500WordsorLess

One Day At A Time...in 200 Words

5/19/2017

That's what I told myself to get through a challenging transition. "One day at a time," I'd repeat.
Partly because thinking about having to bear another day seems unbearable. Saying that everyday was the only way I was full of life enough to make it to the next day. The only way I could carry on.

I learned so much in that process, though. Lots about being kind and gentle with myself. Being loving and patient. Recognizing that on any day, at any hour, it's okay to cry. To sob uncontrollably. To just want to go to bed. Understanding that some days I won't want to end at all. Some days I may want to stay up late just so the great things from this now moment don't leave me. Some days I just want to hold onto forever. 

I learned the importance of digesting my emotions - both good and bad. Not rushing them off into the next day, or next month, but fully relishing in them. To accept them. To welcome them. To inhale them, and whatever pain they may originate from.

So often transition hurts so bad we want to hurry through it. We want to rush to be healed. We want to feel better fast. We want to hurry to deliverance. We look forward to brighter days, while missing the day we're in right now. We miss the chance at growth. At discomfort. At sowing. See in this hurt, in this pain, we must remember that everything has its time. And right now, is your time to endure. To feel. To learn. One day it won't be, but for now, absorb today.

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Let Your Fire Burn

4/01/2017

A spark starts inside of you. It's lit by your imagination and your untouched passions. Waiting for you to dive in, the fire spreads. To some it's frightening. The nerve of you—of anyone—to want a life that's unconventional. A life that's led by love and purpose. A life that's not clenching onto job security, but personal fulfillment. One that's focused on peace and joy. Happiness. Excitement. The flames of this fire house all these desires. 

THE NERVE OF THIS SPARK. THE NERVE OF THIS FIRE.

The nerve of this spark to light up your insides. To set fire to your acceptance of mediocrity and force you outside of its four-by-four cell. The nerve of these flames to spread, ruining the life you let others create for you. The one that made your parents happy. The one that made the most sense. The one that everyone thought you'd follow. The nerve of this fire setting all that ablaze.

The nerve of this spark to spread like wildfire along the path your guidance counselors and college professors set before you. The one those personality tests forced you onto. The path most traveled. The path that's most secure. The nerve of this fire to destroy that path. To ruin everything in its way. To create a light that'll force you in the other direction—the one you were intended to go.

The nerve of this spark to inspire you to seek more. To unleash your desire to get more. The nerve of this flame to encourage you to forge your own way. To demand the life you deserve. To work for what you want. The nerve of this spark—the nerve of this fire—to interrupt your comfortability and rip you from your safe space.

Because safe isn't for everyone. It isn't for trailblazers. For visionaries. For believers. For change agents. Safe isn't for anyone with dreams larger than the world's ability to understand them. And it certainly isn't for those with a flame as grand as yours.

So for those of you with the spark lit within them. Those of you who're burning on the inside with ideas and possibility. Those of you tired of consuming the fumes and are ready to let greatness serve its purpose. Let that spark grow. Let that fire burn. Let it ignite every ounce of passion you've been hiding within. Let the flames fly from beneath your surface, into the world. Let it be that strong of an impact; that potent of a smell. Let the smoke seep into your every move, trailing behind you like you just beasted a masterpiece. Let the spark in your eye glisten every time you feel art, every time you write a piece, every time you create some magic, every time you set their path on fire and explore one of your own. One in the direction of your dreams.

Welcome this feeling—this fire—into the world every moment you get. Because this flame is your light, and someone in this world is relying on it. 

Your fire changes lives; don't extinguish it. 
---------------
This post is part of Kimolee Eryn's April writing challenge, #AllWrite2017. For post prompts, click here. 

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What Happens When You Rush

3/10/2017

The sign read YIELD.
Cars decided to merge.
Rushing.

All of them. Willing to wrongfully merge into the on-ramp traffic from their YIELD lane - not yielding at all. Darting out in front of the cars that had the right-of-way. They chose not to follow instructions. They decided to take matters into their own hands.

Rushing.

