and an elastic heart
But your blade it might be too sharp
I'm like a rubber band until you pull too hard
I may snap and I move fast
But you won't see me fall apart
'Cause I've got an elastic heart

I've got an elastic heart
Yeah, I've got an elastic heart

And I will stay up through the night
Let's be clear won't close my eyes
And I know that I can survive
I'll walk through fire to save my life

And I want it, I want my life so bad
I'm doing everything I can
Then another one bites the dust
It's hard to lose a chosen one

You did not break me
I'm still fighting for peace

I've got thick skin and an elastic heart
But your blade it might be too sharp
I'm like a rubber band until you pull too hard
I may snap and I move fast
But you won't see me fall apart
'Cause I've got an elastic heart

I've got thick skin and an elastic heart
But your blade it might be too sharp
I'm like a rubber band until you pull too hard
I may snap and I move fast
But you won't see me fall apart
'Cause I've got an elastic heart

I've got thick skin and an elastic heart
But your blade it might be too sharp
I'm like a rubber band until you pull too hard
I may snap and I move fast
But you won't see me fall apart
-Cause I've got an elastic heart

I've got an elastic heart.

-Sia | Elastic Heart

Do I move you?

You wear consistency like a badge of honor. I brandish pride like a weapon. You do not deviate or bend. I am erratical and feeling. I say too much. You never seem to say enough. You are maddening to me mostly because I have no idea if I madden you.

"The opposite of love is not hate, it's indifference." -Elie Wiesel

Neither alone nor forgotten...

Mother's Day 💐

As both a daughter and a woman, I have given motherhood considerable thought. I have concluded that motherhood is not a function of womanhood. (We can be complete as women without being mothers.) It is also not a function of the ability to birth children. Just like the many paths to becoming a mother, motherhood itself is complex and nuanced; communal and unique; commonplace and miraculous.

It seems to me that motherhood is a state of being that encompasses a lifelong committment to learning, understanding, loving, guiding, and nurturing another soul throughout that soul's journey on Earth. Unlike many human relationships, the relationships between mothers and their children lack even the expectation of reciprocity. Mothers generously give of themselves. They are fully invested in their children, and it is an altruistic endeavor.

I think I am most fascinated by this because mothers are human. They are flawed. They have their own journeys and struggles. They have complex histories and hopeful futures. Mothers have to simultaneously live life and impart instructions for living. Often children lack awareness of and compassion for this feat. Often we forget that mothers are people; they are neither superhumans nor demigods.

And this is the truly remarkable thing. 

As flawed and messy as humanity is and, by extension, mothers are, they still possess this incredibly deep capacity for love, generosity, connection, compassion, teaching, and a myriad of other beautiful, divine things. It is a joy to witness, and I hope it brings you so much continued joy in your motherhood experience. This Mother's Day please channel even an ounce of that love, generosity, and compassion towards yourself. You deserve it. 

Happy Mother's Day! Thank you for being a good human and raising good humans.

April Bookclub!

Our bookclub met today to discuss The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue by V.E. Schwab. I was so excited for this discussion because I LOVED this pick and wanted to unpack my thoughts and feelings about the read as well hear what my friends thought and felt. This was an alfresco meeting with a mural and sunshine as our conversational backdrop, and it was just wonderful. Bookclub, like the act of reading itself, is a salvation and obviously from the gods who answer during day. (Yes, I'm shading Luc [whom I adore, by the way] and referencing Addie LaRue. 😎😜) There are so many activities to enjoy with friends, and diving into the pages, coming up for air, and discussing the experience is among the best. Cheers to more lit reads with lit friends. P.S.: We put the LIT in LITerature. #welit 😉📚

The Lies I Long to Keep

I wish I didn't know what I know. I wish I could refute myself and advocate for you. I wish, but the Knowing is growing more aggressive and persistent. It wants me to understand and accept. It wants to live in my awareness like a welcomed guest even though I resent its presence with every fiber of my being. I want to wish Knowing away, and it refuses to leave me. I never asked you the question because I did not want the confirmation. If that isn't cowardice, I am unsure that I could recognize bravery. I ignored the truth, so I could cling to this breath-to-life fantasy, and my god, it was good. If that isn't foolishness, I am unsure that I could recognize wisdom. That I would reject Knowing to have this lie with you is telling, but I am still not ready to listen.

