Confronting my awful medical history

My family medical history really sucks! There is just no nice way to express my frustration with this gift that keeps on giving. I have written about it previously and my most recent doctor visits influenced my decision to write about my health journey again.

Preventative health care was simply something I did when I was younger because people said I should. I think I followed directives in my youth because I was young and I felt invincible or maybe because I had no concern about the medical findings or recommendations. At this stage in my life, “white coats” make me apprehensive. I put “white coats” in quotes because my doctors don’t wear coats. I have the hippest, coolest medical team. They are kind, compassionate, and experts in their respective fields. My dentist, my gynecologist, and my family medicine team encourage my twisted humor, my thoughtful presentation of my decision history, and my awareness of my present life condition. Over the last few years, two of them have empathized with me because of the major life shifts I have endured. I honestly think they were shocked that my body came up from the ashes yet again. They knew the historical family dynamics that lived with me and they knew the I had survived several major life changes. Their body language always seemed to bear the weight of my heavy life burdens. I appreciated their concern and help because my life shifts came in bundles of at least three heavy weights at a time.

In their efforts to keep the temple solid, they monitored my blood pressure. This task has been assigned to a doctor for at least fifteen years. Everyone in my immediate family fought that good fight for many years. I have been told that retention of salt was necessary in order to survite Middle Passage. While many campfires welcomed death-by-sea on this involuntary journey to America, my ancestors survived and so did high blood pressure. Hence, I, too, fight the good fight.

Some time in the spring of last year, my doctor approved a comfort dog after learning that my brother died and that my support system was minimal. He seemed quite sad actually. He also ordered more blood work in order to further investigate my cholesterol numbers. He said, “things change as we get older.” I wrote a blog about that visit because he also told me to “eat less meat and exercise more” which to me was code for you are fat and need to lose weight. So, I went back to the doctor a few weeks ago to hear about the recheck of the cholesterol since that visit. I was expecting to hear “you are still fat and you still need to walk more.” Instead I learned I was down two pounds, my blood pressure readings was great, and my cholesterol numbers, good and bad, were much better. For a few seconds I was super excited and proud of myself. Then, the physician assistant said some other number was low and they wanted to explore it further. My thought bubble read, “You gotta be kidding me! Do you just need to find something wrong with me?” I told her that her particular concern was not a new medial findings. I tried to convince her that my normal number for this test always hovered just below the “normal” range.

Once again the hella bad family history guided her next decision. She ordered more blood work. She didn’t just order a recheck of that one test, she ordered every freakin’ test known to humankind. She tested me for every blood disorder and disease for which there was a blood test. Within the following two weeks, I had to get to a lab. Two arms and three pricks later they had all of the genetic information they needed to assess my medical status. I was glad to learn that most of the test were negative and that eating more bananas and avocados could possible remedy the low potassium issue.

Doctor visits never ranked high on my to do list, but I still believe that it is better to know than not to know. I believe that it is better to know sooner than later. I believe in advocating for preventive health care and I hope that those in positions of power will work to ensure that everyone can access excellent preventive care. Prevention leads to early and more effective medical care. Preventive health care can also lead to a better quality of life and who doesn’t aspire to that end? Go to the doctor and take a friend or family member if the idea frightens you. Take a friend or family member if you want to enrich your life and theirs. Read my other blog post about my awful family history if you need encouragement. Use my stories to motivate you and to reassure you that you are not in this thing alone.

That Choppa Life

Ever feel like the good news was only a set up for the bad news? I had a few experiences this week in which the upper pitched me like a perfectly timed alley-oop to the downer soaring to execute the rim-swinging dunk. A friend who sat curtsied watching me direct the fast break recovery after each dunk this week texted me to say, “Wow you definitely have the ying and yang going.” I agreed.

I agreed with her that my world comes riddled with moment that made me shake my head. I agreed with her because many of these head shaking moments came courtesy of other people and their decisions and actions. I began to feel that the intrusive attacks of the yangs came purposefully to upset the joy of the yings. Thankfully, the repetition of the attack of the yangs strengthened and empowered me. At some point, the pendulum swinging made me laugh out loud. I laughed along with my friend and coworker about my new perspective on my life.

The two of us have spent a great deal of time working with students who had experience with marijuana so I borrowed the term choppa from my students to describe my life. Choppa might have been known as a spliff back in the day or in more recent times called snapamobile. Until last school year, I had never heard of either term. My curious students explained that the ingredients in a choppa consisted of marijuana and nicotine. When smoked together these ingredients gave them a quick high followed by a low. Hence, the laughter when I described myself to my licensed alcohol and drug counselor friend as “a living choppa.”

