Oh The Scandal!

scandal life of beyonceWe hadn’t seen each other in a little over a year. Talked and texted, sure. Had a sense of the highs and lows of each other’s lives over the past year, absolutely. But there was something to be said for sitting at the grey and black speckled marble bar top, on a seat that demanded full concentration getting in and out of it (regardless of how much you had to drink), sipping rose margaritas with seductively red rose petals floating in them, and catching up in real time.

Our word that night was scandalous. We’d used it both several times and I think I may have initiated the word into our conversation regarding a chance encounter with a guy I met in LA who was visiting Philadelphia several years ago. Scandalous was a good word forte encounter as was stupid. She laughed, in part because well it wasn’t as scandalous as I made it seem at the onset, but the encounter could have ended very badly (seriously- very new  acquaintance, his hotel room, and I’ll stop right there). Plus, if you know me, the way she does, it’s a situation you’d never associate me with.  She of course shared a few scandalous stories of her own, more guys, more hotel rooms, sometimes alcohol was involved, sometimes not.  We laughed, lamented, and laughed some more.

We parted ways and I wisely negated the four floor walk up and opted for the creaky old elevator home. I was as quiet as possible as to not wake my friend who’d been undoubtedly sleep for a couple of hours and was fighting a pretty ugly cold, dressing for bed, removing the makeup, taking down the hair, putting away the earrings, easing into bed awake just enough to think about the evening spent catching up and all of the scandal.

sacandal pinterest lbd

Photo courtesy of pinterest.com

I also thought about how the real scandal I’d engaged in the past couple of weeks didn’t involve any guys, hotel rooms, little black dresses, heels, or perfectly styled tresses.  In fact it didn’t involve anyone other than myself. It was a one person scandal (is that possible? Idk). It  involved me hoping, despite circumstances that would typically suggests a resignation to being under covers, occasionally soothed by some of the most faithful men I know- Ben and Jerry, getting ahead on Christmas shopping online,  Netflix binge watching, maybe showering (I mean where was I going?), and random bouts of crying. Hoping, I decided,  was the real scandal.  I was going to defy logic, and hope (not false hope or wishful thinking), and use that hope to stay vigilant, persistent, engaged in my life, still writing my narrative, putting periods where necessary and adding semicolons where appropriate.  Some things, circumstances and relationships were indeed over, but I and all that is me was not over. I knew if I had allowed the job, the people, the city, to be all that there was to me and all of that had come to a close, then I was screwed. I also knew I was never created for a job, a few folks, or a geographic location. I knew I was created for and capable of so so much more than the last three years of my life and if I was going to become anyone of that, I had to manage my hope.  I had to be a rebel with a cause- living. And living without hope is merely existing sweet thang. It is taking up space and I nor you were created to just take up space.  We were created thoughtfully, purposefully, fearfully, wonderfully, with a plan, with gifts, and abilities.

When life’s tabloids suggest otherwise, we must rewrite the front page story of our lives as scandalously hopeful as possible.

 

My hope for you this week is that you awaken the rebel within you.  Send Ben and Jerry home. Deep condition your hair and use the body scrub. Throw the sheets in the wash.  Put on your favorite whatever. Sip on your favorite whatever. Grab your phone, ipad, laptop, good ol’ pen and paper (even a napkin) and resuscitate your hope.  Dare to let your mind linger on that thing. And only you know the thing. Side note- please don’t let that thing be unhealthy. Don’t let your mind linger on someone’s spouse, revenge, getting so drunk you black out etc.  Linger on the small business idea, the application for the promotion, the book you want to write, the home you want, etc. Linger on the way you want to end the unhealthy relationship,  take the vacation you’ve been saying you were going to take but have been afraid to go alone. Linger on the dance class or pilates class you swear your body type won’t accommodate- it will. Sign up for the class.  Linger on the hair color or hair style. Linger on your birthday party- the one you’ve been promising yourself for the past six years but always end up to busy to host. Linger on the upcoming date and shove the anxiety to the back of the closet as you pull out that little black dress.

Scandal is unexpected, seemingly forbidden, the plot twist of all lot twists.  Let hope be your scandal. Let hope be what buoys you out of those really hard spaces this week, those spaces where the expectation is anything but hope, joy, peace, laughter, or love (self love included).   Let hope be as acceptable as wearing white after labor day (remember when that was a fashion no no?).  Maybe your circumstances have seemed like the climax , so let hope come in and hijack that with a plot twist. It’s corny, I know, but Keep Hope Alive. xxoo

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Photo courtesy of Skinny Sticks.com

 

 

If You Don’t Like Your Reflection- Change Your Outfit

outfit taibo bacar

Photo courtesy of Taibo Bacar

I may have been more ready for my sister’s 30th birthday celebration than she was. And by ready, I mean, let’s get this party underway, bring on the guests, let the planning cease and the partying commence, DJ cue the music. Planning had been underway for months. Color schemes, set up ideas, decorations, visioning the flow of people traffic, music selections, menu items and drink selections, and of course…party worthy outfit selections.