Restless

It is 2:11. Moments ago, I was rudely awakened by co-conspirators: heat and nightmares. I got out of bed, turned off the heater, and removed my socks. Now, I am lying here, chilled and unsettled. "It was only a dream." I remind myself, and of course, I am right. It was only a dream. There is no cause for alarm, and it strikes me. It's not the terrifying dream that has me in a frightened state; it is the realization that I cannot call you for reassurance. You will never say to me "it was only a dream" again. You will never calm me again. You will never be my tether back to reality again. You will never coax me from my mind again. I cannot reach for you first and immediately again. It is 2:30. I am writing a poem you will never read. As exposed as I am when I write honestly, in this moment I am not as vulnerable as I'd like to be. If I were truly brave, I would call you right now and tell you about the heat and nightmares that woke me. You would discern my obvious and subtle meanings. Because you know me so well, you would know that I neither want to be prideful nor brave, and you would allow me to just be honest about the heat and nightmares and my fears of losing you. It is 2:41. Maybe just knowing this will be enough. Maybe.

Word Weaponry II

"Damn." I think to myself afterwards. While I appreciate your particular brand of honesty, it still pushes against me like a violent gust of wind. In this moment, I am no longer ample form. I am a feather, and your words carry me away. Up. Up. Up. I am primed for a drop, and just as I can taste the venom in your speech, I can see you go alarmingly still. This descent was inevitable. I love that you never tell me what I want to hear, but your truth still hits me like a mighty blow. I am imbalanced and breathless and trying to make it all make sense. My world goes out of focus. I am grappling to stay conscious and on my feet. I cannot stifle the ringing in my ears. I'm slipping. Down. Down. Down. I am primed for a fall, and just as I can hear the contempt in your voice, I can see you sidestep my outstretched hands. This defeat was unstoppable. "Damn." This time, I say it aloud, and I do not care if anyone overhears. Here I am, going to pieces in plain view. Your words accost me over and over and over, and I wonder if this is by strategy or chance. I wonder if my pain is comparable to your disappointment. We inflict ourselves on each other. It used to be a scintillating madness; now it is just debilitating chaos. I reel from your words, and you recoil from mine.

Truth-Value

We blur the lines so much so that I cannot define if this freedom or madness. While I am aware free is not an an​to​nym of insane, I lack the linguistic depth to say this any other way. You and I? We are either liberated or out of our fucking minds. 

noun

truth-val·​ue

 | \ ˈtrüth-ˌval-(ˌ)yü  \

: the truth or falsity of a proposition or statement

Will Smith

How To Train Your Mind To Get What You Want

...Your mind has to be wildest, freest place where you have where you have everything you ever dreamed.

You always have to keep a stash of one more go.

Your own mind stops you in places that the world is going to move out of your way.

Don't ever let somebody tell you you can't do something...You want something? Go get it. Period.

Let your mind go fully to the impossible dream...Put the pieces where you want them.

Amgleshia Is Smarter Than Me

When we were children, she was my best friend. We fought...physically fought. I have a tattoo on my inner arm. Underneath the word "amor" is a feather-shaped scar. Amgleshia and I had a fight in the driveway near Solomon's car. The car's antenna was broken. Somehow, I stabbed my arm on the broken antenna. When I look down and see the scar with literal love overlapping it, I think of her. More than fight, I remember sitting in the gravel hugging and crying afterwards. 

Amgleshia is braver than me. 

I read Harry Potter at 28. She read it when we were children. She read lots of books. She was a good student. Like I said, she is smarter than me. I remember when our paths first started to diverge. She was dripped in perfect chocolate skin. A shape and curves found her while chubbiness clung to me. She could run and joined track. She could dance and joined Flashes. Boys noticed her. This shy, quiet, beautiful girl was shedding her shell. I was so damn jealous. I was so damn proud.

Amgleshia is stronger than me. 

People who do not know her have their opinions. Hell, even us who know her well have had things to say. We see a single black woman with five children and say and think all the accusing things people say and think of each other. Either we do not know or forgot about the little black girl who was willing to fight a man for her mother; the little black girl who was fought and cut down by her mother; the little black girl who was othered by her father. Perhaps, even if we knew every single detail of her life, our judgements would still be final... 

