I have had a love-hate relationship with technology for many years.  I have been frustrated by mandated updates, spam, and lost data.  My frustrations have come as a result of slow working processing systems and human mishaps.  I wondered why devices have not been able to withstand my family dropping phones on the ground, dropping phones in tea, washing them in the pockets of their dirty clothes, or “accidentally” taking them into the shower at the beach in Florida.  All of the mishaps taught me about the business of insuring devices and the shady marketing of the “family” plans that marketed as budget savers.  The provides of data and cell towers, in my opinion, took full advantage of all of us who struggle to live with devices, but can’t live without them.  I never wanted to call them fraudulent or shady in their pricing, sales pitches, and advertising, but I don ‘t know how else to describe the deception that reveals itself in my billing statement and shifts in interpretation of the fine print when I call customer service.

While I have struggled with technology, there are a number of reasons the privilege of ownership and access have blessed my socks off:

1. FaceTime with my family makes the distance more tolerable.  FaceTime, however, challenges me when someone calls and I’m driving or in between the bad hair moment and the better hair day.
2. Using my devices to engage with folks through social media is a blessing and a curse.  Receiving updates and entertainment related to people and topics that interest me is a blessing.  The addiction to the handheld devices brings pressure to check emails and look for notifications or alerts.
3. Balancing my emotional regulator and my time were not problems for me when there were not cell phones, internet, electronic games, social media, or emails.  I had to follow some fun accounts in order to feed myself laughter and endorphins more than I feed myself the weight of publications associated with news or work related topics.
4. With Christmas fast approaching, online shopping has been a saving grace for me.  I like shop therapy and windows shopping.  However, stores crowded with “happy” shoppers does not appeal to me.  Holiday shoppers often forget that it is the season to be jolly, merry, and gracious so I prefer the look at the smiling stock photos of people and just imagine the lovely thoughts bouncing around in their heads.
5. This week a family member who is less technologically savvy than I am lost a cell phone.  I guess where it might be, but a return visit to the location yielded nothing.  At work I learned about how to add a notification with my telephone number to the lost phone in the event that an honest person found it and wanted to return it to the owner.  I had not been successful the day prior, but I tried again last night.  Bright and early my phone rang and it was a lady asking if I lost a phone.  Through the brief conversation we learned that we had a mutual friend.  The nice lady worked all day to get the phone returned.  Now, the phone is back with the owner and I feel grateful that I didn’t let my negative thoughts about technology prevent me from using an app and the cloud to connect a loved one to the gadget keeps a great deal of their business.

This week I used my phone to promote an event at work that I hoped would help me connect the students on my campus to resources.  I couldn’t imagine doing life without my cell phone.  I knew my family member felt that way too.  I also knew that if I didn’t help find that phone I would be helping to buy a newer more expensive one.  As much as I hate to admit it, the thought of new cell phones are dancing in my head like the “sugar plums” in “Twas the night before Christmas.”  My hope is that all of us find a way to balance dependency on electronic devices with other priorities in our lives.

This month is mental health awareness month.  Like other awareness months, the hope is that opportunities will arise for people to learn more, be understood more than before, invest in legislation and research focused on the topic of the month, and change the lives of the people living with the condition for the better.  Excellent mental health ranks high on my prayer list for myself and my family.  My children used to ask me why I prayed for them to be mentally sound.  I gave them a general statement about the need to be able to manage day to day tasks, care for themselves, and have healthy relationships as accomplishments that would be easier for them if they were of sound mind.  I didn’t fully explain to them that my prayers were informed by time spent with my sister who suffered with a history of mental illness.

During my childhood, I spent a great deal of time trying to understand why my life had to be impacted by mental illness.  I learned to compartmentalize the part of my life that was impacted by my sister’s illness so that I could use what time was left to do some things that fed my soul.  Depending on the diagnosis, there might be a plethora of symptoms, behaviors, and plans of action necessary to support the person dealing with the illness.  It was my experience that mental illness operated like a moving target in the form of a phantom.  Some days the being acted like a jokester teasing us with stability.  Other days, it performed like a mean spirited villain smirking and wringing his hand while we made repeated missteps in our efforts to improve the situation that had become our normal.