A few days before the birthday festivities I thought it was time to come out of the various outfits I’d put together in my head mode and actually try on the outfits. While it wasn’t my party, I wasn’t Cinderella. No need for me to not look cute too.  I tried on the outfit that in my head was “the outfit.” And sure enough…it was not. The hard work I’d been putting in to slowly lose the pounds I’d gained over the past year was paying off, and so things didn’t fit as well as they had when I initially purchased them and tried them on a few months back. With mixed feelings (I mean who doesn’t want to lose a few inches? But who wants to scramble for a great party look at the last minute?)  I changed the outfit. I tried on another, and another until finally what I saw in the mirror gave me all the feels a great outfit is supposed to give. I kept remixing my look until I was pleased with and confident in what I saw.  And if you’re just a tiny bit curios about the winning look, just check out my IG @AhyanaJenise, there are plenty of fun birthday festivity pics and video from this past weekend’s party.

Sometimes we don’t like what our life’s mirror reflects- and that’s fine. What’s not so fine is when we don’t “change the outfit “until we see a reflection that we take pleasure in, smile at, snap a selfie cause we’re so cute, accept, compassionately loving towards, and confident in. If you don’t like what the mirror is reflecting, change the outfit.

If you are finding that your life these days, emphasis on your, is not reflective of you- your beliefs, values, core characteristics, talents, goals, purpose, or abilities, let alone the future you see for yourself, then you have to change it up.  You have to notice the top is a little looser or tighter than you’d like, the pants not as flattering as you remember, and the hues of blue too drastic and not giving you the monochromatic look you imagined. You have to choose between the block heel or the stiletto, if you can get away with the slipper style flat or a pointed flat, if mixing up the patterns between your shoe and the dress is something you can pull off.  Only you will know if the sequins is too much or the dress as understated as it is needs the sparkle of a great necklace or cuff style bracelet. Only you will know for sure what in your life needs to change in order to reflect the life you know you were created to live.

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Photo courtesy of Pinterest.com

Like many friends and family knew, I knew that I needed to resign from my job long before I actually did. But only I could actually resign.  You know like only you can, whether or not the person you are about to marry is really the person that will best complement your life and the future you desire for yourself.  You know like only you can if you haven’t heard back from whatever university or college you’ve dreamed of attending is really because you never completed the application (not an unorganized admissions office). You know like only you can know if you are living above your means, no matter how awesome the sale is, or if you are living below your potential because the past is still painful and humiliating and holding you captive. You know if the job you have is a job or what you believe to be work that is meaningful, vocationally fulfilling, and allows you to use your gifts, talents, and abilities. You know like only you can if you’ve been having an emotional affair, telling yourself that because no physical boundaries have been crossed you and your actual partner are just fine.

You also know what needs changing.

Don’t look at this screen and shake your head and say “Oh Ahyana, but I do not.” Nope boo, you do.  You know if it’s the fear that needs addressing and dealing with the past issues of rejection or abandonment. You know if you just need an accountability partner. You know if you are fighting feelings, beliefs even, of unworthiness. You know if you need to return the engagement ring or not bring so and so home for the holiday just to keep up the façade for your family. You know you need to leave your job and find meaningful work, and in order to do so you may need to start spending less and saving more, look at going back to school, consider a pay cut, etc.  You know if you need to break up with Ben and Jerry, despite their unfailing faithfulness. You know you need to confront certain people in your life and stop letting them run all over you. See, I told you you know what you need to do.

Now if this was a Nike ad, I’d say just do it. I’d say make sure in your reflection you can see the iconic swoosh. I also know there is a gap between knowing what we need to change in our lives and changing it.

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Photo courtesy of Pop Sugar.com

I really really liked the first outfit I tried on for my sister’s party, but together, the top and the skirt did nothing for me. I had to start by acknowledging the outfit was not working for me the way I hoped or needed it to. I had to be open to the idea of another possibility that something else I already had would work better, and better reflect me. Something had to change. It ended up being the skirt.

So this week I’m just gonna ask you to baby step it. I’m gonna ask you to just be open. Be open to looking at your life and seeing what it’s reflecting back. Hold on to the feel goods. Hold on to the peace, the joy, the excitement, the freedom. Relish it. And if there are some areas that are being reflected that you are not feeling, that no longer suit or serve you, linger there and be open to changing things up. xxoo

 

You Can Choose To Eat The Breadcrumbs Or The Bread

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Photo courtesy of Harper’s Bazaar March 2014 

My mother used to call my sister a little bird. And even now she still teases Rachel with that nickname. It suits my sister in a number of ways. She’s petite but that doesn’t keep her from a personality that easily soars above her barely over five feet stature. She also manages to nibble on food here and there throughout the day. She barely eats all of anything, but will eat a lot of things throughout the day, typically only consuming the whole of which she really really enjoys or was craving.  Unlike Rachel, if you’ve ever watched a bird go at their grub, you will notice they take and seem satisfied with the tiniest of morsels. They will happily take a piece of the whole and fly off to their little corner of the world.  Perhaps the habit is because of their anatomy and they simply don’t have the capacity to digest much. Perhaps they’re super frugal creatures on the low and discovered the whole minimalist life and joy of tidying up long before us human folks did. Perhaps you’re thinking this post is about birds- it’s not. I promise.