Amgleshia is more resilient than me. 

She heard them. She lived with the disappointment others while managing her own. She had to two choices: fight like hell or break without recovery. She's been fighting like hell every day of her life, so she did what she knows best. She does what she knows best. She rebelled. She chose to fight like hell, bend beyond capacity, and refuse to break. She has been bombarded with abuses, insults, dislike, contempt, rumors, and disparagement. She has to nurture, provide, guide, survive and repeat. She has to balance black womanhood with single motherhood and stretch herself beyond capacity every single damn day. 

Amgleshia is no different from me.

We are from the same town and family. Our childhoods and memories overlap. We were each other's first best friends. We slept in the same bed, borrowed clothes, buried secrets, fought each other, and been willing to fight for each other. We are not the same girls who fought in the driveway over only God know what. Time and physical distance has created literal and figurative space between us. This space has provided perspective for me. Amgleshia is no different from me...except that she is smarter, braver, stronger, and more resilient.

Us Against You | Fredrik Backman

I just finished reading Us Against You, the sequel to Beartown, by Fredrik Backman. Wow. Just wow...This is the sixth book I've read by this author, and I will read and recommend Fredrik Backman's books for years to come. Us Against You, like Beartown, Anxious People, A Man Called Ove, My Grandmother Asked Me to Tell You She's Sorry, and Britt-Marie Was Here, is a tour de force in humanity. What he does as a writer is not only provocative it is evocative. Harper Leee wrote, "You never understand a person until you consider things from his point of view...until you climb into his skin and walk around in it." Backman is a fabulous writer. He is obviously creative and talented, but what makes his works especially masterful is his ability to climb into others' skin, walk around in it, and create characters that authentically speak from their perspectives. He makes us understand and feel understood.

Tonight, I laughed, cheered, mourned, broke, and mended with Beartown and its residents. I understood, and I forgave. What a gift for an author to give to a reader.

Us Against You | Fredrik Backman

The complicated thing about good and bad people alike is that most of us can be both at the same time. It’s so easy to place your hope in people....

To think that the world can change overnight. We demonstrate after an attack, we donate money after a disaster, we lay our hearts bare online. But for every step forward we take, we take an almost equally large step back. Seen over time, every change is so slow that it’s barely visible when it’s happening.

Us Against You

It’s hard to care about people. Exhausting, in fact, because empathy is a complicated thing. It requires us to accept that everyone else’s lives are also going on the whole time. We have no pause button for when everything gets too much for us to deal with, but then neither does anyone else.

Be honest with yourself.

Lying bed, somewhere between conciousness and sleep, she heard herself say to the darkness, quiet, and sheets, "Maybe I do miss being held." 

Perhaps I am miraculous too...

Yesterday, while walking home, I stopped to appreciate the beauty that has bloomed all around me. Today, while reflecting on the intricacies of being human, I am stopping to appreciate the beauty that will bloom and the beauty that is blooming within me. Life is unbelievably hard for everyone in different and similar ways. Life is inexplicably beautiful to all in different and similar ways. There is darkness and light. There is wilting and blooming. And, somehow we, all of us, you and I continue to be through it all. 

Trevor Noah | Born A Crime

"He’s like an exotic bird collector,” she said. “He only wants a woman who is free because his dream is to put her in a cage.

Actual Resolution > Mock Repentance.

I am tempted to apologize. I am sorry sits heavy on my tongue, chiding and unrelenting. I've said those three words hundreds of times. I am sorry. I am sorry. I am sorry. My apologies were more description of being than evidence of contrition. They expressed regret for who I am as opposed to my decisions. They were more martyrdom than accountability. I am sorry. I am sorry. I am sorry. I was liberal with apologies and scant with forgiveness. The outward graciousness with inward hypocrisy only exacerbated the apologies frequency until saying I am sorry was as involuntary as breathing. I am sorry...Automatic and insincere...I am sorry...Automatic and insecure...I am sorry...Automatic out of fear... I am tempted to apologize, but I will not. 

The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue

She stands there until she realizes she is waiting. Waiting for someone to help. To come and fix the mess she’s in. But no one is coming. No one remembers, and if she resigns herself to waiting, she will wait forever. So she walks...

The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue

For every shadow, there must be light. Perhaps the darkness has an equal...