As a result of my childhood experiences, I learned to be a good caretaker as a child.  I also learned to study behaviors and listen carefully to the words that come out of the mouths of people around me.  I learned to remove myself from unsafe situations and isolate myself for chaos to find time to quiet my mind.  I learned the importance of making good mental health a priority and objective.  In my adult life, I have learned that there are many options for improving and maintaining good mental health, but all require intentional actions.  I have come to enjoy a number of tools for recharging and resetting.  I spend my days encouraging others to do the same.  Finally, I learned to mind my own business because after working to maintain my own mental health or working to support someone dealing will mental illness I only have time for my own business.

It took me years to write publicly about this part of my journey because I always want to be sensitive to my sister and my family.  However, I feel charged to share my experiences with others hoping that my story will ensure that others do not feel alone or hopeless.  I hope that my readers will seek the help of friends and family and/ or medical professionals if more guidance is needed to achieve the goal of excellent mental wellness.  I decided to repost the series of posts I wrote a couple of years ago during mental health awareness month.  The first post was about my initial thoughts when I was eleven and mental illness became an unwelcome house guest.  Here it is:

https://sisterintheshadow.com/when-mental-illness-found-us/

Have you ever felt that you wee living in the eye of a storm? This week, I laughed with a couple of friends as we discussed how the timing of some circumstances in my life created a perfect storm.  Why did that make me laugh out loud?  I don’t know, but often I think I laugh to keep from crying.

It has been my experience that perfect storms arose when individual things or circumstances I deemed special, important, or potentially impactful in my life collectively seemed to be headed in a negative direction at the same time and in a relatively short period of time.  In general, the storm approached me like the torrential rain storms that came out of the Gulf of Mexico when I lived in the south.  The storms disturbed the peace of the coastal shores as they braced for an unpredictable weather front.  Unfortunately, I haven’t had the benefit of a weather person capable of predicting when personal storms would arise.  Even if there had been such a weather person warning me of life storm, the prediction would have been lacking footage of a prior front.  The prediction, like those of the weather person, would have failed in stating with certainty the total impact of the impending storm.

In the months leading up to July, I worked my way through wind and rain from the outside of the storm to the inner circle.  I experienced the strength of the elements the closer I got to the center.  I learned that it was called the eye because once I reached that point in when I faced all that it had to offer I had to stare it down.  My Big Mama used to say that you could see into the heart of the person through their eyes.  In the eye of a storm finding the heart of the matter aligned with her teaching.  My heart had to pull power from the storm in order to walk to the other side.  At the moment that I realized I was standing in the eye of the storm, the laughter came and allowed me to breathe and recalibrate.  Why cry when there was already so much water clouding my way?

My resistance to tears developed like a callous after years of use and abuse of emotions required to sustain me during chaotic and challenging life trials.  I think I opted for laughter over tears because the tears might have looked more like gut wrenching uncontrollable sobs most often associated with the emotional pain of loss or rejection.  If I couldn’t guarantee delicate streaming tears, my tear ducts had to remain blocked.  After a number of missteps over the last month or so, I sat down to reflect on the internal pressure I felt.  Maybe the pressure equaled the swelling of my suppressed tears or maybe I felt the internal battle being waged by my emotional regulator and the physiological energy it took to be me doing me.  This week I thought long and hard about me, my work, and the people and things I care about most.

I realized that saying “Oops” in my professional life proved less fatal in the context of taking corrective actions.  However, personal missteps proved more difficult to resolve.  Resolution presented more complexities because the injuries happened to friends and family members.  The blessing and the curse of humans came to be their connection to emotions as opposed to the emotionless processes or routine protocols in my professional life.  I couldn’t erase, edit, or rewrite hurt feelings or disappointment.  Life didn’t give me redo’s and my frustration was that my friends and family had no obligation to give me forgiveness, understanding, or a chance to reset my crazy life.

Accountability and explanations in the workplace are preferred and valued.  Ironically, friends and family sometimes interpret ownership and explanations as excuses and copouts.  If there is no benefit in apologizing or owning your mess, why apologize?  I am not sure why everyone else acknowledges their missteps, but I think processing things out loud helps me reset.  The need to reset comes with a risk of becoming vulnerable and transparent in front of people whose emotions come padded with judgment.  Accountability and ownership can reveal my fragile and imperfect self to that person staring at me with emotion and possibly judgment.  That moment for me is like standing in the eye of the storm.  In the eye of the storm, helplessness may be a realistic response.  Like standing in the eye of the storm, during the peak of my stormy life challenges, I have to deal with my perceives limits on my control of the situation.  There is concern that when I share my mess and verbally work through my personal storm I lose control and possibly subject myself to the unknown response to my truths.  The cool moment for me, however, is when I realize that at the moment I stare into the eye of the storm I can use its power to move through it to reach a new calm.  The storm can be the fuel for and the teacher that informs the next part of my journey.  I wish for myself and others that once the lesson is learned that repetition does not become the next teacher.

