Hold Up! Let Me See Your Shoes

“You can tell a great deal about a man by the shoes he is wearing,” was advice I was given by my grandfather when I was a young woman. At first glance it may seem trite, but I promise if you heed my advice it will save you hours of heartache and frustration.

For those of you who think I’m telling you to look at his feet for that reason, I need you to pause right now. That is a myth! The size of his shoes only tells you the size of his feet. His shoes on the other hand can tell you something about his financial status, but not everything. Just like shoe size doesn’t really reveal anything, neither does the price of the shoes. For example if his shoes are expensive it might mean that he has disposable income, but it could also mean that he prefers style over substance. In other words he might be frontin’. What you want to look for is quality. Unlike women who will trip around in painfully uncomfortable shoes because they either match our outfits or just make us look so darn sexy, most men won’t spend much time in uncomfortable shoes and make sure they protect their feet. It’s like this: a man with money may wear hand crafted Italian leather, while a man with no money, but a lot of potential, will wear the best his money can buy.

But it’s not just about craftsmanship; It’s also important to pay attention to style. Men who wear conservative shoes are usually solid, respectable men. On the other hand men who wear weird, trendy, brightly colored shoes often have perversions. You don’t have to believe me, but be prepared for a night of kinky sex and a hoarse throat from asking over and over again: “you want me to do what?” if he takes off a pair of canary yellow gators before crawling into bed with you.

Another thing you want to look for is cleanliness. A man who doesn’t take the time to polish his shoes isn’t going to take the time to do the little things that are important to you. If his shoes are dirty and scuffed, say goodbye to flowers and little acts of kindness. If the man you’re into wears athletic shoes all the time, he might not be ready for a mature relationship and could possibly have some issues with responsibility. Consider this: even NBA players leave the Nikes in the locker room sometimes.

Obviously this isn’t scientific, but it’s served me well. To all my male readers: please let me know what you think by writing a message below. Ladies, I haven’t forgotten about you: I want to hear your thoughts, too.

This I Know for Sure...

There is so much in life that I don't understand and there is so much of this universe that I have never seen and probably never will, but there are some things that I do know for sure. 

1. In the end, love is all that matters.

2. Sugar, meat, and stress will kill you.

3.  You never have to try to impress the people who truly love you.

4. A good bottle of wine can turn an ordinary evening into an extraordinary one.

5. Never marry a man (or woman) who doesn't take care of his shoes because he won't take care of you.

6. Don't spend everything you make.

7. Your job is what you do. It is not who you are.

8. Sweat for at least 30 minutes each day.

9. Floss!

10. Always buy the best because it will save you money in the long run.

11. Marry the man (or woman) who makes you laugh.

12.  Keep track of the things you're grateful for (try keeping a Gratitude Journal).

13. Travel as often as you can. America is just one small part of this amazing planet we call home.

14. Drink water.

15. Never, ever, ever sleep in your makeup or contact lenses.

16. Have enough money saved so that you can tell them to "kiss your 2$$" if it ever comes to that.

17.  Dogs are angels in disguise.

18. Always wear sexy (and clean) underwear.

19. Know how to change your oil, fix a tire or have AAA on speed dial.

20. Don't waste your time on phony friendships. 

21. Cherish your family.

22. Take time to pray and meditate every day.

23. Spend at least 10 minutes a day outside in the sunshine.

24.  Eat off the good china and drink out of the crystal because tomorrow may never come.

25. Forgive people.

26. Forgive yourself.

27. No one speaks for God. Decide what makes sense to you.

28. Always measure wealth by those things money cannot replace (family, friendship, health, etc).

29. Never get caught up on titles. We're all just people with the same hopes, fears, and dreams.

30. Listen to your intuition, your mother,  and your mentor.

31. Surround yourself with beautiful things (literature, art, music, nature).

32.  It doesn't matter if you can't dance. Dance anyway!

33.  Speak life over people. There truly is power in the tongue!

34. Time is not your friend! It will always be working against you.

35. Turn off the phone sometime. You're really not that important.

36. If a child asks for one more story or one more kiss, give it!

37. Protect your knees and your back because once they're gone things will never be the same.

38. Tell the people you care about how amazing they are. Let the rest of the world point out their  deficiencies. That's not your job.

39. Have a go to meal that you can whip up in an emergency.

40. Smile and say hello to strangers.

41. Believe but verify.

42. Get 8 hours of sleep.

43. Never take yourself too seriously.

44. When people show you who they are, believe them the first time (Thanks Maya Angelou for this one).

45. Don't compare yourself to others because you never know what they had to go through to get to where they are.

 

Do You Know How Beautiful You are?