The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue

Being forgotten, she thinks, is a bit like going mad. You begin to wonder what is real, if you are real. After all, how can a thing be real if it cannot be remembered? It’s like that Zen koan, the one about the tree falling in the woods. If no one heard it, did it happen? If a person cannot leave a mark, do they exist?

The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue

...it is sad, of course, to forget. But it is a lonely thing, to be forgotten. To remember when no one else does.

The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue

No, Adeline has decided she would rather be a tree, like Estele. If she must grow roots, she would rather be left to flourish wild instead of pruned, would rather stand alone, allowed to grow beneath the open sky. Better that than firewood, cut down just to burn in someone else’s hearth.

The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue

The old gods may be great, but they are neither kind nor merciful. They are fickle, unsteady as moonlight on water, or shadows in a storm. If you insist on calling them, take heed: be careful what you ask for, be willing to pay the price. And no matter how desperate or dire, never pray to the gods that answer after dark.

Know Thyself

Sometimes, I think it is difficult for people to grasp how painful, traumatic, and life-altering divorce is for the once married individuals. Even if there are no children involved, divorce is still painful. Even if there was no infidelity or abuse, divorce is still traumatic. Even if it was ultimately the best decision for all parties involved, divorce is still life-changing.

I do not have any qualms with marriage. When I say, "I cannot see myself remarrying," I do not mean I cannot see myself in a mutually monogamous, long-term committment. I am definitely not shitting on marriages. I think healthy, loving marriages provide secure, beautiful bases for individuals and families.

I made a promise ("til death do us part" along with many other things) to someone that I could not keep. Now, I am cautious about the promises I make and the commitments I enter into. It is not from a place of disparaging the institution itself or the individuals who enter my life and may want a future with me. This is not projection or transference. For me, it is knowing myself, and I hope that it is also wisdom.

I do not wish to be divorced again in this lifetime. Perhaps, I should say that as opposed to "I cannot see myself remarrying." One of the fundamental ways that divorce and its aftermath changed me is that it changed my acknowledgements and questions.

There are good partners.  Am I ready to be a good partner? There are quality, loving spouses. Am I ready to be a quality, loving spouse? There are healthy marriages. Am I ready to help build a healthy marriage?

I am not inquiring about my future capacity and potential that may or may not manifest. I try to task myself with seeing whether the person I am today can answer yes to those questions. Unfortunately, in all candor, as of today, I cannot.

Experience has a way of making us more honest. I bumped my head a time or two, and I learned one of the hardest things I have ever learned, accepted, or admitted. "I am the common dominator."

What I envision for the future is beautiful to me. It includes a healthy, loving mutual monogamous, long-term partnership. It includes children even if I do not birth them. It includes a healthy, stable home filled with love, openness, laughter, and understanding. It includes family and friends. It includes lots of books, music, travel, concerts, etcetera. It includes a career that I enjoy. It includes answering yes to all of those questions.

I cannot force this vision to come to fruition right now. I still have so much work to do. For now, I just desire not to lose sight of the life I always knew was possible while living in the present with contentment, gratitude, and progression. I have so much to clean up, discard, unlearn, and relearn. I cannot say who I will be at the other end of this. I know, at this time, I cannot make lifelong promises. 

Beartown II

Words matter. 

I have always believed this. Maybe the belief stems from my religious socialization. ("The power of life and death lies within the tongue.") Maybe it is my deep love of music, lyrics, and poetry. Maybe it is because my biggest dream is to write a book that impacts others in powerful, beautiful, remarkable ways. Maybe it is because I have been impacted by the words of others in powerful, beautiful, remarkable ways.

On more than one occasion, reading literally saved my life. 

When a book moves me, both the woman and little girl within me, it is a visceral thing. It is the words. It is the human experience, humanity, or lack thereof. It is seeing myself - beauty and flaws - within characters. It is seeing everyone else - beauty and flaws - within characters.

I am reading Beartown. At my desk, listening to the audiobook as I work, unable to stop tears from falling; rage from rising; and feelings of sadness, heartbreak, compassion, and fear for these fictional characters, children, and families and this fictional town, I thought, "Shit, maybe kids shouldn't read this. I am 30 fucking years old." 

But I listened on...