The work week began with a Monday off to relax and recover from the madness of the weeks prior. I told some that when the week began I owned a supernatural peace only to have that peace disturbed by other folks. Tuesday I left home renewed and optimistic. Since it seemed that the universe responded with a yang every time I expressed a ying with my outside voice, I have decided to be rather vague about the particulars that defined my choppa life this week.

Tuesday, my professional development blessed my soul just after I learned some life changing health news about someone dear to me.
Wednesday, I attended a program ready to share stories about the richness of my soulful heritage only to share a platform with folks spewing anger and unwarranted expectations.
Thursday, I reflected on the benefits and blessing of having health insurance while living with the dialog of doctors about the challenges of being over fifty.
Friday brought the reality that things you sacrifice for can challenge your peace the most.

Regardless of the madness in my life, I found laughter and trusted friends anchored me. My spirit was calmed by meditation, prayer, and good music. Despite the yangs, I remained grounded, hopeful, and empowered. God has a sense of humor. Let it be known that the giggles shall outnumber and overcome the intentions of the yangs in my choppa life.

Tiana and T’Challa: More than movie mania

Anyone who knows me know that my kids and their holistic development has been at the center of my life for most of my adult life. I have no regrets about my decision to invest in them. My intentional investment in them enhanced my life in ways I never imagined and produced two amazingly creative, independent, courageous, resilient, global thinking young people. Their successes, unique gifts, and interests guided my advice and parenting choices while my parenting discussions were motivated by my desire to promote within them the belief that they could achieve their goals and dreams. I wanted them to believe that they could succeed and overcome even if they were the first person to make the choice to attempt the things or accomplish the things in their dreams. I worked hard to find stories and models of people doing amazing things even if the actors were imaginary characters. I knew that a thoughtful visionary did not exist without imagination. I wanted my children to be visionaries with the strength and courage to stretch their minds beyond their current status. Overcoming mediocrity and external limitations required them to be grounded and well-rounded. Establishing stable foundations for them meant infusing positive energy and positive messaging into their lives. I needed them to see people like them being great despite the odds.

Cinema provided two opportunities for me to meld entertainment, education, and edification with parenting moments with my children. Years ago my daughter and I saw “Princess and the Frog” together. Princess Tiana became the first African American fairytale princess. We were excited to go to the theatre to see how a common childhood tale would be told from the perspective of a community comprised of people who lived and grooved in a world that looked more like the one we called home. Even as my daughter aged, I found ways to introduce reminders of Tiana into her world with items bearing Tiana’s image. I gave my daughter a number of Tiana-themed items: an ice pack for her snack bag, a coloring book, a cookbook, and a bowl and cup set. Tiana was a young girl who overcame challenging people and challenging circumstances and I connected my daughter to her image as often as possible.

About a month ago, I recognized that the cinema would soon offer a similar teaching experience for my son and me. I bought two tickets for “Black Panther” online from a theater that allowed me to select our seats in advance. Attention to details was everything in preparation for the anticipated release. I forwarded the electronic tickets to my boy to confirm our date to Wakanda. We counted down the days and minutes much like I did with my daughter many years prior. We selected movie attire that met our Wakanda certified standard. We arrived at the theatre early enough to get snacks and settle into our oversized, comfy theatre loungers minutes before the lights dimmed. Like Tiana, Prince T’Challa inspired us to meet challenges of loss and leadership with intelligence, historical perspective, and collaborative alliances.

These animated royals lived in colorful, vibrant communities. They taught us to align with folks capable of hearing our voiced and sharing our visions. The young royals recognized the challenges they faced individually and as a community. Tiana and T’Challa acknowledged their positions, purpose, priorities, and predators. Both of them with the counsel of trusted advisors investigated the internal and external influences in their lives with a counsel of trusted advisors. They let the partners nurture them while they fed their own visions for leading their communities to greatness.

My daughter was my princess before Tiana was a thought. My son was my prince before Marvel ever introduced T’Challa. As their mother, I had a queenly duty to raise my little royals to be ready to stand in kingdoms riddled with unforeseen villains and unimagined change. Good villagers should see the value in using cinema and any other vehicle to instill the spirit of overcoming challenges through hard work, strategic planning, meaningful relationships, and humility.