When I thought about my blog post topic for this week, this was not the topic.  I had a plan to write something light and bouncy, but I spent the day deciding how to move past the eye of my latest storm.  Some mediation, a nap, and a pedicure ended in this post.  I hope that someone will read this and be empowered.

In my youth, I started the discussions about an upcoming birthday months before my birthday actually arrived.  In my mind, a birthday was the next best holiday to Christmas.  Each year, I promoted my next birthday to my family ensuring that nobody would forget.  As a youngster, I made certain that at least my parents and my older brother understood the expectation of the gift that should accompany the happy birthday wish.  Interestingly, my children did the same.  As I approach my next birthday, this childhood ritual makes me chuckle and think about the evolution of my birthday experiences.

As a child, I think I wanted everyone to recognize that there was significance to me getting a year older.  My childlike thought process equated getting older to being grown and in charge of my life.  Grown was a status worthy of attainment if it meant independence from the control of the grown folks in my village.  Grown status excited me and I think most children are excited about getting a year older.  Heck, most children and their parents count age in months until the age of two after which the half year designations begin. Have you ever heard a child say “I am seven and a half?”  I laughed with my son last week as we considered at what age people stop pronouncing their ages in units of half years.  We had just seen a commercial in which the commercial mom said her son was “fourteen and a half.”  Neither of us had ever heard anyone over the age of ten or eleven use a half year so this company failed the reality test for us.  Their failure is probably the reason why I can’t remember their brand.

Ironically, one of the birthdays I remembered was my tenth birthday.  I got a new wallet and my parents put ten dollars in it.  Ten dollars was a lot of money.  That memory raised another question for me: When did my parents stop giving me a dollar per year of life?  As I reflect, two other birthdays celebrations come to mind, but I can’t remember my ages, but I think both happened under the age of ten.  One party was in the backyard at my house.  I was allowed to invite some close friends from school who lived in my neighborhood and some cousins.  My father grilled hot dogs and filled the plastic pool with water.  It wasn’t called a “pool” party because the pool was more for wading and cooling off on a hot summer day in Alabama.  Another party that I recalled was a sleepover at the house.  I invited a less than ten girls over.  I don’t really remember all that we did that night, but I bet we did a lot of giggling and watching television until the local station played the national anthem and shut down for the night.  One of my childhood friends who attended the sleepover reminded me, during a conversation several years ago, that mother cooked homemade pancakes for us the morning after the sleepover.  I can’t remember having a birthday party after ten, but I got my learner’s permit to drive at fifteen and my driver’s license the following year.

Well, as I approach my next birthday, my thoughts have included feelings of thankfulness for the gift of another year of life and more appreciation for opportunities to connect with family and friends.  In my reflective moments, I have found myself working to focus on my abilities and how to use abilities and opportunities to achieve goals and dreams while I can.  Unlike my childhood self who looked forward to being grown, the adult, middle-aged me recognized how fast the years have gone and how much I wished I could have accomplished in the years I was gifted.  I have battled to make the former adult wish the dominant focus in order to maintain a positive perspective of the latter.  I decided that the lack of life experience in my childhood was actually a blessing.  There was something about not knowing what I didn’t know that kept my dreams alive.  In my adulthood, I have learned that life experiences, if allowed, can put a damper on what should be a celebration of life itself.

Since the age of forty, I have intentionally planned things to do to keep my spirits up as I reflect on past decisions, unexplained outcomes, fruitless pursuits, and the unknown situations ahead.  I usually plan some type of nail appointment, a short excursion, or time with family and friends.  This year, I waited too late to schedule my nail appointment, but the week was not without fun times.