It happens too often. Cars dangerously switching through lanes at 90 mph because the cars they find themselves behind are going too slow. The nerve of them to go the speed limit. All rushing to a destination that quite possibly isn't going anywhere. A destination they could make it to on time had they left a few minutes earlier. Or planned better. 

They're rushing. Everyone's rushing. Only to crash a few miles up the road. Only to spin out of control and hit a guardrail, or ram into the car of someone else who was dedicated to taking their own time. Drastically ruining the lives of everyone involved - all those connected to them - and never make it to the destination they were rushing to. This is often the case in car accidents.

This is often the case in our lives.

We're in such a rush, we choose to merge when life tells us to yield. Instead of stillness we forge our own way. We decide to create our own destiny when our God-given one seems to be taking too long. We veer off the right path into a path of our own. We make up our own rules, create our own fate, and speed 90 mph through the lanes, rushing to an assignment we weren't ready for. An assignment that wasn't ready for us. Then we either spin out and crash, or arrive and ruin it.

We rush because we think we're ready for something we're not. We reroute our path to something that wasn't even meant for us, just so we can have that of which we think we deserve. We refuse to be readied. We just want to get there. Forget the preparation. Forget (divine) order. Forget the process. Hell, forget the other cars on the on-ramp; the other lives our disobedience is destroying. We have places to get to, and clearly, we have chaos to cause. 

YIELD, the sign read.

I always yield when I must. I hope you begin to, ‘cause I’d hate to see you crash.

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You Can't Stop Now

2/19/2017

We walked into the empty office across from my desk, closed our eyes and prayed. My coworker had quite the scare and prayer was the only thing to calm her spirit. We prayed. She cried. And as she rushed to her destination I continued to pray.

As I sat at my desk I thought back to two weeks ago when I was yelling at God. When I was so sad and hurt and dare I say, damaged. I recalled six months ago when I was heartbroken. And then a year before then when I threatened to denounce my faith as I laid on my bathroom floor sobbing. 

These moments were no accident, they were all tests of my faith. Perhaps in those moments, I failed—terribly. But as I sat at my desk this day, still praying for my co-worker, I couldn't help but smile at the fact that no matter how much I wanted to, I didn't give up. That no matter how enticing the enemy made disobedience seem, I didn't submit to it. That at the end of all my angry shouts to God, I didn't give up on Him. 

See I can't give up. When I began this walk of faith, I wouldn’t have ever imagined being where I am today. Though it’s been a journey (and it honestly still is one) it has been truly amazing. With that said, however, there have been times where giving up has crossed my mind. Though I want to give up, I’m recently recognizing that I can’t. Not just because I’d be nothing without my faith (because let’s face it, I would), but because somewhere along this journey I became accountable for other people’s faith too. I became the person they go to for counsel (who the heck would’ve thought!). I became the person whose posts they read during life’s many struggles. I, somehow, became responsible for their spiritual growth just as much as mine. If I fail on this walk, then they do too. And that is too heavy a burden to bear.

I recognized as I took my co-worker into a side office to pray for the news she received, that I cannot give up or waste my time being mad at God, because there are more lives I need to touch; there are more people that need my light; and there are people’s salvation that needs to be protected. And I refuse to let any enemy—however carnal or spiritual—disrupt that important work.

I can say the same for you. There are people that rely on you. That need you. People whose lives wouldn't be the same if you never walked with God. If you never walked in your purpose. If you dropped everything and gave up. Their lives are too precious for you to stop now. They need your spiritual guidance, your fashion advice, and your branding services. They need your bright smile and hardy laughter. They need your wit and wisdom. There are people relying on you for many different reasons, at many different times, and no matter how exhausting this work may get, you just can't stop now. I will not let you stop now. 

So strap up your boots. Tie up your hair. And let's continue this walk...this fight...together. 

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Untitled.