Village Building

One of my passions is building healthy, supportive villages for young people. I started this blog because I realized that grown folks often lacked the skills and abilities necessary to communicate and encourage young people in a way that propelled the young ones to greatness. Most often I found that grown folks couldn’t even help a young person to merely alright status let alone get them to greatness. My vision was to use my personal experiences to educate, empower, and enlighten people to go in search of the the thing or things that made their souls sing then use whatever they found to help those in their villages. In other words, I wanted folks to delve into themselves until they could answer the question “What makes my eyes light up when I think about it or speak about it?” Once the person could answer that questions I wanted to encourage them to take a risk and go do it.

I have known for years that connecting people and ideas brought me much excitement. In the south, people described me as “nice” or “sweet” or hospitable.” Later, I learned that I had a gift of building social capital which is more than just being kindhearted and social. For years, I called my communities of connectedness villages. My villages were comprised of specialists in every field that my family and I needed to have abundant life. I knew cooks, electricians, handymen, plumbers, computer techs, photographers, musicians, hairdressers, nail techs, community leaders, educators, lawn guys, mechanics, and members of the clergy. I always told my kids that I knew people who knew people. I also knew that if I respected the people and their genius, they would be more responsive whenever I called. Affirmation was magical and it built a two-way street that amounted to the thing that seems to have been lost in so many places today – relationships.

This week reminded me that people have allowed gravity to pull them horizontally as well as vertically. The polarizing, silo-dwelling I have witnessed has me envision large magnets surrounding organizations drawing people further away from the center of the community. This force has separated visionaries from the pulse that gives life to the organization itself. The magnetic force over time gradually turned the faces of the people away from the heart that gave them all existence. Instead of reaching with outstretched arms toward the heart, they reached outward toward the appendages of the body with crooked limbs restricting the blood flow capable of producing optimal levels of functioning. With this less than optimal level of functioning the builders created distance and constructed satellite villages on the outskirts of the primary village. The most driven and capable leaders who were called to contribute to the greater good become entrenched in the mini-villages that operated independent institutions erected like silos around the village complete with moots to sever the landscape.

Regardless of the name, I have seen this trend problematic for many organizations, including colleges and universities. When the silo villager became so focused on the outlying community without concern for the infrastructure that initially connected them to the heart source, there was satisfaction with the isolation. Isolation was opposite of what my friends in the business school called networking. Separation and isolation impeded the establishment of trust, transparency, or developing viable relationships. Witnessing fragmented communities this week as a result of failed networks and selfish ambition made my soul disappointed. I was disappointed that the full potential and sustainability of organizations could never be reached if this modality continued. I was disappointed that good would never be great and that some people were fine with being average.

The highlight of my week was reflection on random encounters with a couple of middle-aged women like myself who were in search of purpose and “tribe.” These women reconnected me to my purpose and my passion. They permitted me to see the benefits of sharing my gift of village building with them. One of my friends needed a “tribe” and our chance encounter a couple of weeks ago gave us each a new friend and gave her a dozen new connections. The woman and I met and became friend a couple of days ago in Oregon as we were both exploring new journeys of self. A two hour shuttle ride and a conversation over coffee left her with new ideas for work-life moves and a connection to my friend who lived in her area who could increase her knowledge of the opportunities in her community when she returned from her journey.

I implore you to use your passion to purposefully help others. There’s enough stuff to go around and enough gifts to share. Spend your time and energy building bridges and connecting people to cool ideas or to other cool people or both. Then you should celebrate the new life you created in them and enhanced village you both call home. You might be surprised that when you give for the sake of village you will be blessed beyond measure.

“Corduroy” by Don Freeman

This week marked the start of Black History Month which led me down a reflective path. I began to think about the lack of Black History in the classrooms and the lack of Black faces in television, literature, and toys during my childhood. As I struggled to remember the first time I ever saw a Black girl in a children’s book, I remembered adorable Corduroy. The thought of Corduroy and Lisa made me smile. I loved teddy bears and Lisa was the first Black girl in a book who sort of looked like me who loved stuffed animals as much as I loved them.

Don Freeman wrote and illustrated this book. I have never researched his life beyond the book’s cover, but now in my adulthood I think that maybe I should delve deeper into his life story. This book was first published in 1968 only four years after the Civil Rights Act of 1964. His depiction of a happily integrated department store in or around 1968 seemed normal to me as a little girl in the early 70’s, but now I believe that he wrote about a world that many dreamed of experiencing. I found a website, donfreeman.info, that introduced Don Freeman the musician, author, artist, performer, and friend. He endeared friends of the darker hue and the stories on this site suggested that they like him were artists who welcomed a diverse friend circle.