Twice this week I spent time with some of fellows visiting Reno as a part of the Nelson Mandela Fellows Program.  A few weeks ago I talked them about ways that I found to help me sustain my visions.  Collectively, the fellows encouraged me to continue using stories to encourage, enlighten, and empower.  It was the individual and small group time with fellows this week that gave me the positive, affirming thoughts I needed as I approached another birthday.  Tuesday evening I shared a meal with a fellow who talked about her life as a wife, mother, and entrepreneur.  She compared my warmth to the early days of Oprah.  She explained that many of them wanted to spend more time getting to know me because they were touched and inspired by my personal and transparent talk about the varied intersections of my life.  I told her that hearing about her methodical pursuits to attain her ultimate dream encouraged me.  We talked about parenting and the balance of work and family.  Our time together affirmed me that there was benefit in me taking the risk of telling my truths in order to uplift others or to provide a guide for them on things to avoid on their way to greatness.  She appreciated the support and advice and assured me that others wanted to maintain communication with me in order to interact with someone who they believed was sincere.

Later in the week, I had dinner with a small group of fellows and friends.  When I entered the house, four of them greeted me with excited smiles and the giddiness of children.  I looked forward to visiting with them and I considered them the honored guest of our community so their demonstrated respect and excitement for seeing me was shocking.  I learned that because of my presentation one of them wanted to start a blog and another fellow shared my picture and blog with his girlfriend back home who wanted to write.  I also learned that my presentation that was lacking the expected powerpoint gave power to my voice.  They said that I engaged them because my comments came from my heart and without a script.  Ironically, my purpose was fulfilled because they were uplifted and inspired because of my flaws, challenges, mistakes, and successes.  Their inspired work inspired me.  Their youthful energy and innovative risks encouraged me to evaluate my life in terms of how my maturity and opportunity can expand my scope and territory.  This week I was reminded that when I gave of my gifts and talents to others without any expectation to receive back from them I felt the greatest blessing.

Life has also taught me that there is much to learn from youthful members of the global community.  Moreover, life has taught me that exposure to the elders honors our past and should inform our future.  A few weeks ago I read that the Blind Boys of Alabama would be in concert here this week.  A friend gave me a couple of tickets and another bucket list experience happened.  I grew up in Alabama and the Blind Boys of Alabama were home state celebrities and living testaments of folks who overcame.  Their testimonies of resiliency and faith rooted in a God who “opened doors that their blind eyes could not see” charged my body that was running on fumes that day.  I didn’t go home after work that day because I knew that I might not convince myself to get back into the car to ride to the concert venue.  Once I saw them filing onto the stage, my soul thanked the rest of me for putting mind over matter.

I needed to sit under the teaching of the Blind Boys of Alabama.  Their soulful and soul felt vocals accompanied by Paul Thornton’s band fed my soul and lifted my spirit.  This group has been singing longer than I have been alive.  They have lost and added members yet maintained the passion, purpose, and professionalism their audiences expected.  Clearly, the call to minister to a global community came from a heavenly source because most of us humans would have never believed that a group of Black men from the south who were blind could make a living singing old spirituals and hymns.

The consistency and commitment to their calling modeled for me the potential for continuing in years of service using just what God has given you to use in service.  They sang the lyrics “You got to move” in one song and “I shall not be moved” in the next song.  I laughed because both directives were true in order to sustain a vision and find purpose every year of your life.  I’ve heard people say that “what you don’t use, you lose” so I guess that’s why “you got to move.”  You got to move the dial on your self-imposed limitations.  You got to move the negative, disaffirming, and unproductive people and thoughts from your space.  You got to move toward productivity, goal setting, and performance of the things you say you love to do and are equipped to do.

You “should not be moved” when people and things infuse nonsense and distractors into your world in an effort to derail your plan or to create detours designed to take you off of the route that is your destined course.  You should stay the course and “not be moved” even when life presents physical challenges.  You “should not be moved” even when you believe your humility in service is taken for granted.  You “should not be moved” by the inability of others to fully understand your challenges or your continued efforts to pursue your calling.

I watched and later met men who have weathered some storms in their lives with humility and gratefulness.  I didn’t get to meet Jimmy Carter from Birmingham, but his energetic spirit coupled with his wit took me back South.  Their harmony reminded me of pray meetings during revivals and funeral in the country when churches had wooden floors.  Mama used to say the parishioners were “patting their hand and their feet.”  The Blind Boys of Alabama aided my virtual journey back home to a time when life was simple and people relied on the harmonious relationship of God, person, family, and community.  Like the peace experienced when we indulge in the basics of life without distractions and noise in our periphery, the harmonies of their voices held their own against the band that competed for air space.  Their messages of hope and faith resonated with me and modeled for me that your message and service can be received even when you are distracted or challenged.