11/26/2016

Life has a painful, gut-wrenching way of putting sh*t into perspective. It has a way of knocking us down after we've fought so hard to stand; to bring us back to our knees either in fear or surrender. It cares nothing about our time, our desires or our plans. It delivers the messages it's meant to when it sees fit, with no concern for our emotional, physical or mental well-being. It does, it says, it is, whatever the hell it's meant to be, at the moment it's meant to be it, and then it's done. It ends. It's over.

In the short time we have, we're beaten over our heads for our obedience and our mistakes. For the good decisions and the bad ones. For living the way we dream, and for sometimes falling short. But in all of it—all that life hands us to consume as wildly and boldly as each breath—we're taught to take it. We're taught to digest it. To hold it, as effed up as it may come, and to trust that we can make it through. To trust that we've been equipped to handle the damaging realities we've been forced to accept.

To swallow death, disease, and depression. To respond to hatred, anger, and injustices. To make acquaintance with insecurities, brokenness, and heartache. To affix ourselves to the burden of unbearable pain and the uncertainty of tomorrow's torture—all while, maintaining the minimum level of hope that'll allow us to crawl into tomorrow.

We're not uplifted, we're numb. And tired. And hurt. We're sad; and the encouraging words aren't enough in this moment. Some of us are ready to sink to the bottom of the bathtub, bubbles lining our foreheads. We're ready to inhale near the bottom of the porcelain. We're ready throw in the towel. We're tired of fighting a battle we feel that we're constantly losing. Tired of taking two steps forward and five steps back. Tired of being told to 'tighten up' and to 'be strong'. Tired of getting unsolicited advice from people with closed minds and uncompassionate hearts.

So many of us are sitting outside on the ledge of the 15th floor, gazing at the dreariness of the night sky, relating it to our dimming light. We're clenching on to the railing beneath our palms, frightened by the envisioned feeling of concrete beneath our swinging feet. We're tired of this life but equally tired of being in this place—on this ledge—yet again. Battling between the reality of jumping and the ideology of hope. We're lost. We're afraid. We're diminished.

...but then the moonlight peeks from beneath the night's clouds and, again, reminds us that despite the darkness surrounding our existence, life is beautiful. That, our light is still shining. And, that we are equipped to handle it.

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On Your Own

7/24/2016

Two weeks had gone by before I thought of something new to write; before I even considered the need to write. Titles came to mind but content didn't come out. So instead of living to write, I've just been living. I've been experiencing. I've been absorbing, all the beauty, destruction and lessons that have been surrounding my life and this country. I've taken it all in. And over these past two weeks, I've attained a perspective very different than one I had before. Instead of beating myself up for my absence from this space, I praised myself for my presence in the world.

While I can write all of [my] life's lessons on here, and share nuggets and tidbits for getting through your phases, there are some things I simply can't 'teach'. There are some perspectives I cannot offer you, as in many ways, we are different. While I wish I could coddle you in an isolated queendom where we could constantly pour into each other and get each other through, I simply cannot. Because there are some things you have to experience yourself. Some pieces of life that advance advice just wont help with. Some moments you'll just have to feel – with every bit of pain and sadness they may bring. There are some emotions you'll have to go through and some struggles no blog post or article can get you out of. But there is so much beauty in that.

There's beauty in you creating a story of your own, rather than emulating the stories you've been reading. There's life in living your own and not the ones you've been watching. Because this life – that you apply this advice to, that you learn to make better, that you struggle to advance in Christ's name and that you strive to make better than any life you could imagine – is yours to live. And it's yours to experience. 

At some point, you'll have to put down the self-help books, the self-help blogs, and the inspirational podcasts, and you'll have to indulge in life. You'll have to apply the lessons you've been studying. You'll have to do the things you've read. You'll have to make decisions and fight the good fight. At some point, you'll have to disconnect, you'll have to take action, and you'll have to see if life will fall apart, or if it'll fall together. 

There will be a time where you – whoever you may be – will need to do this on your own. You didn't need a new post. You didn't need another story of my experience to get you through yours. Instead, these last two weeks were for both you and I to experience life on our own. To learn our own lessons; to internalize them. To write them down in our own private spaces, and to grow from them in our own homes. Because while uplifting to get through things together, there will be times where we need to do it on our own. 