Birds are satisfied with the breadcrumbs tossed their way. They may draw closer to the person tossing the crumbs, but they don’t go for the entire piece of bread. Even if the entire piece of bread is there on the ground, they go for the crumbs- for bits and pieces. And I’ve noticed, like birds, sometimes we do the same thing. We teach ourselves to be satisfied with the breadcrumbs of life never going after the bread. We wait for a little of this and a little of that to be tossed our way and we take what we can get and drag it off to our little corner of the world, convinced the little scattered haphazardly offered bits are enough.

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Photo courtesy of Who What Wear.com

We settle for the paycheck never mind how many times we were denied the promotion we deserve, applied for, and are completely qualified for. We settle for the partner who can manage to call us back when they get a chance yet give you all kinds of attitude if you don’t text back or call back in 15 minutes or can’t give them the money to pay their cell phone or credit card bill. We are cool with the bestie that expects you to be your best when life is pummeling her but she’s busy when you need her to reciprocate. We nibble, munch, slowly sip, on “It could be worse” and “In due time” and “Maybe tomorrow” until life has passed us by and we are further away from every wish, hope, goal, or dream we ever managed to imagine and claim as our own. We are completely removed from life’s table where the spread is bountiful, and instead fill our napkins with the scraps that have fallen from the table.  We sit convinced that things will change, overlooking our responsibility for creating that change. Overlooking our identity (we are not birds) and our personal power to get up off the floor and find our seat at the table.

You can choose to eat the breadcrumbs or the bread. You can choose to settle for less than what you know you want and are worthy for. You can choose to hustle your heart out for afterthoughts and scraps. Our you can get you a slice of bread. Or shucks, be greedy, get a couple of slices. Try the rye, the multigrain, the wheat, the ciabatta, the sourdough, gluten free, etc.  You catch my drift.

I challenge you this week to pause and see where you are trying to feast off of breadcrumbs of life. I challenge you to be honest with yourself about the areas in your life where you have been coasting, getting by, and surviving. Now don’t get me wrong, I know what it’s like to be in survival  mode, but survival mode is not a way of life. It was never meant to be a way of life. Furthermore, when you have crossed out of survival circumstances, don’t keep yourself in survival mode by using tactics no longer necessary.  I challenge you to check the nearest mirror and see if you may be amid an identity crisis, thinking you are more of a bird (a scavenger animal) or a deeply complex, carefully created, purposefully designed human being with gifts, talents, abilities, and contributions that the world desperately needs at the table.  I challenge you to live this week, and live on the bread of life not the breadcrumbs. xxoo

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Photo courtesy of Aisha Taharan

Unfolding

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Photo courtesy of Solonge Music.com

My body was longing for my old normal amid my new normal. It was craving the usual and I was on day seven of giving it anything but. Routine override started with just being tired so sleeping in and skipping out on the gym, then there was the migraine that led to another missed workout but a greet encounter with a pretty decent guy, then there was a couple of dates with said pretty decent young guy and farewell gatherings with people who’ve been nothing short of supportive during my year in Buffalo. There was an early flight, then the glorious girls trip to DC. Not finished. There was the early rising to see my east coast nephew off to his first day of kindergarten  then staying at his puppy eye sad face request for when he got off the bus that afternoon, then returning the following day to pick him up off the bus again. There were several trips to Marshalls to get a few things to help me get organized and settled. Lots of movement and no two days looking even close to the same.  Don’t get me wrong, I absolutely have a thing for adventure, flirt with spontaneity often, and pride myself in my flexibility. However, I (body, emotions, mind, and spirit) was beyond just not in the mood. #Overit #Done #Ikilledmyownvibe

In fact, as I walked through the crowded lunch time streets of downtown Philadelphia, only wanting to get to the Target  on 19th and Chestnut for a new laundry bag, I could feel myself giving way to the week that was and the rest and routine that wasn’t.  I was tempted to call my teary eyed feet dragging I just want my bed moment  a breakdown, a fall apart, a rapid unraveling that would sure enough unveil my private thoughts, vulnerabilities, insecurities, and anxieties smack in the middle of the cross walk full of suits, dresses, really cute heels, strollers, and dogs on some the longest leashes ever (like seriously, owners were really far behind their pups).  But for as overwhelmed as I felt in that moment, I knew I was not falling apart. I was not having a breakdown. I was not unraveling and forced to reveal all of the things I’ve yet to make peace with about myself especially all of the rejection and discrimination and retaliation  I’ve faced daily the past eight or so months at work. It was more of an unfolding.