When I was a freshman or sophomore in high school, my English teacher, Mr. Curtis, told me "Pathos, LeKechia. Make them feel something" as we discussed the writing portion of the standardized test. That was the high I looked for in every read. "Make me feel something." As I matured as a woman and reader, I wanted to do more than feel "something." Now the goal is to understand deeper. 

Perhaps, this too is my religious socialization. "In all thy getting, get an understanding..."

I am at chapter 37 of this 50 chapter book. There are only 4 hours and 4 minutes left in this 13 plus hour listen. I am on my lunch break writing this. I have to finish Beartown, and I will today. 

This book should not be banned from any school. Young people do not need to be protected from its pages. No! We need to read. We need to discuss. We need to understand, and most importantly we need to CHANGE our attitudes, values, and culture.

Afterall, “culture is as much about what we encourage as what we permit.”

Beartown

Fredrik Backman never disappoints. I have read A Man Called Ove, Anxious People, My Grandmother Asked Me to Tell You She's Sorry, and Britt-Marie Was Here. I am reading Beartown now. Backman does not invite readers to invest in his characters, their communities, failures, victories, pains, and outcomes; he insists on it. By the end of each read, we feel gratitude for his insistence. The way he connects characters is so human, beautiful, poignant, and honest that that connection easily extends to the reader. It's damn good writing.

I am almost four hours into this read, and I do not want to stop. Backman's writing makes me voracious. I need to know how it all unfolds, but I do not want the read to end. For the fifth time now, I have been captivated. 🤓📚😊

Informed Consent

You should know that I am a flight risk, and escaping is my default setting. You should know that I am fearful and a master of motivated forgetting. You should know that I say a lot, but rarely speak my mind. You should know that I am messy, chaotic, and unrefined. You should know that I stumble over words and have difficulty translating my feelings. You should know that I am preoccupied with knowing every reason. You should know I feel in extremes, but I am mostly in between. You should know that I am equal parts selfish and selfless. You should know that I am in flux and a work in progress. You should know that I am unwilling to accept more than I am willing to give. You should know that this will hurt even if it also heals. You should know that I am trying my damndest to put me at stake. You should that I am a risk I'm not confident you should that you take.

Triggers

Some people are scared to leave home, but I am afraid to return. I fear forgetting all the freedom I've learned. I fear the masks. I fear my lies - the safe ones I tell for others and the explosives buried deep inside. I fear the expectations, questions, and judgements. I fear discovering I am not nomadic. I fear desiring to lay roots down again. I fear the recognition and the unfamiliarity. I fear the ways my eyes always betray me. I fear taming my tongue and speaking my mind. I fear that it will be too little and too much time. And...Perhaps too much time has already passed. What if I will never return home again? My greatest fear is that.

Magenta continues...

Beautiful Trauma

Magenta continues...

Try

Magenta continues...

What About Us?

Magenta continues...

Happy

Magenta continues...

My Attic

Magenta continues...

90 Days

Magenta

Last year, I listened to Untamed by Glennon Doyle, and I loved the read. Glennon described being "pinker than P!nk" when jamming out to P!nk. She called it "Magenta." 

Damn it, I get it! 

For the last two days my P!nk playlist has been on repeat, and I've performed song after song for me, myself, and I. I've danced. I may have "ugly cried" to multiple tracks multiple times. It's like I've just discovered P!nk and realized how her music and lyrics are so honest and human and relatable and beautiful.

When we cannot or do not have the words to articulate what's necessary for us to be heard, seen, and understood, music and books understand us. This is why I love reading and listening; why I love music and books. They are allies, advocates, and friends. 

On the worst days, there's a song or songs that can give sound to the feelings. On the best days, there's a song or songs that can give sound to the merriment. On the days of my damnable inarticulation, I can be "pinker than P!nk." I can be magenta. Thank goodness for music and books. 

Happy

...Can somebody find me a pill

To make me un-afraid of me?

Seen every therapist, but I’m a cynical bitch

Don’t like to talk about my feelings

I take another hit, I find another fake fix

‘Cause it’s easier than healing

I don’t wanna be this way forever

Keep telling myself that I’ll get better

Every time I try, I always stop me

Maybe I’m just scared to be happy...