So over these last two weeks, as I struggled to come up with gems to write, I was coming up with gems to live. 

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Things I Want to Tell You, Before You're a Hashtag

7/07/2016

I laid crying in the arms of a black man this morning. A black man whose existence I'm worried about being snatched away from him like the 114 others this year, alone. A number I'm sure may increase by the time I finish this post, because that's how frequently this is happening. I cried thinking about his well-being, along with the well-being of my black brother, my black friends and my black nephews. I am both infuriated and sad at the disregard for black life, in a space that was created on the backs of black people. And with this level of sadness and my shattered heart struggling to beat, I find it necessary to uplift. While I want to mobilize and set things ablaze, yelling obscenities until my throat gets sore, I want to continue to use my words to inspire. Still, somehow, with these emotions festering inside of me - emotions of hatred and bitterness toward those constantly striking us, that I struggled this morning to pray away - I want to be as much of a light as I can.

So today I want to tell you I love you and I care for you. That when the world can't stand the sight of you, I think you're beautiful. I think you're handsome. I think your being is delightfully unignorable. I think your life is valued and the purpose of it, invaluable. I want to tell you that you are the light and no matter how dark they want you to believe you are because of your skin, they'll never have enough power [read: white privilege] to dim that.

I want to tell you that while the rest of the world hates you, hates us, that you must choose to love yourself. That you must stand for your existence. I really want to tell you to be bold in your blackness. Be unapologetic about your history and your culture. To remind yourself and others of your kingdom/queendom. To remember that your story is made of far more riches than they want you to believe. I want to tell you that Jesus wasn't a white man with blue eyes, that he looks more like us than them. I want to tell you it's not an us versus them (but then I'd be lying). I want to tell you to teach your children our true origin – our true significance in this world – so they know the mark they can make. So they know the power they hold. 

I want to tell you that your rage is okay. That your reactions are justified. That I am right with you. All of you. Furious, frustrated and fearful of the future of myself and my black men. I want to tell you to hug your black children tight tonight, and every night thereafter. To hug your black husbands, boyfriends, and exes; fathers, brothers, and uncles; nephews, cousins and best friends. To band together as black people, wanting to see change, willing to work to enforce that change. To not burn sh*t up with the torch you just lit. 

I want to tell you how sick, sad and disgusted I am at the America we occupy in 2016; that police brutality [read: police murdering black folk] is the new form of legal lynching. I want to tell you that despite this, it will get better. That you'll be okay. That it won't – it can't – happen to you. That you're safe. That you're protected. That I'll protect you. 

 I want to tell you all these things and so much more, but I cannot, because I cannot stop crying. 

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Break. Every. Chain.

6/15/2016

Today, Tasha Cobbs' rendition of Break Every Chain has a different ring to it. It has a powerful, more influential, meaning. A soothing soundtrack. A romanticized revelation. Every word makes sense that it never had before. 

Today, as I recollect my childhood and how it shaped me – in good ways and bad – I have an intentional focus when listening to this song. A focus that suggests that this song is more than its catchy melody and striking vocals, but that with its power the chains, that I now recognize, will be broken. Chains that I didn't realize were chains but were part of who I was. 

The chains of "good behavior" I held onto on field trips and visits with family. Behavior that I understood to mean the suppression of self. Behavior that I now realize, 20+ years later, was the source of me locking up who I was in a file cabinet every time I met someone new. Every time I went somewhere different. Every time I was urged to 'behave'. 

I'm not sure when or how I calculated misbehavior to mean self expression, but regardless I left all the pieces of me hiding behind professionalism and tact. I wrapped up my weird jokes, opinions I'm most passionate about, and quirky habits and secured them in a locker, at the expense of 'good behavior' in this, now, adult world. But as I come into more of myself, I realize how much that thought process – suggesting that good behavior is the denial of who I am to appease those I'm around – has become bondage that has been making my wrists sore and my screams, muffled. Those thoughts have been the reason I have become less of myself and more well-behaved – whatever I attribute that to be. 

