I'm a Ryan. Who are you?

If you have not seen Girls Trip, then I seriously do not know what the heck you are waiting for!

This is not one of those films that people hype up and then it falls flat...this is so worth the 10 bucks! So much so, that I went to see it with my mom one night and was still laughing hysterically again when I went with my date to see it again the next night (yeah...I couldn't believe he wanted to see it either!).

But this post isn't simply an endorsement of the film, it is an examination of how I saw myself in each of the various characters...specifically Ryan (she who has it all).

Before seeing the film, I just knew that Jada's character, Lisa was going to be my spirit animal.  She was demure, covered up, and had this sensible ponytail.  However, (and I am not going to spoil it for folks who haven't seen it), I found out through the course of the film that she was me at a different stage of my life and not someone who I necessarily identify with now.  Sasha (Queen Latifah), was the furthest from who I am, and I tend to stay away from people who embody her gossipy, stuntin', behavior.  Dina...well I can be Dina when I have had 6 shots of Tequila, or have had it up to there with folks, which is funny and scary!

Ryan, and I are birds of a feather; Renaissance women who work hard, have our hands in multiple projects at a time, tend to be the glue of our friendships, and strive for a life near perfection even when things seem to be falling apart.  We're both writers, constantly have mirror talk with ourselves to bolster confidence, and simply want the best for ourselves and others. Sometimes our well meaning words, can hit like blunt force trauma and sting our loved ones.  And we simply don't subscribe to what everyone else thinks or says do, because we are constantly trying to work with what best suits our lives.  We are the women who will hunt down a 4 star hotel with a suite and spa included, but will often hide our feelings for fear of appearing weak or incapable.

This attitude does not always serve us as we can be tearing ourselves apart in the inside when things don't work out as planned. Ours is a personality that can be isolating, because to the outsider it appears we are doing well and don't need help when in reality we're 2 steps away from a full on breakdown.

Ryan's character, represents Black women everywhere who have to always work hard to stay on top in the face of adversity.  The women who statistics say will never marry or have a marriage that ends in divorce.  The women who are more often made to choose between career and family.  The women who are constantly made to prove that the are more than a stereotype. 

But Ryan's character also represents the strength and poise that Black women possess.  Yes, it can be tough, it can get messy, but we can prevail.  By using our smarts and having passion and ambition, we might overcome to become the next Oprah, or the Black Martha Stewart, ensuring that our family becomes financially secure in a world where so many doors still remain closed to them.  Her character is empowerment, despite the hurdles she has to examine and overcome.

And, it is refreshing to see such a shining example of Black Womanhood & Sisterhood portrayed in a film...especially in an industry that is know for only allowing us to be sidekicks an stereotypes. I'll say it again: Go and see it!  When you get back, tell me who you are: Ryan, Sasha, Dina, or Lisa.

Being the only one

Throughout most of my life I have been the only one. The only one who has kinky hair, the only one with brown skin, the only one who doesn't look like they fit their name. I have been the only black child,girl, woman in a sea of faces that generally accepted me but didn't quite understand me.

Some of you may have been the only ones. Maybe you are okay with that. Perhaps you haven't encountered any major problems. If so that's good..;great even! However, you cannot argue that being the only one renders feelings that being the ONLY can. You may have a point when one of your friends is so cool with your otherness that they include you in on all of their secrets, things that are said about your only oneness in the dark.  You may have also encountered a situation where they did not understand why something was offensive and you found yourself having to speak on behalf of all of your people. 

Then there's that whole thing with minimizing.  When you are the only one, sometimes you might find yourself minimizing your otherness as not to call attention to it, though..let's be real: your cocoa skin or thick tendrils make you the elephant in the room.  Sure, you might stay away from saying "Bye, Felicia," so they don't get comfortable...but you know Amber, she dated Dontae'...and at some point, she is going to bring Felicia back!

Being the only one can attract the curiosity level that a bearded lady strikes. Why are you the only one?  Why do you want to be the only one? Are you comfortable with being the only one? Furthermore what do you do when your only oneness literally becomes being a token? Is it because you like White guys? Or are you one of "those" black girls who secretly wants to be White?  These are the questions that I have been asked!

The thing is, sometimes being the only one is not a choice. It just is what it is. Being black doesn't define who your friends are or what you like.And being the only one is not all bad, but it comes with a duty to establish certain boundaries when things get complicated or things get uncomfortable.