 

In that moment, I took a deep breath, and imagined me unfolding a white linen napkin. But I didn’t just unfolded the napkin. I unfolded it and placed it in my lap. I placed it in my lap as if I were expecting a meal, expecting nourishment, expecting what I needed to be well.

unfold by tezza

Photo courtesy of By Tezza.com

My life is in a season of unfolding. What it has looked like- folded, compact, pretty, still, and quaint is not looking like that any longer. It is unfolding into a blank fabric square capable of multiple purposes, including being reshaped and refolded, but also protection, and catching the overflow of what is next in my life. It is strategically and slowly becoming undone in full confidence that what will be served to me next (this next season of my life) is a combination of what I want and need to be, do, live, well.

My hope for you this week is that in those moments when your days have become weeks and even months of not being what you need let alone desire that you are reminded that your life is unfolding.  It is going through a process where it doesn’t look like what it did at first glance. It’s shifted. The creases are no more. While it looked awfully pretty and proper folded on the table and now looks rather plain and bare on your lap, its purpose remains. Your purpose, amid all that life is gifting you presently remains the same. Circumstances don’t dictate your purpose any more than a meal dictates your appetite.  And don’t bother trying to refold the napkin the way it was. It doesn’t typically work out. Have you ever tried to recreate that fanned out linen napkin look? It ends up looking like a wad of used tissue. It makes you snatch it off the table and put it on your lap, right where it belongs. Don’t let your current season try to push you backwards and engage in behaviors or with people that no long serve the fruition of your destiny.

Let this season unfold as you wait in confidence for what is next. Trust that what you have experienced thus far was not in vain, an accident, coincidence, or happenstance. Trust that you have been and continue to be in process as you progress towards what you both desire and need to be, do, and live well. xxoo

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Photo courtesy of Basic Chic.com

Cause Life Is Not A Rough Draft- Just Some Of The Circumstances

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Photo courtesy of Urbana Tumblr.com 

I am a sucker for a good story. My friends are too. When we gather, whether face to face or via a phone or skype date, they can count on me having a good story to share and life has rarely ever allowed me to leave them disappointed.  And, I’d be lying if I didn’t share, I kinda like being the one they can always count on for a great story. Now, I d o not, I repeat, I do not go out in hunt of a good story. I promise.  The stories find me. It’s like this weird “she likes stories” LoJack thing going on. The stories find me, I readily surrender, and it’s a done deal.

 

So, in true perhaps subconsciously asked for gift from the universe to  Ahyana King form, there was no way I was leaving Buffalo to move back to Philadelphia this past week, without a story. And honestly, maybe at this point, the creme de la creme of stories.  Now, I’m not going to give you the story right now. I know. You feel  led on and want to go read some other blog right at this point. I don’t blame you. But, do me a favor? Hang in there. I am going somewhere with this whole story thing.  However, as great as the story is, what I realized, as I laid in bed in my sweet hotel room in DC on my impromptu girls trip get away, staring at the beautiful brick rooftop patio on the hotel across the now quiet street from our hotel, was there is having a story to tell about someone or something and then there is wanting someone or something to be a part of your story. I had met someone who I want to be a part of my story- it’s a choice, it’s my right to edit and add, as opposed to edit and delete. It’s a pot twist with a yes and and not a no, not today, not ever.

When I write,  I remind myself to tell the story that is mine to tell.  I am reminded that I have ownership, and with that comes responsibility for sure, but also freedom. I am free to create distance between what is happening and what I am creating in my life, or to move closer with curiosity or caution (sometimes both), compassion, and commitment, because it is my story, my life, and I am not victim to cosmic happenstance.  You are not victim to cosmic happenstance.

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Photo courtesy of The Madmoiselle.com

I know. You read that and maybe you are tempted to roll your eyes. Maybe you succumb to your temptation. It’s cool. You’re probably thinking that there is a lot in life that has “happened” to you legitimately through no fault of your own. I hear you boo. I didn’t ask to be born with any of the social identities I have, especially the ones that have incurred pain and oppression (cause make no mistake, I heart my social identities even if others don’t), and neither did you.  I realize that you didn’t ask for the life changing diagnosis, the fertility challenges, the layoff, the death, car accident, flood, wildfire, earthquake, or to live in a country with corrupt leadership and years upon years of ethnic wars and genocide.  Those things write themselves into our stories.