Today, as I listen to this song, I hear the chains falling, each being a part of the self-restriction that's being lifted. I hear them crashing against the concrete, as my most authentic self begins to emerge. Noise echoing from the same basement I left my 'self' in as I exited the house each day. I feel the shackles of my self-inflicted bondage easing off my ankles as I walk toward the sun that's now beaming in, providing the light I've always had but never let shine. And as all of this happens, I'm reminded that this won't be the only time it occurs. It won't be the only time I'll have to pick locks with bobby pins. It won't be the only time I'll realize how much I've been weighed down – by the burden of "good behavior" and the shackles of self-defeating thoughts. And it certainly won't be the only time I come out. 

Today I'm reminded, as this song sings a different tune to my soul, that this is merely one part of the process. A process I fought hard to begin, and one I intend to see through to completion.  

I will continue to break chains. Until all of me is out, and all that's out is shining. 

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Words Don't Always Have to Hurt

12/18/2015

"Be encouraged beautiful. You got it!"

Those were all the words I needed, to pry myself from bed and tackle another chapter. They were the words I used to push me to write harder and type quicker. They were the words I reiterated to myself until I believed them. They were the words sent to me about 5 minutes before I began typing this post.

Admittedly, they're the words many of us need to hear when encouraging ourselves stops working. So for those of you who've been waiting to hear them - or words similar - here they are. In different variations. For your differing trials. To get you to great triumphs. Be encouraged. You got it.

Don't give up. Rain always hits hardest toward the eye of the storm. But when the only way out, is through, the dreadful eye of the storm gets you closer to the end. You're close, queen. You're almost there. And as you're suffocating through those high winds and that merciless lightening, I see you. I see you from the other side making it through. Bursting through that storm with your high beams on and windshield wipers on full speed. You have a few more miles to go. You're a few more chapters, sentences, words away...You're a few more semesters, dollars and assignments away...You're only a few more projects, long days, late nights away...A few more hours...paychecks...meetings away...Only a few more upsets, screams and yells away from your breakthrough. But you have to break-through. So don't stop. Keep going. I see you.

Your gift is amazing. Use it! Stop hiding behind the words and work of others. Stop signing your inspiring tweets "anonymous" as if the stories you tell aren't your own. As if the life that spills onto this digital space isn't yours. As if you're ashamed of your truth. Dig into it! Feast in it! It's lovely. And the way you choose to tell it is lovely too. Your gift is amazing. Your words, art, voice, photos, music, poems, campaigns, hashtags, articles are amazing. Your story is amazing. And you deserve to tell it from the mountaintop if you choose to. You deserve to make people sick with your reenactments and your "after the hurricane" memories. You deserve to share it in your way, on your space. No matter who disagrees with it, or dislikes it - own it. Use it. Your gift is amazing.

You can do it. You can do it all. You can strap up your boots and tackle everything you set out to. You can make it through everything that you believe you can, for as long as you believe you can. They can't give you that power and they damn sure can't take it away. That's all you. All the time. Continue to believe in yourself. As much as you did when you first started blogging, or branding, or believing. Believe in yourself as much as you did when you first dropped your mixtape, or album; when you first signed your deal. Believe in yourself as much as you did when you first got that job, first signed that contract, or first started your own business. The new level you're on brings new devils, but honey he can't snatch it from you. He can't snatch your work ethic nor your power. You own that. When I tell you you can do it, you can. But that power only exists for as long as you believe it. I'll believe in you forever - I hope you believe that long, too.

You won't always be here. This dark place. This frustrating place. This place of destruction and unhappiness. It's temporary. Like the storm, you're just passing through. This is just part of the journey. A quick pass through. There's an end to every tunnel, and yours is swiftly approaching. It won't always be like this, so find peace in knowing that it'll be over any day now.  