I read the book today to refresh my memory about the story line. Lisa spotted Corduroy at the end of a shopping trip with her mom. There was no money left to fund the teddy bear purchase. Lisa didn’t throw a tantrum. Instead of a tantrum or begging, Lisa evaluated her primary source of income – her piggy bank. She knew that sweet Corduroy wanted to go home with her as much as she wanted to take him home so she returned the next day with just enough money. Lisa didn’t know that Corduroy spent the night before searching the store for a button that was missing from his green overalls. His exploration did not result in the recovery of the button and he believed the missing button would preclude him from being selected. This book demonstrated a cool lesson on imperfection being the perfect connector of human spirits. Don Freeman also taught a lesson about the commonality and pureness of a child’s spirit regardless of the color of the child’s skin.

I loved the innocence of this story. I loved the civility of the characters in a recently integrated department store. I loved that Don Freeman wrote a timeless, priceless tale of friendship. This book highlighted the potential of humankind to embrace things and people with visible differences even if the social or political climate advocate for exclusion and separation. My parents worked hard to find books, toys, and experiences that enabled me to see girls and women who looked like me doing cool things in an effort to engrain in my mind that I cool do some cool things too. At that time, it was easier to find books, toys, and media with people who didn’t look like me so I appreciate their intentional acts to educate, empower, and enlighten me about myself and the world around me.

Silence: Friend or Foe

Silence abruptly interrupted the noise.

Silence startled my chaotic system that normalized the noise.

Silence force me to dismiss the comfort of the external vibrato and the reverberating sound within.

Silence rested at zero on the decibel meter, then locked the dial at quiet.

Silence demanded my attention.

Silence was a forced and pregnant pause.

Silence became the aroma of a flavorful sauce that intentionally filled the room.

Silence offered time and opportunity to recover and reflect.

Silence tricked me by substituting healing with the courtship of a hypocritical tease.

For years, I had a love-hate relationship with silence. I sought out quiet time in order to find a place to relax and escape from the crazy and the busy of my crazy-busy life. My crazy-busy life used a chorus of screams inside of me to awaken my nerve endings and make my heart race. Oddly, the emotions and physiological responses triggered by chaos and crazy resulted in cravings of more chaos and crazy. Before my personal experience, I would have believed that my body would have activated a shut off valve to seal off the access to my brain and my central nervous system. Although my beliefs generated thoughts of an involuntary bodily function to protect me from the noise, I learned that my personality type really wanted and needed to take charge of managing the external and internal commotion.

In my forced silence, I wondered how I came to be in a place so quiet. In my silence, I sat a bit frustrated with everything and everyone who left me living with peace and quiet. I had forgotten all of the things I said I would do “if I just had some free time.” I forgot all of the times that I wished for peace and quiet. I learned that frustration and my selective memory coupled with silence had power waste time on negative thoughts instead of using time wisely investing in enriching actions. Ironically, I think I got stuck on the fact that I didn’t prescribe the quiet time myself.

Silence turned out to be an awesome time for me to develop my creative ideas. Silence also proved valuable in my professional life. I spent time studying and evaluating my strategic plans for my department and how those plans align with stated goals of my staff and campus partners. As much as I resisted the introduction of silence into my day, I have warmed up to the essence of silence. Once I welcomed the slowing of my crazy-busy life, I began to praise myself for intentional efforts to be still and quiet. Meditation has allowed me to practice breathing in calm and releasing the chaos. In the silence, I meditate on ways to bridge gaps between my department and others. I thought of ways to better support my staff. I meditated on the challenges in my department. I thought of ways to incorporate the training and theory about higher education into the fabric of the department. Silence contributed to the betterment of my personal life and my professional relationships.

Often the most challenging place for an extrovert like myself is sitting in silence. My personality naturally drives me to share ideas, connect people with common interests, and use any resources I have to improve the condition of the people and the environment around me. Last week while sitting in silence, I struggled. I struggled with the realization that I had no external distractions to excuse me from facing real and tangible issues. I struggled because I had no diversion from dealing with my personal and professional stuff. Finally, I shifted my attitude and my attention. I did some writing and editing of my leadership journal. During the silence, I incorporated the calming breathes that I learned through meditation. In the silence, I processed of a couple of work related situations that . I decided to use the time in silence to read text that would enhance my professional career. Then, I incorporated the lessons learned into situations with campus partners. I had time to evaluate my decisions and process in a couple of fact situations. The silence gave me time to calm my nerves and settle my thoughts. I was able to find ways that I could mitigate the collateral damage that happens when there are disagreements on process and protocol between the departments. I meditated on the situations until I found things I could have done to make the situations better and I considered how I would breach sensitive subjects with my coworkers. Silence definitely shocks my system when I am relegated to listening to the silence. However, when I embrace the opportunities for development of action, relationships, career, and places, silence was my dear friend.