However, we get to choose the impact and role they play in our life stories. Every incident doesn’t need to be the climax. We can choose if the circumstance serves as context for our stories, giving understanding to our sensitivities, passions, and decisions. The story can be, we are unable to have children. Or it can be, because we were unable to have children, we decided to adopt, and to adopt children with special needs, because we learned that children with special needs are not as readily adopted as children without them. We can decide that because we witnessed government corruption, we will run for office, engage in community mobilizing, or be like my rockstar friend lola Adele-Oso and start organizations like Act4Accountabilty that work to hold governments more accountable for their actions or lack of action.

We are still the chief editors of our stories even when life decides to author a chapter of it here and there. We still get to choose if it is just a story or we want to integrate it into our story- if we want to own it or let it own us.  I have to tell you, when you chose the latter- integrating it into your storm, it’s a bit vulnerable, yet super empowering.

My hope for you this week is that you choose your story versus a story. That you move closer to your current circumstances, perhaps with caution, and edit as you need. Just make sure you realize that editing is not always about subtracting. Sometimes it’s substituting and sometimes it’s adding or multiplying. Engage in your life this week, and as much as your mind, spirit, and body can manage (self care is important and for some of you, your story right now is begging for some deleting), be all in, show all the way up, linger, talk it out, work it out, shoot, dance and sing it out.  Get all up in in you and all that you are and do this week. Get all up in the bed time story with your little one because you really do enjoy parenting and time with them. Get all up in their soccer game, all up in the person trying to get to know you better at their soccer game (unless you are already with a partner- please don’t be flirting and cheating and then trying to say I told you to “be all in” and you want to “add to your story”). Focus at the meeting and when the numbers or idea doesn’t make sense, carefully craft and ask your questions or pitch your alternatives at the appropriate time. Get all up in the research to start your new business, even if the last two didn’t go as well. Everybody who has a business didn’t hit it out the park on the first swing.  Get thee to that weight-watchers meeting and figure out this diet and exercise thing, so you can create the shift you want, for the level of health you want (or your doctor says you need). Remember, life in it’s entirety is not a rough draft, just some of the circumstances. My hope for you this week, is really what it has been since this blog was launched four-ish years ago- that you live, and when your story comes to a close, those who read it will know you wrote your story and not a story. xxoo

2015 Dylan & Ceara LA

Photo courtesy of Tomas x Alex.com

Weathering The Storm

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Photo courtesy of Courturezilla.com

I’d been there for five hours. Shifting positions, trying to get comfortable in a seat that was meant to be anything but. I’d get up and walk, but never too far. “We could board at any minute,” I told myself. Never mind the monitor had kept updating to reveal a new increasingly later and later departure time.

We were told it was an air traffic control issue. There were just too many flights in the air and no point in boarding us to sit on the plane when we could just wait in the airport…in uncomfortable black vinyl chairs.

So after about 5 hours, the flight was finally cancelled…due to weather. Insert eye roll. Now, don’t get me wrong, I was in no way eager to return to Buffalo. Not in the least bit. I was just tired, and felt like the flight should have been cancelled hours ago. I could have been left the airport, headed back to West Philly, got tacos from Honest Toms or pizza from Clarkville, cozied up on the couch, and watched a movie on Netflix.

I made it to my friend’s in a storm that lasted longer than I imagined. Insert awkward smile at gratitude the flight was cancelled due to weather. It took me a while to get to sleep, as my friends 4th floor flat lit up from time to time from flashes of lightning and thunder rolled over and over again and I tossed and turned over and over again.

When I woke the next morning, there was a cool breeze, swaying trees, foot, bike, public transit, and car traffic. Sunlight flooded the apartment. I eased out of my sleepy haze realizing I’d been gifted an extra day in the city. No scheduled lunches or happy hours. No interviews or doctors’ appointments. No stores to revisit because I totally regretted snagging those super cute strappy block heeled sandals for my sister’s party in a couple of weeks.  There was nothing I “had” to do, yet I knew I was going to be out and about in the glorious sunshine, taking in the new day that rolled in, without reminders, save a huge puddle here or there, of the storm that was ever so present only hours before.

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Photo courtesy of @NaturallyTemi via Instagram.com

I journaled and sipped on lavender tea at the Green Line cafe on Baltimore Avenue. I went downtown and picked up a pretzel from Auntie Anne’s for my Aunt Joyce and then went to her house to visit with her. I went to lunch with my Dad and savored every chicken finger, french fry dipped in cheese, and crunchy onion ring at Nifty Fifties. I visited with my grandfather who had a stroke the week prior but was home now and on the mend (thank you sweet grown man Jesus). I even got to see my youngest brother and enjoy freshly baked snicker doodle cookies that he’d just finished baking.

Sometimes life changes because of a storm. Courses are completely altered, or cancelled altogether. Try as we might to just weather the storm and wait for it to pass,  we are bothered, agitated, annoyed, flustered in our attempts to accommodate and work with it.