Do you know how beautiful you are?
I don't think you do.
Why can't you see your magnificnce?
What will it take for you to honor your own unique beauty?
You ignore the way your smile brightens up the room and your eyes shine when you are happy.
Why can't you see that the world is a better place because you are in it?
In stead you have measured your beauty by standards that don't matter. No one really cares how much you weigh or how old you are. The color of your hair or skin is irrelvent because beauty comes in so many diffrent forms. Haven't you ever seen a garden? Why can't you see that when you offer love by holding a hand or saying a kind word you are the most beautiful thing in creation?

Do you know?

Do you know that you are loved? Not because of what you do or what you have, but simply because you are. Because you were created and you are here and that is all that matters.

But I don't think you see it because I've witnessed you looking  in the mirror and picking  yourself apart. You would never allow anyone to use such violence against you, yet you attack your own spirit constantly by criticizing every thing about your self. You buy pills and potions to make yourself everything you're not. You are tall but you wish to be short. You are short, yet you wish to be taller. You are too thin, too fat, too this or too that. Why can't you see that you are already more than enough? There is nothing about you that needs to be improved upon?

On the day you were born the universe marvelled at your magnificence. Your sheer perfection. Every creature recognized your worth. Why can't you see it now?

It does not matter how many times I show you because you must see it for yourself. Although I wish I could,  I cannot make you recognize  the brilliance of your being, the simple perfection of who you are. Even if I scream it as loud as I am able, I can't make your hear me because your inner voice must be louder.

But I won't give up on you.

Please promise me that today you will try to see just how beautiful you are. Not in an arrogant and prideful manner, but in a gentle, loving one. Can you promise me that today you will try to recognize and acknowledge your loveliness, your magnificence, your beauty in some small way?

I need you to know just how beautiful you are because once you see your beauty  you will recognize mine.

it's Hard to Complain When You're Counting Your Blessings

There are many times when I'm tempted to complain. The very moment when something doesn't happen to my liking I want to open my mouth and curse the situation. If the barista doesn't sweeten my coffee the way I take it or if the woman who cleans for me misses a speck of dirt, I want to fuss without taking the time to realize how blessed I am to be in a position to be able to afford to pay someone to do the things I don't want to do.

As I write this I am watching my youngest child sleeping. We had a health scare and thankfully she is going to be just fine. But never again will I complain about the high cost of health insurance because when we needed a physician's care we received it. I can't imagine the pain of watching a child suffer because you don't have access to help. I will also never complain about my daughter's messy bedroom or wet towels on the floor because if something were to happen to her I would have done anything, paid anything, to have her storm through our house leaving her belongings in her wake.

I used to tell my children everyday is like Christmas morning to God. He looks at our attitude as we unwrap our daily gifts: good health, jobs, family, friends, transportation, clean water and healthy food, fresh air, the list goes on. If we fail to be thankful for these gifts, then He won't bring out the larger gifts of abundance and prosperity. Why should He show us the big box that's hidden in the closet if we aren't thankful for the little one that's beneath the tree?

It is never my intention to preach. I only want to work out the things that I encounter in my own life and I hope that maybe I can hep someone else along the way. From this moment forward I am promising myself that I will not complain about anything ever again and I'm also putting you on notice. If you complain about anything in my presence I am going to call you on it because complaining is contagious. So no more complaining about the boss, the weather, the amount of work we have to do. Instead we are going to give thanks for all things, great and small.

In my Gratitude Journal I wrote this morning that I am grateful for the following:

1. Family and friends who love me.

2. A healthy body and a sound mind.

3. A job that allows me to support myself and my family.

4. Clean water, fresh air, and healthy food.

5. A comfortable home and reliable transportation

If I never receive another thing in my life, I am already extremely blessed and for that I am grateful. I hope you will take a moment to write out the things that you are thankful for and if you feel  the need to complain, I encourage you to focus instead on the list you created.

  

A Right to the Divine

I don’t believe God cares whom we love as long as we remain open to the possibility of love. No matter how hard I try to understand the Fundamentalists who preach that God hates homosexuals, I can’t help but hear the fear and ignorance beneath their loud diatribes. Yes, I am familiar with Leviticus 18:22 and 20:13 but I am also familiar with all of the other scriptures that speak against the other sins: judgment, gossiping, overeating, coveting, fornication and adultery. Sin, in all forms, displeases God so who are we to choose which ones are the greatest offenders.