I love you. I'm proud of you. I support you. Because some of us don't hear those words often enough. When your family doesn't understand why you'd prefer to forge your own way instead of rotting away at a 9 to 5. When they don't understand why you'd choose to be a "struggle artist" than secure in a full-time job. When they don't get why you choose to share your pain with strangers. I love you, I'm proud of you and I support you. Because you're doing life your way. You're owning it on your terms. You're creating a life - and a you - that you'd be proud of. I admire that bravery. That dedication. That commitment. I admire that strength. That drive. That vision. And when no one else understands or gets it, just know that I love you, I'm proud of you and I support you.

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Reality Check: I Believe

12/12/2015

It was exactly one week ago. I was running late. When I arrived, I pulled a chair up to the table, sat down and immediately whipped out my notebook. The prompt was "I believe". The discussion began as people rattled off things they believed in.

"Love, life and liberty." "The pursuit of happiness." "Karma." I kept silent. I decided to read the room first. It was a small intimate crowd, all seemingly connected. Me, I was the outsider. I didn't want to say the wrong thing, and I didn't want to say the right thing - the thing that'd require me to speak longer than I'd felt comfortable.

The moderator prompted us to select the one thing we believe in and elaborate. She gave us 10 minutes to write our thoughts before she encouraged us to share them. Share them?! We have to share!?

I grabbed my pen and wrote. I scribbled. I scratched things off and wrote new things down. I got caught up in having to share and then let it go. My final thoughts came together. As all over the place as my feelings usually are.

People tell you to believe in yourself. They encourage you to speak victory and seek confidence. They tell you that in order to do anything you have to say "I can" more frequently than "I can't". And while I believe in the power of the tongue, I don't think that's enough. Because there are times that I don't believe in myself. There are times when no matter how much I say good things or how loud I may yell my positive affirmations, they're just not enough. There are moments where my "I can's" are drowned out by the impossibility of the task. There are times where my "I believe in me's" are just words I say to get by - because that's what I'm supposed to do. 

So more than just believing in the power of the tongue, I believe in believing the tongue. I believe in the true power coming from that belief. And, I do, undoubtedly believe in God's power. Perhaps that's all the belief I need to believe in me. 

I didn't want to share. I didn't want to display my rebellion by reading about how much I don't believe in myself (sometimes). No one wants to hear that, ever. But it's true; and I believe in truth. 

The conversation continued. Everyone owning their beliefs. Everyone releasing a little bit of their truths. Everyone adopting new beliefs and believing in the power of each other's openness. I kept quiet. Read the room a bit. And began to start my process of owning my beliefs. Because while we all believe in different things, there's beauty in believing in something, even if it's not yourself.

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The Next Puzzle Piece

11/11/2015

The next puzzle piece will be the weird one. The one with 4 outputs and only 1 input. It's going to be a piece that doesn't even fit this puzzle. A piece that'll have to be forcefully placed next to the piece that seems to match closest. It'll be the one bright piece. The piece that isn't even shown on the front of the box. 

It'll be the piece that doesn't even make sense. The piece that must've accidentally been put in the box. It'll be a loner piece. An individual piece. It'll be the piece I hold onto closest because it'll indicate another puzzle is somewhere. It'll mean that the gloomy storm puzzle sitting on my table isn't the only one available. It'll mean that there's one with vibrant colors and a sunshine. The next puzzle piece will be the most important one. It'll be the one that starts the next puzzle. The one that'll connect all the other brighter pieces together. It'll be the piece that starts my next chapter. 

Life is made up of infinite pieces. Pieces we avoid picking up. Pieces we'd much rather leave in the box, or leave spread across the table. Pieces we'd prefer to walk by without acknowledging; without finishing. But when you find that one bright piece, that one happy piece, that one piece that offers a ray of light and a sense of hope, you hold onto it. You hold onto that piece until the other ones like it follow. You hold on to that piece and anticipate the other equally bright pieces to come along. Because not all puzzles are dark and gloomy, and not all of its pieces are either. 

I suppose I'll go place this last piece into this gloomy puzzle, clear it from my table and check under the sofa for the next piece. The happy piece. The piece that'll start the next puzzle of prosperity. 