Yet the storm passes. The thunder and lightening ceases. The rain does not leave its calling card on window shields or window sills. Branches begin to lift as the burden of the water lifts. Sidewalks and streets turn ombre in color as they return to their shades of origin. There are very few reminders if any that the storm was there, pummeling us into survival.

I’m learning in life that storms are part of the course. They come regardless of our perceived need for them or not. They are loud, disruptive, and obnoxious, despite their unassuming approach and abrupt departures, after arrogantly lingering longer than we’d like. We get fired. We get sick. We get cancer. We lose a partner or a child (or children). We get the divorce papers. We don’t get the loan.  We find ourselves unfulfilled and cheat on our partners, who find out not because we told them. We lose the house. We gain the weight back. We have our identity stolen. We don’t know how to stop swiping right on tinder just for the night. We run into the person who sexually assaulted us when we were 11. We lose the scholarship and can’t go back to school as anticipated. Storms come, but they don’t last always.

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Photo courtesy of Mariel Claire.com

Sure they last longer than we anticipate. Sure there are those annoying scattered storms. You know the ones. One storm after another. You think it’s passed and here comes something else. But I want you to remember, the storms don’t last forever. Survival mode will not last forever, because were weren’t created to survive. We were created to thrive. 

I will tell you a secret- we thrive, because of the things we learned when we survived.  You will navigate those gloriously sunny moments in life because of what you had to forego during the stormy days. You will become more grounded in what you know you deserve, what you value, what you need to live well, and you will be relentless in obtaining and maintaining it.

Our storms in life aren’t in vain. Remember that. They may thwart what we thought we were supposed to do and where we were supposed to be, but they have a way of creating new opportunities, new perspective, new strength, and eventually new joy and new peace. Do what you need (as healthily as possible) to take shelter in the current storm of your life. Just do it knowing it will pass. And when it does, get out there and take in all the sunshine. xxoo

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Photo courtesy of Urban Studio NYC

 

 

 

 

Between Seasons

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Photo courtesy of Bohemian Tumblr.com

My struggle was real going to the gym this morning. I didn’t understand why I was so tired and at a little over a month into my early morning workout routine, I really had no reason to be tired. Until I remembered I was up later than usual. Like considerably later. Like I forgot today was Monday.

I signed in and strolled over to warm up on the stationary bike. I was tired. I knew my level of tired was up a notch because Roy, the owner, and the bestower of a variety of nicknames for me seemed chattier than normal and I was slightly bothered. I told myself I’d cut the workout short today. I’d be  little more mindful of what I ate because I was just not going to put in as much time today…until of course I got going, and ended up working longer than I usually do.  I left the gym, started my walk home, pleased with myself. Pleased with overriding my sleepiness and getting to the gym, only to exercise longer than I usually do when I’m not nearly as tired.

As I waited at the corner of LaSalle Street to cross Delaware Avenue , I looked up at the sky that seemed to be stubbornly letting the sun shine through. The clouds were moving at the pace of the breeze that hinted at a borrowed crispness that belongs to the mornings of the fall. That’s when I noticed, amid the clouds and the trees, thin little wires. I hadn’t noticed them before and they didn’t cross the streets. Where the street ended, so did the wire. As I walked home, each new block, a new string of wires, with little bulbs. “Lights! It’s the Christmas lights!” I exclaimed.  Excited at the thought of Christmas. As I entered my house and winked at the cat curled on the arm of the sofa, I smiled at the memory of the lit streets during the holiday season. In a few months, during the season for which they are purposed, the lights will shine, the streets will be lit, and it will truly be a lovely sight to see. But those lights will not be on before then. They will be hung, correctly positioned, waiting, until it is time, until it is their season. I saw myself in those yet to be lit lights, waiting for their season to fulfill their purpose.

I just wanted to take a moment this week to encourage those of you who are waiting for your season to do all that you were purposed to do. You have learned, invested, researched, purchased, sold, saved, networked, prayed, fasted, read and reread, gone without, relocated, stepped up, back, and down, took pay cuts, served as interim, moved in with or out from living with, ended the relationship, etc. You have done all that you know to do to be positioned.  You are hanging there between what was and what is yet to be. I see you boo. I see you in the middle, in between. I see the sacrifices, the daring to hope, the resilience, the reset button that you’ve pressed more than once. I see the tear stained cheeks, and hear the trembling voice choking back the tears that want to come forth once more. I see the glazed over eyes from all of the staying woke, the belly swole and stuffed but not full or satisfied.  I see you between the credit score that got you the apartment but isn’t ready to get you the house. I see the fear as you return to the doctor for your annual check up praying hard that the cancer has not returned.  I see the maternity dress you purchase and placed in the back of the closet, holding on to hope for that child. I see the paper cuts from the rejection letter for the book, play, film, college, loan, or job.  I see the misbuttoned blouse as you rushed to the job that you used to love, think you still like, but being the only _____________ has exhausted you. I see you. Hang. In. There.

Your season is coming.