Sometimes being the only one is a blessing because it allows others to see just how unique we truly all are.

Don't Forget Who You Are: An Ode to Liz:One Kick-Ass Granny

My Great Grandmother has been dead for 12 years.

As a child, our interaction was amiable at best.  She was feisty, and I was docile. In her day, she'd whoop your ass (and if you got close enough to her...she still would...she was blind in older age); in my day I would fight because I had to, but I really didn't want to.  Two different sides of a coin-but nevertheless bonded by blood and understanding.

I think we were exactly what each of the other wanted to be. However, time and circumstance made her the tough one and me the victim.  She grew up during the Depression era, the first generation of  us who would become Pittsburghers.  Her family had come from Montgomery, Alabama, following the seduction of steel mill jobs with decent pay. She had to make her way...she was black, poor, and a woman; the three strikes that often determine whether you make it at all. Her first child died....a boy who was stillborn, when she was 15 or 16.  He was buried in a shoebox in an unmarked grave, on their property I am assuming,  By 17, she was married to a man from Georgia, who was already married to someone else...she didn't know She would bear two girls by him, one of whom is my bff (my grandma) and he would leave her for a town in Ohio...re-marry and have more children. A single parent, with 3 little girls to care for in a segregated country, she struggled...but as they say "she persisted."

She was tough, but she had this sweet little voice that said "Love is Tough." One minute she might be feeling your head to feel "all that glory." The next she might call you a hussy if you sassed her and  didn't do what she said in a timely manner.  I got both of those.  I didn't sass her, because my great grandmother scared me shitless. There was something about  her that commanded dignity, respect, and honor.  There was something about her that said, "if you don't follow the rules, I will make you understand why you should have." That was her way. Her "granny voice" was cute but it carried the air of an all knowing queen. We treated her as such.  When she needed to go to the "Love Room" as she commonly referred to it, there was no hesitation in who would take her. Someone would link her arm to theirs, lead her there, allow her to do her duty, and lead her back down the stairs.  When her glass needed to be freshened, you didn't ask if she needed ice cubes---you just put those suckers in there and filled it up with her favorite beer. Ah, yes she was a lady and a Queen, but she was no dainty flower...and she'd let you know!

 Elizabeth or Liz (as she liked to be called), was a woman who had to make it on her own terms.  She never talked much about growing up in her household...but mainly about school and her neighborhood on Pittsburgh's Northside.  She talked about the scuffles she had been in; one in which she had a girl knock a stick off her shoulder to challenge her to a fight (a Depression era fight code)...or that time when she punched a woman off of a bar stool for trying to flirt with my (step) great -grandfather, who she never legally married because they were both still married to other people. She laughed about these things; a sweet, warm, laughter.  This was her as a rogue, as a youngin', as a rebel.  Yet, when she was telling these stories, she always found a way without directly saying it, to impart to my brothers, cousins, and I, that we should not behave in this way.  She gave us candy and pop as an incentive for good behavior.  Since she was blind, she would take her wallet from her pillow case, pull out a bill and ask which number it was.  If it was the amount she wanted to give, which was always greater than $1, it was yours to keep.

When we talked, just her and I, we mostly laughed. This was of course when I got older, into my later teens. We shared jokes, stories, and she asked me about school. She always wanted to know how my grades were, what I was doing.  When I got to college, she couldn't be prouder. She couldn't come to my high school graduation but she wanted to know what I wore, how my hair was styled, and what color my robe was.  She was fascinated. I wish she she could have actually see me then. Our last conversation, happened two weeks before she died. We had just moved her into a new housing complex for senior citizens.  She and I were sitting in the hallway chatting about...everything. Laughing about how she called Duquesne beer "Du-Quincy".  I just remember her laughing, her dark sunglasses on her nose, her beautiful straight gray hair braided into two cornrows;that she always did herself.  She did not let her blindness stop her from ANYTHING. There was something about her that day, that seemed so peaceful.

She died at the age of 77 in January of 2005. A shock to us, who thought our kick-ass granny would live to be 100 at least.  We think she caught a cold. My heart was broken. , I felt like I was just getting to know her, really, after a whole life time of knowing her. I had so many questions to ask her, which would now be only whispered to the ears of Heaven.