I’m so scared of having something to lose

I’m scared of being somebody new

I’m so scared of all them seeing the truth

‘Cause right now I’ve got nothing

But I don’t wanna be this way forever

Keep telling myself that I’ll get better

Every time I try, I always stop me

Maybe I’m just scared to be happy

-P!nk

90 Days

If I'm just somebody that you're gonna leave

And you don't feel something when you look at me
You're holdin' my heart, mmm, whatcha say?
Just let me down slowly, I'll be okay
If you're just some habit that I gotta break
I can clear my system in 90 days
You're holdin' my heart, mmm, whatcha say?
Just let me down slowly

-P!nk & Wrabel

All I ask is

If this is my last night with you

Hold me like I'm more than just a friend

Give me a memory I can use

Take me by the hand while we do

What lovers do

It matters how this ends

'Cause what if I never love again?

-Adele

Planes and People

This morning I boarded a plane as I've only done a handful of times in my life. On the way to the airport, it struck me that the first time I ever travelled by airplane was from this same airport in this same city. It's odd and fascinating how life experiences overlap. I was travelling through Amarillo then; I live there now.

I was a 20 year old, sophomore college student flying to Dallas to surprise the boyfriend who would become the husband who would become the ex-husband. Shortly after that flight, I transferred from OPSU in Goodwell, Oklahoma to TAMUC in Commerce, Texas. I changed the course of my life, and I did it in part, if not largely, for that man.

Today I am a 30 year old college graduate flying to Los Angeles to visit the "special friend" who will become only God knows what. I certainly don't know, but nevertheless, here I am. I boarded this plane.

For some of you this will translate into "She is afraid to go into the world her own." To that I only have this to offer. I have an assortment of wonderful people in my life. I have a huge family and amazing friends. If I never boarded another plane to see "what if" with another man, I'd board them for my family and with my friends. I would board them with, by, and for myself. This isn't misplaced wanderlust.

For some of you this will translate into "She is searching for love." To this I say, "Quite the contrary." I am keenly aware that I am loved and cherished by many people. It would be self-deception of the greatest proportion for me to purport that I am unloved. My friends love me. My family loves me. My mother, father, and brothers loves me. My Grandma loves me. And, I have been loved, deeply, by more than one man. I know I am currently loved by more than one man. This isn't a romantic quest to find "true love." 

For some of you this will translate into "She is manifesting her unhealed traumas. She hasn't heal." I'll level with you. I've considered this. To us, both you and I, I have this to offer. I've gone to therapy. I've discussed my history and hurts. I've been provided tools. I believe in those tools. I've applied many of them. I know and believe that I can change my life in any way I want. I know I am not required to live in dysfunction and chaos. I know that I, like all of God's beings, deserve to be treated with dignity and respect. I know that I, like all of God's beings, have intrinsic, unchanging worth. I know that professional help is available to me anytime I need for my $30 copay.  

Simply put. This is about curiosity. 

Inside of me there is a fury of emotion, energy, love, and passion, and I want to channel of all of that in the direction of one person or as many people as necessary to feel and experience it all fully. This is not "please pick me and love me " This is "please brace yourself for the impact of me." I want to unleash myself on a capable other, and I want to experience his or her unleashing. I want to be wild.

I have a pretty solid idea of what would of happened if I stayed home. I have no idea what will happen because I boarded this plane. Maybe it changes nothing. Maybe it shifts everything. Only God knows. 

I know with certainty that every time I've boarded a plane for another person, I have gained and lost. I explored. I discovered. I felt fear and thrill and uncertainty and excitement. My life is an experiment, and I'm the mad, brave, battered, and beautiful scientist. My life is a plane to any and everywhere I want to explore, and I'm just mad enough to board again and again.

See you when I land. 🖤

Wayward Conviction

If the effectual fervent prayer of a righteous man availeth much, should the wayward woman bother to send prayers up? Will her sincerity carry juxtapose to her sins? Does her petitions reach Heaven or dwindle in the wind? Like gifts without love, are prayers without piety clanging gongs and clashing cymbals? Tell me is there a hierarchy system based on conversion? Can she pray without ceasing and remain firm in her perversions? Is that grace, hypocrisy, or reprobation? She withdraws these questions from your consideration. For she is persuaded that if the metric is righteousness or wickedness, her prayers cannot be weighted.