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Photo courtesy of They All Hate Us.com

Just like November will come, and Thanksgiving evening these lights will be lit and will stay lit until just after the New Year, only to then hang until the same time the following year, your time is coming.

Your acceptance letter, announcement that it’s a girl, approval for the mortgage, approval for the business loan, promotion, date to start training is coming. Your publisher who is in love with your book idea is coming. Your  curator who is expanding their clientele and wants your art for a spot in San Francisco is coming. Your medical clearance to travel is on its way to the lab and then to you.

Don’t give up honey bunny. Don’t lose sight of you and your purpose. Don’t lose sight of those dreams that have been giving you hope, that vision that you have and have already invested in. The trees will sway. You will get rained on, snowed on, brushed up against by big ol’ trucks making deliveries to others living their dreams, that seem not to notice you. But you stay right where you have been perfectly positioned to fulfill your purpose.

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Photo courtesy of Style In Details NYC.com

If you find yourself growing faint in this season, I encourage you to take a moment and take note of the last time you were in a similar season. How did you make it through? Who was there for you, cheering you on? What podcast did you listen to, book did you read, sermon did you watch on television or online?  Whose music played nonstop on your way to work, at the gym, or while you were cooking dinner? If you journal, go pull out the journal that captured that time in your life and be encouraged by the fact that you made it through.  Make a list of who and what you need to stay in position. Then go get it, and be open to asking for what you need. You have not because you ask not. Trust me, you’ve made it before, so you will absolutely make it again. For real, you will.

My hope for you this week is that you won’t lose sight of this season in your life as you stay positioned for the next. That you will be fully present to all that this season has, weathering it, knowing it has some deposits to make, deposits that will allow you to shine brighter, serve as a guide, and serve as hope and beauty in dark times for others. My hope is that you will resist comparison, jealousy, resentment, and despair as you wait. And finally my hope is that when your season does come, when it is your Thanksgiving night, and it is indeed time for you to turn on and do all that only you can and were created to do, that you will chose to do it well, fiercely, courageously, and compassionately.

Hang in there, it’s almost your time to shine. xxoo

bsneon

Photo courtesy of Pinterest.com

Permission Granted

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Photo courtesy of Buro 24/7.com

I don’t believe in coincidences. I think I’ve shared that before. I am an “everything is connected” kind of person. I’m also a person who chooses to believe in a God who is more organized than not. So, no, I can’t explain to you what made me purchase She’s Still There: Rescuing The Girl in You by Chrystal Evans Hurst, but I did, and I’m glad.

 

Don’t get me wrong. I so enjoy her. I so enjoy her podcast, absolutely tune in when she is doing a Facebook or IG live type of deal, follow her on IG and Twitter, and my girls have definitely been recipients of me forwarding something that she has written or done their way as a means of encouraging them. But, as per usual I am amid several books right now, hard copy and audio. So I don’t really know what made me order her book, happily Amazon prime it to myself, and start my weekend reading it in bed, under piles of white linens, too lazy to turn off the air conditioning unit.

The heart of her book is that it’s not too late to become who we were created to be, the person we dreamed of being as a girl. And not the be a princess dreams some of us may have had as girls, but the live a life that we love, where we experience the ebb and flow of grace and compassion towards ourselves and others, where we boldly move towards that which fulfills us, that which we were created to be.

So when her book opened with her recalling a prayer she sent up to grown man Jesus to break both of her legs so she could call off from a job she hated and never saw herself being in, I laughed until I cried. I laughed because it was funny. I mean really. Of all the prayers to send up, like why not just ask for a new job? But I cried because I’d been there. Oh how I’d been there.  Like having a hard time removing the safety guard from the pizza slicer. I was like oh but if I cut myself, and the cut is deep enough, then I can go the ER and get stitches and then I can be out from work. Why didn’t I pray for a new job?

As the first chapter continues, she does an awesome job (pun intended) of reminding readers that we can reset and rescue. That those tough “How did I get here? “ “Why am I here?”  “Is this really my life?” moments we are in don’t define us but instead refine us. They strip away the unnecessary, the distractions, the almost but not really, until we get to the real thing, the real us, the real dream, the real girl who freely and unabashedly pondered, explored, ventured out, asked, searched, prayed with abandon and believed with all the sass a little girl could muster, hand on her hip and all, waiting for her God to come through.  She gives reminds us of our permission.

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Photo courtesy Be Frassy.com

 

When I think about permission, I think about being a girl. As a girl, there was always permission seeking. Permission to be excused from the table, to go outside, to go off the porch, to stay up later, to go to so and so’s birthday party, for so and so to come over, to go on the class trip. There was always this knowledge of ability, this certainty, but still a needing to seek permission.  None of the things I sought permission for as a girl were things I was not capable of, interested in, or desired. Yet, I would ask and wait for the answer before moving forward.  Or  wouldn’t ask and forego what I wanted. If I didn’t ask it was usually because I made up in my mind that my parent was already going to say no.