The next puzzle piece is around here somewhere - I just know it. 

--
The above is written in support of All The Many Layers' #30Layers30Days writing challenge. 

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The Closer, The Better

11/02/2015

"You're closer now than you've ever been," my mother repeated to me as I complained about college finals.

At the time those words weren't at all what I wanted to hear, but now those words are perfect. They replay in my head more rhythmic than before. Like a chant. Or a song. Or the soundtrack to my life.

"You're closer now than you've ever been," I repeat to myself as I click clack away at these keys. I say it every time I log into this site, or think of a new idea. I'm closer now that I was in February. There are people, and organizations, and community leaders, and bloggers who now know who I am - who now know what DEAR QUEENS is. I'm closer now than I was with Polished Perceptions, or Z Talks, or my very personal, very uncensored Tumblr account.

"You're closer now than you've ever been," I say aloud as I think back to the mess I used to be a mere three years ago. I think back to my own battles with self-love, identity and worth. I think back to the bad decisions and bad hangovers. I think back to the bad outfits and badder hair days. I think back to the bad mouthing and the bad relationships.

I'm closer to Christ now, than I've ever been. I remind myself of that every time I think of how this purpose was revealed to me. I reference that every time I pray before I react. I inhale those words every time I think of how my decisions and behavior will impact His kingdom and my entry into it. I look to Bible verses to guide me through situations, and look to God to lead me to my next moves. I talk less and listen more. I open my heart to His guidance and His desires, rather than my own. I sing to Him and cry to Him. I speak to Him - not always to ask for things - but to show my gratitude. I worship Him. I shout for Him. I cry for Him. I believe in Him. I'm closer.

I'm closer to me now, than I've ever been. I've identified myself with my own metrics. I've defined myself with my own guidelines. I've sulked in solitude and came out from the dark enlightened. Filled with love. Filled with promise. Filled with an identity that I hadn't had an interest in tapping into before. I've grown into me. I've become a me I'm proud to wake up to. A me with meaning. An unapologetic me. I've tapped into my power. My beautiful womanhood. My beautiful flaws. I'm closer.

I'm closer to love now, than I've ever been. I'm feeling it. I'm wallowing in it. I'm jumping in it's puddles and giggling with each splash. I'm welcoming it into my life and giving it back. I'm sharing it. I'm enjoying it. I'm play wrestling under the covers with it. I'm uncovering it. I'm doing things I've never done and saying things I never thought I'd say to it. I'm happy in it. I no longer neglect it, but realize that to keep it growing it must be watered. It must be nurtured. I'm nurturing it. I'm trusting it. I'm in it, deeply. I'm much closer.

And, this is the best closeness I've ever experienced. The most important proximity I could ever welcome myself to. The best warmth I've ever felt. This closeness is perfect. I know this must've been what my mother meant. That while literally I was closer then, than I'd ever been, this is true closeness. Being closer to resolution. Closer to triumph. Closer to joy and peace and wholeness. Closer to completion. Closer to it all making sense.

I'm closer now than I've ever been - and tomorrow I'll be even closer. The closer, the better. 
----
The above is written in support of All The Many Layers' #30Layers30Days writing challenge. 

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500WordsorLess

Let Change Change You

10/20/2015

A few weeks ago I sent out inspiration about the importance of embracing life's changes (check it out, here). I've been sitting on this post since then.

I've been thinking about how I can write something to punch you in the gut. Or perhaps provide a love tap of reality. Something that'd remind you that life can be cruel if you don't grab it up yourself. Something simple and quick. Something short and sweet. Something 500 words or less, for the readers on-the-go. I suppose this is my attempt at that. 

Change will happen and you can't change that. It'll swoop in and get you before you even realize what happened. It'll be uncomfortable, unsettling and relentless. But instead of fighting it, I urge you to let change, change you.