Last year brought challenge in my life and I am pretty sure that this year won’t be without challenge.  I am thankful this year for the time spent with young African entrepreneurs who have succeeded despite challenging lives and the Blind Boys of Alabama whose challenges I don’t believe I will ever completely know or understand.  I was thankful that Ricky McKinnie and Benjamin Moore took time to sign my CD, take a picture with me, and talk about being from the South.  Benjamin touched my heart with his promise to shout out to Montgomery on my behalf when they “roll through” that city again. Ricky and I talked about being July birthday buddies.  I thanked them for bringing a taste of home to the West Coast. I wished them a safe journey and let them know they were welcomed to return to our city to perform again whenever their scheduled permitted.

I hope that as you move through your days doing the things that you claim to love doing you will embrace the teaching moments presented by those you think you are helping or serving.  Be ready for the sarcasm and humor that life might hand to you at times that you don’t expect to be entertained or taught anything at all.

When my daughter was four or five months old, I became a dorm mother to forty-nine boys who were boarding students at an all male preparatory school.  Forty-one of the boys were ninth graders ranging in age from thirteen to fifteen.  The other eight were high school seniors ranging in age from seventeen to nineteen.  Until my life’s journey introduced me to the McCallie School, I thought that boarding schools existed for purposes of good television as depicted in “The Facts of Life.”

At twenty-six years old, I moved into the dorm.  I happened to be the only dorm mother of color on the campus (and the only one of color in the history of the school).  At twenty-six, I had the energy of an older sibling of the boarding students.  My youthful energy paired well with the life experiences of a southern girl raised by a post integration public school system.  My integration into the more privileged communities in my hometown came courtesy of Brown versus Board of Education and school busing.  My integration into the world of boarding schools communities came courtesy of my husband’s job opportunity.  In both settings, differences in lifestyles, in life experiences, and economic opportunities presented as clearly as the fact that I was the only woman with a permanent tan living amidst a community of boarding students.

I learned that even when the differences were readily apparent, the decision to allow the differences to distract or divide remained in my control.  I also learned that the practice of allowing differences to divide communities often seemed to be a learned behavior taught by folks who were insecure about themselves or who believed the difference challenged their perceived position of power or who had some emotional or physical injury that barred them from moving into a place of forgiveness.  It has been my experience that the folks who used differences to distract and divide had forgotten that ALL people had the same creator.  They forgot that we were not clones of one another. In my opinion, the differences were intended to be beneficial not detrimental to the development or success of communities.

I have always enjoyed interactions with young people more than adults because young people, in general, carried less baggage and pre-programming than grown folks.  Young people generally welcomed guidance from anyone with a genuine concern for their interests and their safety.  Young people liked folks who made them, their needs, and their development priorities.  I found that regardless of the age, socioeconomic group, or cultural demographic, exposure informed the thoughts and actions of young people.  The really cool finding for me was that my exposure to differences in the students with who I lived and worked informed my thoughts and directed some intentional behaviors on my part.

Once my daughter told me that I was easily entertained like a little child.  I laughed and agreed.  For many years, comments like this on from other grown folks felt like a backhanded compliment.  Later, I realized that more grown folks need to be more like children.  We need to recognize our lack of expertise in any and every subject.  We also need to approach differences in our work, community, or friend circles with the innocent curiosity of a child.  Differences can enhance communities and produce healthier intersections of identities if grown people could be like children and approach the differences with open minds, transparency, a willingness to accept people without focusing on the differences.  Our communities would be enhanced if we found a way to focus on how our personal differences add value to those we encounter or how our personal differences enhance the overall experiences of others.  Maya Angelou got it right when she said, “We are more alike than we are different.”  We will not discover how we are more alike until we manage how we avoid making our differences barriers.

The boys at the boarding school thought of me more as a mom than a dorm mother serving as a place holder for a position simply because I married a man who was the dormitory head.  The boys felt more like biological sons than place holders for empty beds that needed to be filled.  Staying aware of their fundamental needs meant that I had discussions with them about wellness, overcoming family challenges, grades, decision making in social settings, dreams, career goals, and educational pursuits.

Since that time, I began a career as a student services professional and I encourage students to view differences as opportunities to learn about others.  I remind students that noticeable and self-disclosed differences should also gift us opportunities to teach others about ourselves.  My ability to accept that differences give us opportunities to learn and to teach.  As students or teachers we need to to leave the differences in the periphery.  Tunnel vision makes the object of our focus the fundamental things or needs which should mean that we will be forced to use the differences to the advantage of the whole.  This understanding and practice builds lasting relationships, good memories resulting from exposures differences from what we knew as normal, and feelings of affirmation and support that uplift.