I’m clearly not a girl anymore. Neither is Chrystal. And the book isn’t for girls, tweens, or teens.  It’s for women who know that who they find themselves to be today is hiding in the shadows of who she believed herself capable of being when she was a girl. It’s for the woman who knows “This ain’t it.” Whatever the this is. It’s for the woman who needs a reminder that as a woman, she (you) can grant herself permission to keep going, even if going forward means a moment to pause, go back and get the girl in you, and two step forward.

Permission is a form of validation. It’s a form of saying, “Yes I too think you can do what you are seeking to do, so go on and do it.” We get to grant ourselves permission. We get to say that we are capable, deserving, and worthy. We get to say go forth, create, dream, explore. We get to say yes. We get to believe. We get to say “Yes, you can do what you are seeking to do, so go on and do it.”

I don’t believe in coincidences. I believe that God knew I was in need of a reminder that I already have the permission to live the life I dreamed of as a little girl. That I have all that I need to be exactly who I was called to be.

I don’t believe your reading of this post is a coincidence. Even if you are my mom who reads all my posts (thanks Mom!). I believe it is also a timely reminder to you that you too have the permission to live the life you dreamed of as a little girl. You have what you need to live the life you were created to live.  You can do what you are seeking to do, go on and do it.

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Photo courtesy of Marie Claire UK

 

Still Here

still here nicole malonson

Photo courtesy of Nicole Malonson

Yesterday I shimmied out of 32 and suited up in 33.  I celebrated the way I needed with lots of indulging in the things I love and give me life.  I woke up early on my birthday, wandered down the 14 wooden steps, gave the cat my usual side eye good morning greeting (I will never be the feared stereotyped cat lady, because I do not like cats, but I tolerate Eddie), put the kettle on, and tried to select a tea from the pantry, excitement swelled from within.  “I’m still here,” I whispered.

I’m still here. Emphasis on I.  Things that are core to who I am, how I see myself, life, the world, and how I choose to engage the world, are still intact. The parts of who I am that have taken a brutal beating this last year have not been obliterated, erased, destroyed. My heart, new fractures, but still intact, still beating. My dreams, shaded by hues of grey often, still have bursts of pinks, greens, reds, purples, and blues, still bringing me life and pushing me to breathe life into their process of transformation to reality.  My convictions, especially about treating people well , with dignity, justly, and loving them, rejected, retaliated against, hammered, yet still solid, firm, defiant, and smiling slyly. My faith, tampered with, picked at, tried, is still rooted, unrelenting, here. And my joy. Lord my joy.  A year full of joy stealing miscreants who nibbled and chiseled, but never got away with  my joy. I’m. Still. Here.

The period at the end of that phrase looks good. “ I’m still here.” It reads as a complete sentence. No need to edit, rewrite, or consult a thesaurus or dictionary.  It’s just enough. It even sounds good. Go ahead and say it out loud. I’ll wait. Sounds good right? Oh wait. Say it again and emphasize the I.  Sounds really good right? Focusing on you, giving yourself a verbal high five of validation, that despite all that you’ve got going on or been through yourself, you are making it. You are still here.

im stille here allie berry

Photo courtesy of Allie Berry 

As I sat on the front porch slowly sipping my tea  looking at my street welcoming the day with swaying trees, chirping birds, and couple of squirrels being coy with one another, “I’m still here” was followed by Now what?”  I’m still alive (Thank you sweet baby Jesus and grown man Jesus) so how am I going to actually live?

I gave myself permission to ponder that question not only in the moment, but the rest of the day, and the coming days. I had survived the last year and all of its offerings. I had even tasted moments of thriving. Knowing the difference between the two, is what kept me from shying away from the now what, what’s next, and instead delete the period after I’m still here and continue it on. Develop it. Dream it out, write it out, draft it, edit it, and continue.   I know that a huge part of my “Now what?” is moving back to Pennsylvania and returning to being a counselor with a private practice that also allows me to do some consulting with organizations. I know it also includes being a way better steward of all of my gifts and talents, but particularly as a writer. I love to blog, but I think there’s a book in me waiting to come out.

I am still here. You are still here. We, dear one, are still here. Take the emphasis off the here and shine the light on you. Shine the light on all of the things that make you you. Zero in on all  that life has tried to borrow, barter for, steal, snuff out, drown, strangle, or destroy but couldn’t. Those are your strengths, your gifts, your talents, that have been helping you survive. Revel in that. Smile, high five yourself, pour yourself a glass of bubbly and toast yourself.  Then use those same things to delete the period after “here.” Use those core attributes of you that are still intact to wade, tread, crawl, walk, run, leap, into what gives your soul life, transforms alive to living, and surviving to thriving.  xxoo

still herer damon baker

Photo courtesy of Damon Baker