“Ducks in Muck” by Lori Haskins

I started this blog journey because I wanted to educate, encourage, and enlighten people in topics related to building supportive villages for young people. Raising my children had become my greatest work. I regularly received comments from onlookers about my children being “well-behaved” and “polite.” Sometimes people would say you should write a book about parenting so you can teach other people how to raise children to be like your children. I haven’t written the book yet, but this forum gives me a platform to speak.

My mother used to talk about how she would listen to the radio or read books and envision the settings described by the artists. She would imagine what it must be like to be in that space. My mother spent decades teaching first and second grade children to read and to use their imaginations. I think she influenced my love of reading and writing. She definitely was my first reading teacher. Her penmanship was dang near perfect and she stressed the importance of me perfecting my cursive writing skill set. Unlike Mama, Daddy only cared about you being able to sign your name legibly in cursive. I never understood it, but maybe it was because his signature and his handwriting left a lot to be desired.

Mama’s reading lessons began with the alphabets. First, she taught us to say the alphabets by singing the “A,B,C Song.” Next, we had to learn to say the sounds associated with each letter. She associated each letter with objects which aided students in remembering the sounds made by the letters. Before my children were born, I started reading to them. I valued my relationships with Mama and Daddy. I wanted nothing more than my kids to bond with me as early as possible and I thought reading was one way to accomplish that goal. My father used to tell me that Big Mama, his mom, said that babies could hear while they were in the womb. I had nothing to lose and everything to gain if she was right.

I found a “Hooked on Phonics” recording and I played the cassette tape in my car whenever I was in the car with my children. This recording helped me teach my daughter to read by the time she was four years old. My daughter was reading beginning readers which Mama called “primers.” By the time my son reached the age of three, I needed to get him on the road to reading so I pulled out the tapes and put them back in car. I also made sure that I had some simple books with rhyming words so that he could experience some success reading books. One of his first books was “Ducks in Muck” by Lori Haskins. The book was beautifully illustrated by Valeria Petrone which made it perfect for a curious little boy. As I recall, we read this book almost nightly for probably a month until he could “read” along with me.

One day while we rode in the car my son started to recite from memory the words in the book. At some point, his memory must have failed him or he just decided playing a rhyming game would be more fun. He proceeded to meld the lessons from the phonics tape with blends from the book. He began, “a-a-a, auck, b-b-b, buck, cu-cu-cu, cuck, du-du-du, duck, e-e-e,…, fu,fu,fu.” Before he said the four letter “f” word, I interjected saying something like, “Let’s try “L, Luh, luh, luh, luck!” Lucky that I was paying attention and redirected this boy genius who was demonstrating a mastery of rhyming words. He had no idea why my daughter and I were laughing so hard. In addition to being a master of the rhyme, he was the resident comedian so he probably thought he said something really funny. The truth was that he had done just that!

My advice to parents is to read to your children early and often. Finds books small enough for them to hold securely in their kid-sized hands. Find books with lovely, vibrant illustrations. Just be careful to pay close attention to those consonant blends when you play the alphabet rhyming game.

Won’t He Do It

“Won’t He do it!” – an exclamation of praise and acknowledgment of the Lord’s ability to get “it” done. “Won’t He do it” ranks right up there with “Favor ain’t fair.” I’m not sure where I first heard these phrases, but whenever I have heard someone say either statement it was always a sign of a few things:

The speaker had some faith in a higher power with a special omnipotent connect to the universe.
The speaker believed that their trust paid dividends when “He” got “it” done for them or “He” did “it” in a way they couldn’t or hadn’t imagined it could be done.
The time for testimonials, rejoicing, and touching and agreeing was upon us.

I woke up this morning in need of praise. I probably wake up every morning in need of praise, but this morning the presence of a praise void must have shaken me from my sleep. Good church folks have told me, “Baby, praise Him anyhow!” They said, “Praise confuses the devil.” Well, I’m gonna need that devil to be a little more confused today and in the coming days and months. Life has dealt me numerous reasons to believe the devil has been what the old folks described as “busy.” As a matter of fact, that devilish character has been a bit too darn busy messing around with me. I have decided that tomfoolery has got to stop!