Yes. Let change, change you. Let it rip you a new one. Let it wreck you. Let it ruin you. Let it ransack your bedroom and the files on your computer. Let it rain on your parade. Let it chew you up and spit you out. Let change shake things up a bit. Let it grab you from your couch of comfortability and make you completely uncomfortable. Let it stir the pot. Let it strap you to an anchor and throw you in the water. Let it shift your life. Let it rip you to the core. Let it sting. Let it burn. Let it hurt. 

Let it flip you upside down, then right side up. Because when you come out of it - when you grab on to the side of the mountain to pull yourself up - you'll be so refreshed. Restored. Rejuvenated. Remodeled. Refined. Reinvented. You'll have a story to tell. A great story. A story of triumph and victory. A story of your battle. A story of your dedication. You'll have moments to refer back to when you get ready to encourage someone else. You'll have life to share with someone else. An old life in the form of stories, and a new life in the form of restoration.
Let change, change you. Don't run from it. Embrace it. Enjoy it. Edify in it. Eat with it at the dinner table. Invite it to your girl's night outs. Let it in your inner circle. Include it in your group messages. Hang it up in your closet. Sleep with it at night. Let it come into your space and reorganize it all. 

Let change, change you. Because it will anyway, and you could choose to painfully go against its winds, or you can sail along with it. 

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500WordsorLess

Fight For Your Happy

9/27/2015

I'm writing this from a place of concern. Concern that an older sister would have for her younger sister. Concern from an older cousin, mentor or dear friend. I'm writing this in my morning "come to Jesus" meeting voice. I'm writing it with a firm unapologetic tone. The tone that you need to hear to get it. The tone you need for it to stick to your ribs like Sunday's dinner did. The only tone I truly know how to say this in.

You want happiness, you have to go get it. You have to figure out where to pick it up from, and head to that place - with your vaseline and fight music. You have to prepare yourself to snatch it up and keep it. Because it'll never fall in your lap and it'll never just come to you. You have to decide that happiness is what you want, and work every single day to maintain it. You have to choose happiness over sadness, over contentment and over comfortability. You have to make it your first choice and settle for nothing less than it. Because it's not easy to attain, and it's certainly not easy to keep. If it were, I'd hear fewer I've-truly-never-been-happys and many more I've-truly-never-been-this-happys. 

Happiness is a battle. A constant fight. A war. There will be people fighting against you getting it, harder than you're fighting to find it. They'll be influences who pride themselves on snatching it from right under your nose. People, circumstances and things, that are ready to abolish whatever plans you had at getting it. Because they don't want you to have it, and part of you is ready to give up trying. 

Happiness isn't just a walk through a field of dandelions; it's noticing the bees and being ready to attack the first one that comes to attack you. It's sitting with your guns loaded ready to knock down whatever is trying to prevent it from flourishing in your life. It's tackling every negative that attempts to stand in the way of your path to happiness. It's knowing you have to fight for it, and acknowledging that its worth the fight. 

Life will hit you. It will hurt you. And at that moment, happiness may feel like the furthest thing from reality. You fell and fumbled your happiness. You gave up the search because the punch life hit you with knocked the breath out of you. You dropped your happy and ran the other way. You weren't ready to fight for it. You didn't even know you had to. 

But you do. You have to work hard to maintain it because life can be cruel, and the people in it can be crueler. You have to make the decision to work at it each day. You must decide to focus on getting happy and maintaining it. You must decide to fight for it. 

Getting to happy isn't just a walk through the field. It's not a dip in passionate work and loving relationships. It's a constant journey; a chase. It's not going to fall in your lap. It's not going to show up on your door step and it's not going to appear in your next meal. You have to find out where it lies and GPS your way to it.  You have to fight through the flames to find it. And once you do, you must keep a tight grip to maintain it. You must block out those trying to snatch it from you with their drama and gossip. You must erase the envy of those around you who try to go under your arms to take it. 

Your pursuit of happiness is a right, but happiness itself is a privilege. One you have to work for. One that comes from great bounds and with great leaps. You deserve it as much as you believe you do, but you have to go for it. You have to fight for it. 

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