My Gran, as I called her, is still alive in my heart. I hear her laugh, smile when I see her smile in my mind, and she comes to visit in my dreams.  Her message: never forget who you are.
Time may pass but I'll never forget who she was and who she made it possible for me to be. She had to be tough so I could be something.

30 is the new 20?

Life happens...that's why this blog hasn't happened since last year.

A lot has changed. My career, my hair, my goals...surprisingly not my relationship situation, though! Hey 3 out of 4 ain't bad!

On Turkey Day this year, I will be the big 30! It is an exciting time for me. While once upon a time I thought that I'd be in tears as it approached, I'm actually looking forward. Maybe now I will actually get those things done that I need to. On the other hand it is bittersweet because I never had the so-called 20's experience, but I am determined to make my 30's a happening time.

I don't want 30 to be the new 20 for me. I don't want do-overs. I simply want a fresh start and a clear path to an already promising future.

Life is what you make it. Make it how you want!

Excited About Conversation!

So I'm utterly excited.
No, I haven't gotten a new a job or leash on life. Nothing that serious! But I am excited because next week I get to see THE Michelle Norris in my hometown next week all thanks to one of my best buds who secured tickets for me (thanks Cathy!).

If you don't know who Michelle Norris is then it's time to learn. She is this amazing woman who is a host on NPR and the author of one of my favorite reads, The Grace of Silence: A Memoir. There is obviously a lot fascinating stuff in her book but since she is so awesome, I am going to leave it to my readers to find out more and read it on their own ;).

I am excited to see Michelle Norris coming to my hometown mainly because she is going to talk about something that never seems to cease tongues wagging: race.  Yup, the big "R" word in the room.  In fact, the title of the talk/event is called Eavesdropping on America's Conversation About Race.  While I'm not 100% sure about all that will be discussed, I am certain it will be an evening of enlightened thought, and also maybe somethings that will draw the public's attention back in from where it once waned.

What I think I am most excited about is that Michelle Norris is an example of a woman of African-American background, who has utilized her education not only to excel in her career, but also to take the time out to educate others. Whenever, I see someone like her, I am reminded that yes, even at the ripe old age of 28 (shhh...) it's still ok to have heroines, people to aspire to. Not to mimic their accomplishments in any fashion or sort but to say, yes she is like me, she is someone who has done the very thing I am striving to do. If she can do this I can.

Furthermore, I love that she is speaking about something that has generally been relegated to African-American males scholars to dissect, critique, decipher, and lecture upon.  Not to say that there hasn't been women such as Melissa Harris-Perry, Dr. Julianne Malveaux, and bell hooks, that have lectured on the subject or brought it to the forefront. It just seems that largely, the mere topic of race and racism has been something reserved for the male mind and dialogue as if women of color have in fact been less impacted.

What I am hoping is to learn more about maybe a hidden(?) conversation about race in America. In some ways I am hoping to be proved wrong about things being just as structured and ridiculous as they were 50 years ago. I am hoping more than anything that I am given some insight to take home with me that I can perhaps touch upon when I feel like I need to.

But again, I am just really excited to actually see Michelle Norris. I'm a nerd...so what! :)

A Natural Woman

For those of you who read my musings, you know that I have a slight fascination with hair.  With that being said, I have finally come to a point in my life where I have decided to go natural--back to my wavy, curly, birth mane.

Like all things, it's a process.  It's been a little over a month since my hair has a had no chemical in it and I've kept it braided down for the most part. I wouldn't have dared taken the big chop like some of my brave friends have...with my round tomato head, my varied hair texture, and my widow's peek, short just ain't it!

But I am enjoying seeing those beautiful waves rise underneath my braided up do.  It's been like seeing an old friend you never thought you'd see again.  I get excited when I think about how wonderful it will be when all of natural hair has grown out and the relaxer is gone.  I think about the different styles I will do and how much healthier and fuller it will be once it is free to be so.

But mostly, I think about why I altered my naturalness in the first place.  I didn't get my first relaxer until I was 18. Prior to that I had to endure the straightening comb, the inevitable undoing by the school swimming pool and the rain, and thousands of classmates, boys, and even family members opinions about why I should permanently straighten it. Most of the reasoning behind the comments was that I had too much hair and it was coarse. I chose to get it straightened so it would be more manageable.  Back in the late 90's and early 2000's there wasn't much embracing of natural hair...especially when you were a teenager. We were consumed by Aaliyah's wraps, Beyonce's curls, and TLC's different colored hair and varied tresses. If you came to school looking natural, you were likely to get called nappy, clowned, and don't even think about a guy trying to ask you out!