In the last few years, my thought bubble has often read, “Really, God?!” “Won’t He do it” has more often led me to think “He could if he chose to.” I’ve thought, “’Won’t He’ leave a sista trying to figure out my stupid mess.” Last week, I told somebody “if one more good church person tells me to ‘wait on the Lord’ and ‘pray’ I will freakin’ scream.” I have labeled myself “the not-so-good church lady.” Public opinion might state that I own this title because my 9am church service generally starts at 9:15am. (I find it nice to let all of the good church people pick their regular seats – the ones their families have occupied for generations and the ones that allow them to get a clear view for the live broadcast from their cell phones.) The church gossips might also surmise that I carry the label because I am known to miss a month of Sundays – literally. For the most part, they don’t know me so their speculative thoughts and comments have little value to me. The truth is that I sit behind them because I don’t want to be a part of their live broadcasts. Heck, they aggravate me enough videotaping in front of me a forcing me to see on a tiny screen what I’m already looking at live. The second truth is that I recognize that the God thing and the church thing aint’ nothing unless me and God do our special thing. When my back has been figuratively against the wall, I’ve told people that “Me and God got this thing that we do; we got a special relationship.” We really do.

Well, me and God started our chat this morning about the layered, complex mess that has become my normal. Since confusion is not of God, this must be a sinister mind-trick of that busy devil mama talked about years ago. This chaos just cannot be the definition of my normal. Through meditation, prayer, and praise this morning, I envisioned construction sites and remembered all of them as busy, dusty places full of equipment, supplies, and random people. There was something happening with an apparent state-of-the-art facility in sight. I realized that it was very likely that only the visionary and the designer really believed that all of the plans, parts, and people would combine to create the edifice imagined in time to fulfill the purpose for which it was designed. My life has resembled a construction site which frustrated me in the past, but now gives me hope that the master designer has been working on a masterpiece for years.

My little sermonette almost made me shout, “Glory!” Right now, I can “praise Him anyhow” and “go on anyway.” “Won’t He do it” is appropriate at this moment, but not as much fun to say because I have nobody to provide the response to my call. If I did, I would say, “Won’t He do it!” and the other person would smile, probably laugh, and respond, “Won’t He!” My “it” today is the uplifting of my spirit. My “it” is the spirit of the calm in my space. My “it” is the recognition that the mess is a construction zone with a master plan for me to evolve because I am not meant to stay the same.

If you are holding on to something that locks you in the past or that locks you in grief, sadness, or that locks you in any other unhealthy, unsafe condition, it is time for you to get on with living a fuller life focused on the people and the things that give life and are living. Be grateful for the cycle of life in a way that celebrates life and evolutionary, prosperous living without being gripped by the grief and the stillness of death. It is time to confuse the devil and be about the business of meditation, prayer, and praise. Flip the switch of messiness and confusion to resourcefulness and clarity. Eliminate thoughts of failure and speak of your belief in success. I woke up a little down and a lot perplexed. The praise session empowered me to flip that switch to an expectation of blessings and favor. I expect clarity and more really cool connects to aid my evolutionary transformation process. Won’t He do it!

Get Ready: Turn what seems wrong into what feels just right!

Photo by Jamie Street

When all seems wrong in your life, speak into the universe all that is right! As I close out 2017, I am forcing myself into this self-reflective, self-motivating, self-affirming process. Disappointment, depression, diminishment and derailment sit opposite of healing, happiness, humility and hope on the spectrum that represents how we really do life. Doing life is the real, tangible, felt thing we do every day, all day. The pendulum swings steadily like the second hand on a clock marking time while documenting your emotional register. Doing life requires regulation of the force of the pendulum swing and its pace. Many of us opt out of the role of pendulum master and blame gravity for our positioning. My very new meditation practice teaches me that having a busy mind is normal. I already knew that about myself so that bit of information is not really a revelation for me. The truths that follow, however, have revolutionized my thinking about my engagement with the ever present pendulum of emotion accompanying me on my life journey.

Negativity often speaks louder than positivity. The pain of loss often digs in deeper and more intensely than the joy of hope. All of the emotions busy my mind and provide momentum for the pendulum swing. The practice of meditation and staying mindful of my present state empower me to integrate a lesson to my life that I coach students to use daily – no Judgment. Removing judgment opens the pathway to acceptance. When there is acceptance, there is truth. When I get to truth, I do life in a place that feels :deeper than my heart.” It feels like some soul stirring, three-dimensional space, distant like a galaxy of stars that is visible, yet untouchable. I think it’s that place where my soul aligns with my passion and my purpose. When I am in that perfectly peaceful place, I believe that my unique design is perfect for my calling and my voice. Someone once told me that my writing generally reads like it comes from my heart, but there are times when I seem to write from a place “deeper than my heart.” I told the friend that the two writings she compared had different origins. One was typewritten and the other was an old fashioned pen to paper writing. I write pen to paper as often as I can hoping to enter that cool place of soul stirring, passionate, purposeful speech powerful enough to draw close enough to meet the needs of villagers searching for words that educate, empower, and enlighten.