Embodied in a text message I sent to a friend were these words: “Projection is the mother of deflection.”  I marinated on that for about thirty seconds then I sent this follow up text: “Or maybe owenership is the issue.”  I felt like I got myself into the age old debate of arguing whether the chicken came before the egg or whether the opposite miraculous series was truth.

At any rate, I have always tried to own my nonsense and the collateral nonsense that arose as a result of my not-so-genius moves.  Whenver I didn’t take credit for the smallest missteps or failures, I became the subject of a joke.  For example, yesterday at work, I opened a cabinet behind my desk chair and forgot to close it.  The open cabinet door behind me set up the perfect opportunity for a comedy skit that involved me standing up and bumping my head like an absent-minded professor.  Thankfully, one of my resident handlers and colleague, without judgment, eased behind me and closed the door.  She noted that she closed it to save my head from the sharp edge of the cabinet door.  We laughed along with another colleague who was present and I said, “Good because it would have been your fault if I had hit my head on that door.”

The only reason that this joke added humor to the office was because my handler has also found value in operating from a place of self-awareness and ownership of her stuff.  I met her when she was a graduate student.  I have told her and others that she set a high bar for student workers.  Her ability to abstain from projecting her professional challenges on others proved valuable to me and the department over the years that I have worked with her.  In my leadership role, I have found supervision and collaborative partnerships easier and more productive with folks like her who own their stuff.  The subject of ownership has occurred in previous posts, but I decided to delve a bit deeper into the topic in this post.

I really can’t remember ever meeting anyone who loved being blamed for everything all of the time – me included.  As a result, my association with folks who have done a lot of blaming and deflecting have quickly moved my frustration needle from low to high.  When the finger pointing person denied their contribution to the mistake, event, or situation my mind heard the rapper Shaggy saying, “It wasn’t me.” However, their distance from reality didn’t make me smile like watching Shaggy dodge getting himself caught up.  Honestly, when children or students have employed that defense to their nonsense, I’ve been more tolerant than times when really grown folks denied culpability or the ability to affect change and outcomes.  When grown folks deflected and denied, my thought bubble filled with phrases like: “Really, you just said that?” Or “You’ve got to be kidding me right now!” Or “How the heck are you blaming me for this product?”  By the time my inside voice got to that last phrase, I felt my eyebrows furrow and my head tilt a little to the left.  In those moments, I worked hard not to shake my head and twist my entire face.

Some experiences over the last few weeks inspired this post and the following list of truths about ownership at work and in life:

1. Failure to own your actions or inactions never makes you look less responsible.

2. Denial of responsibility and denying the ability to impact outcomes makes you appear to lack in the area of self-awareness.

3. Taking ownership makes you seem human and flawed like most humans.

4. Taking ownership creates a space for identifying challenges which is the only way to work toward results-centered efforts.

5. Perceived failures or missed opportunities present new opportunities for success that are never possible if there is no ownership.

6. Failure to take ownership gives off the same vibe as one known as a habitual liar.

7. Ownership demonstrates a level of transparency and maturity that is uncommon in most circles, yet necessary in all spaces if folks truly seek meaningful relationships and collaborations intentioned on educating, encouraging, and empowering communities.

8. Ownership makes you look secure.

9. Leaders who build a culture of ownership sifts out the deflectors who might have disdain for truth and accountability.

10. Ownership in leadership breeds trust in the community and generally makes your direct reports feel supported.  So, just own it!

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.

I sat down to write about one of my big dreams or the things I thought about while I watched the CBS Sunday Morning.I took notes complete with names, quotes, and ideas. Then, I started writing and this poem was the result:

Some day I will write a best seller.
That day may just be today.

The pen – my instrument of choice.
The instrument – the vessel that gives life to my voice.

The juices of my creative thoughts churn within the inkwell of my pen.
My thoughts stream into the universe alive in vibrant color.

The random thoughts collect themselves into words etched onto a page.
The pages tell of a meaningful journey of an aged soul.

My words and thoughts become open to examination by the world.
The transparent soul speaks wisdom about life, love, lack, and luster.
I will write a bestseller for the living.
My writing will breathe life and love.
My writing will accomplish the ultimate end for my voice and for me – freedom and liberty.