As an adult woman, of course I look back and wish I could tell my kid self to put that box of Motions relaxer back on the shelf and learn how to braid and twist my long lengths.  My hair was down to my shoulders back then and was beautiful, now at twenty eight it sheds and thins when it get close to my shoulders due to dyeing and relaxing. As an adult woman, I not only see the damage chemicals have done to my hair but also the damage that was done to my spirit by letting others dictate what my mane should look like. I also understand that once I became relaxed, I began to not only lack discipline in my hair care regimen, but other areas in my life as well.

People think that hair is just an object of vanity but to some people it is sacred and an indicator of health status.  As a teen I lived a fun and worry free life and my hair grew long and strong; as an adult my life became fraught with so many uncertainties and my hair became just that: uncertain and unpredictable. As I changed, so did my tresses...as I became unsure...they became frail.

This is why it was important for me to make the decision to get back to my natural self. By nurturing it and letting it be, I am allowing not only it to grow as it was but also journeying a long with it. No more will I be consumed with wanting to be accepted because I accept myself.  Though my tendrils may now have a few gray strands among them (they do, I've seen them), I get to go back and grab an important piece of myself that I thought that I left behind. My hair harkens back to my origins; my ancestors from Angola, the Middle East, the Rappahannock tribe, and Ireland.  My journey back to it is my journey back to them; my homage and thanks for blessing me with abundance.

I look forward to the journey and will be investing in a lot of Shea butter products! :)




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Waiting for Mr. Right Now vs. Mr. Right

A few hours ago, I was informed by a guy that I had been seeing for a little over a month that he "really didn't want to date anyone right now."

I would like to say that I was stunned but I wasn't.  He had been exhibiting all the classic signs of a boy (yeah I said it) which were pulling back when things were getting serious: delayed text messages or skipping days of communication, not wanting to know more about my life than was already disclosed, wanting to spend time at home, and being "too busy" to make plans with me. In fact, had I not broached the subject with him about him seeming disinterested anymore, he would not have even provided me with the above information.  It would have just fizzled out.

That's how boys do it.

What did stun me was that he was very good at being misleading and that I avoided all red flags until after the moment when he admitted he was just playing.  I ignored the way he jealousy guarded his time for television shows and video games.  I ignored the his criticism of me when I didn't know about certain things that he did. I ignored his failure to acknowledge how attractive I looked when he saw me until the very end.  I ignored the way he described himself as gentleman (usually men who have to tell you that they are such, are not indeed).

I ignored these red flags because I was so enthralled with his good looks, his charm, his education, his occupation, and the fact that he seemed to be very interested in what I thought about him and how he could improve---a trait that I had honestly never witnessed in any man I have dated.

What I did was become taken with half of what I always wanted and forgot the small parts that really mattered in the long run.

So often as black women, we settle for less than what we deserve.  We think to ourselves, "Well there is a shortage of brothas and if I get one who seems to have it all going on, then I need to snatch him up!" So we settle, taking things like finances, occupation, and education in precedence to things like family values, good morals, and genuineness.  And then we fall short; short of a man meeting our true expectations, short of ourselves, and then we are hurt.

We are conditioned to believe that there is this shortage of black men out there and even a smaller percentage of them are good brothas.  We are conditioned to believe that if a brotha ain't an engineer, doctor, or lawyer... that brotha ain't shit. We are conditioned to believe that in order to achieve the American Dream of marriage that we have to take all of the bad with the good; they are men and that's the way it is. In essence, we are taught not just as black women but as women in general that men will be dogs regardless, and in order to keep a dog loyal to you , you must accept it's nature.

I'm giving that  big HELL NO. Call me bitter and maybe a bit angry but if I didn't learn anything today, I surely have learned (hopefully) for the final time that you mustn't cater to a dog. If you see the red flags...RUN. When you meet a man, lay your expectations out from the door. If he's worthy he'll stay, if not he wasn't for you. Never, ever, ever, compromise what you truly want just because he has SOME of what you want.

Modern Black Women: We're better than this. Stop settling for Mr. Right Now and wait on Mr. Right!