It is in our depth that we unleash the power to change ourselves and positively influence those around us. Note that I didn’t say change others. It is not my job to change folks. First of all, I can’t. Secondly, I can hardly muster up enough energy some days to change myself (insert a giggle and a smile). My time and energy are best spent countering negative stuff the universe dealt to me. My energy must be to stay focused on a plan intentioned on hope, healing, and humility.

Although my mindfulness practice is in its infancy, I work to live in the present. I do life in the present so my thoughts should live there too.
Laughing works for me at all times. Laughing, like praise, disarms the enemy. The instant the laughter ensues it distracts the distractor. I get a chance to take the offensive position as the pendulum master. The far right swing halts with my grasp and I wield the pendulum to submit to a calmer place left of center.
I am going into the new year consciously deciding and prioritizing the people and things that get time in my head and heart. Saying this out loud sounds mean and selfish, but there must be some type of continuous ranking of priorities since my mental and emotional resources are expendable. In order to dream, plan, work the dream, and work the plan, I need time, energy, momentum, support from the village, and a selective use of my resources.
I will practice the concepts of “no judgment” and “no regret.” Regular engagement with judgment and regret waste time and energy. I won’t over emphasize any perceived misstep or “bad” move. I will work to “hold it in the road” (as daddy used to say) until I figure out my next. I will channel the inner chess player and figure out the next best move on the board.
I will keep dreaming about being a paid empowerment speaker, storyteller, and writer.
I will build my network.
I will increase my subscriber base.
I will continue living my passion to educate, empower, and enlighten villages of people.
I will celebrate all of the things that seem small: breathing, use of my limbs, a “sound” mind, free will, family, close friends, the legacy of family no longer with me, and Swaggy.

Heads up, Y’all! Only positive, non-judgmental thoughts permitted to follow you into the new year. If you can’t conjure up your own positive image for the new year, I will let you share mine: My new website will be live in a couple of weeks and my new leadership guide won’t be far behind. It’s time for us to go do life with an energetic spirit of greatness. If you didn’t feel ready to be better in the new year, I hope this post helps you get ready!

Christmas Means Life, Love & Laughter

I just realized that my subscribers will receive a notification of my most recent post on Christmas eve. For some reason that idea made me really excited. Those who know me well know that I love to laugh and, in general, it doesn’t take much of an attempt at comedy to get a giggle out of me. The truth is that my insides sometimes overflow with laughter even when I must maintain a straight face to figuratively save face or to respect the space. I can usually find humor in most situations and only those who can interpret my facial expressions have a clue that behind the strained stoic expression sits a laugh waiting for the opportune time to populate the room.

I have been dismissed by some over the years because of my childish, immature approach to life. Most often the dismissals come from those who choose conformity to the societal norms that tend to suppress the life out of your bones in search of a formal, exact, and perfectly imperfect you. Well, that is not and has never been me. Even the traditions of a regal Christmas season could not steal my childish joy.

As I reflect on my most fond Christmas memories, the ritual of gift wrapping stands out. I had the reputation in the family of being the best gift wrapper. Eventually, I believed I was the best because my wrapped packages had crisp corners, invisible tape, varied types of ribbons, and a bountiful assortment of paper colors and patterns. As much as my family tried to convince me that gift wrapping was one of the spiritual gifts, I knew that my role as a God-fearing child subject to parental instruction was really the basis of me as a gift wrapping child prodigy. Like any other child prodigy, I practiced, practiced, and practiced until I became infamous for my craft.

Keeping in mind all that I have revealed thus far, it shouldn’t surprise anyone that I found a way to repay my family for the esteemed title of best gift wrapper. Reverse psychology at the hands of skilled educators deserved to be repaid by their most prized pupil. After the first gratuitous installment, they all expected that someone each year would be the recipient of a twisted Christmas surprise courtesy of the famed gift wrapper – me. Most often the victim of my ingenious plans was my brother, Butch. He was the oldest. He didn’t live at home with me. And he had a sense of humor that rivaled mine. So, he was the perfect educator in the family to be pranked.

The first year that I recall pranking him I must have been about twelve or thirteen. In addition to being a high school band director at Autaugaville High School, he drove the school bus. Because he travelled thirty to forty miles to work, one-way, he left home very early in order to pick up students on the rural bus route. During the winter months, the Alabama darkness chilled him to the degree that he told Mama how much he would appreciate a nice pair of gloves for Christmas. Apparently, the steering wheel and gear shift on the bus shocked his gloveless hands sending waves of frigid cold through his body. Mama loved Butch and she was proud of the work he did as an educator. Anything Mama could do to enhance his teaching experience made her beam with pleasure. I was with her when she selected the nice pair of black leather gloves for him. I think the gloves had some sort of furry lining making them perfect cover for his bare hands on a chilly morning. The retailer was kind enough to leave the gloves boxed. I appreciated the gesture as would any excellent gift wrapper in search of the perfect box (since gift bags were not a thing at that time).

Proud Mama bought the gloves and decided to surprise him with a hat. He didn’t ask for a hat because he probably already had one, but Mama knew his propensity to lose hats and gloves so the hat was a perfect bonus gift. I also knew what nobody was saying out loud: Butch’s scalp was becoming more visible behind the cowlicks and the overall changes in his hairline. I thought Mama’s subtle move was quietly motivated by the mother hen urge to care for her baby boy whose head was showing signs of maturity.

All the fuss over selecting the perfect gloves and matching hat created a conversation topic all the way home from the mall. Mama loved finding the perfect gift and I loved helping her shop. We were a perfect little elf team. The problem for him and for Mama was that I was not his Mama. I was his baby sister with a gift of menacing tendencies aimed at disturbing his normal. Mama’s aura of warmth screeched to a halt when I sat down to wrap the gifts. Much like the twinkle in the eyes of the Grinch when he had the magnificent idea to challenge a Christmas tradition, I had a mischievous idea to shock the socks off of Mama and Butch in order to generate a hearty laugh for me (and hopefully the rest of them at some point).

I removed the gloves from the perfect box and replaced them with the matching hat. I told nobody and followed my normal routine for gift wrapping, labeling, and placement of gifts under the tree. Butch had a wife and child so they celebrated together before coming over to open gifts with us. I could not wait for him to arrive. Of course, Mama wanted nothing more than to see his expression when he opened the glove box. What she didn’t know was that expression from him would be my second favorite expression on his face Christmas morning. My first favorite expression would be the one when he realized the perfect glove box contained a hat (that he didn’t request from Santa.)

Keeping a secret challenged Mama so she appeared more anxious than normal as she anticipated him unwrapping the perfectly wrapped glove box. Her pleasant smile, tilted head, and baited breath said it all. Daddy, on the other hand, honestly could care less about what was under the tree as long as everybody got something they liked so he just sat contently taking in the moment.

Butch took off the paper and gave a huge smile. He smiled and rocked back and forth while exclaiming something like, “Oh wow! This is just what I needed!” I was thinking, “No duh because that’s the only thing you asked for Big Brother.” Then, he opened the box and pulled out the hat. The flush of excitement drained from his face. Mama’s smile flipped to a face of confusion. Heads rotated. All eyes looked at me with suspicious curiosity. I could contain my grin no more. Out came the smile as I sang the words “Merry Christmas” through my snickers. Mama probably thought I disposed of the gloves and Butch didn’t seem to know what to think. He had to resume that thankful spirited exhibition for Mama’s sake (and his pride) which gave me more reason to giggle. No one else shared the rise of laughter building inside of me until he opened another gift and discovered the black leather gloves. From that day forward, there were years of gift pranking between Butch and me.

This is my first Christmas without him, the third without Mama, and the twentieth anniversary of Daddy’s absence from Christmas gift opening. I miss them sorely and often wish for one more talk or gift exchange with them. Since we can do neither, I am thankful for the shared memories that survived their deaths. I am thankful that they indulged my comedic, youthful spirit and lovingly encouraged me to engage life using laughter as a tool. Laughter tolerates ignorance. Laughter sustains me when I need to persevere. Laughter is a tool for survival and healing. Humor eases the pain of loss. Humor promotes the goodness of life.

If you believe that Christmas or your season of remembrance and celebration embodies the spirit of rebirth, regeneration, and rejoicing, then set aside any thoughts or feelings to the contrary during this holiday season. Be about the fullness of the spirited season. Embrace the spirit of life, the spirit of love, and the spirit of giving laughter!