There are some things I don’t understand, but is it really my responsibility to try to understand? Shouldn’t I just accept that God’s ways are not like man’s ways and that when I die and meet my Maker He will explain it all to me?

Recently I had to remind a friend that we all have a right to the sacred and to the divine. Too many churches kick people out under the premise that because they are different in some way they don’t have the right to God. That’s bull because our Creator loves all of His creations and wants us to be in intimate relationship with Him in spite of our imperfections.

So I believe our job is to get to God any way we can. To lay ourselves low at His feet in worship and pray that we learn to look at the world and all of it’s people through His eyes and not our own. Because when we look at people through our own very human eyes we see only their imperfections. We focus on every blemish and every wrinkle and forget to see the divinity in every man and woman.

Perhaps Lady Gaga was right when she said “I was born this way” or maybe she is incredibly deluded. I don’t know. All I know is that I’ve been given only two tasks: to love God and all of His creation.

Carrying the Cross

There has always been something about the Bible verse Mark 15:21 that has bothered me. The story goes that "a certain man from Cyrene, Simon, the father of Alexander and Rufus, was passing by on his way in from the country and they forced him to carry the cross..." In my minds eye I can see this lean muscled, tall, dark skinned man moving forward to shift his weight beneath the heavy cross as Jesus lay exhausted on the ground. Perhaps their eyes met. Maybe they didn't, but it really doesn't matter because the exchange happened and Simon stepped forward struggling beneath the weight and Jesus was forced up, moving towards his death.

A quick Google search reveals that Cyrene was once located in North Africa, so it seems that this man Simon was a long way from home. Here he was passing by on his was from the country and he was picked from the crowd for this difficult task. I can only imagine how upset he was to be singled out of the crowd and forced to take the journey of an accused man. He was probably thinking: "Here I was minding my own business, why did they have to choose me?" He may have even felt that he was in the wrong place at the wrong time. "Maybe I should have stayed in the country longer," he might have said to himself. Perhaps he was wondering what people would think when they saw him walking with the cross on his back. Surely they believed he was the accused!

Maybe I'm reading too much into this story, but every time I hear it I can't help but think that it was not coincidental that it was a black man that was forced to carry the cross. Could it be possible that black skinned men all over the world have been asked to carry a symbolic cross? History tells us that men of color have carried a heavy burden. Have they been selected, not as a form of punishment, but as a promise?

Later in Romans 16:13 the Bible says, "Greet Rufus, chosen in the Lord, and his mother, who has been a mother to me, too."  If I'm reading this correctly, Simon's wife and one of his sons was later a mother to Paul, the writer of Romans, and played an important role in Christianity. Is it possible that if these men- much like Simon-who have been asked to pick up a cross that is not theirs to bear would just shoulder the weight they will be blessed for it?

Although no one asked "will you help me carry the cross?" the request was always there. But so was the promise: If you share my pain now, I promise to take care of yours later.

Chocolate

It’s hard for me to sit here and watch perfectly good chocolate going to waste. I see it in her hands and I can tell that she doesn’t know how to handle its complicated flavors and I want to snatch it away, but then again I have my own. What bothers me is the look in her eyes as she gobbles it down and then looks around for the next thing to consume. I can tell by her greedy eyes that she doesn’t really like chocolate all that much. She’s just eating it because it was wrapped in a pretty package and there’s the promise of a golden ticket inside like in Willy Wonka. I imagine the chocolate is trying to catch my eye “Would you know how to treat me right?” I feel it thinking but I look away because who am I to have this conversation with?

Maybe I’ve misread the situation and she truly is a connoisseur. Maybe, like me, she enjoys the way it feels when you first hold it in your hands or the way the first bite, like the first kiss, is always full of such sweetness. The sweetness never cloying but just right. And there’s always just a hint of something that keeps you wanting more. Oh and the smell! There’s nothing else like it. You could be surrounded by every sweet temptation imaginable, but once you realize it’s in the room getting some is all you can think about.

But it doesn’t matter. She has it and for the moment she seems to be enjoying it. I just hope she realizes how special it is.

Eating My Broccoli

     I don't like broccoli. As a matter of fact I never had, yet I know it's good for me. Even as a child my mom could never get me to eat broccoli, cauliflower, brussel sprouts or spinach and the older I get the less appealing these vegetables are; yet, I realize that I have to eat them no matter  how bad they may taste. It's not that I don't like vegetables, because I like the ones that aren't green  but its the green ones that will keep me strong.

            Who wouldn't rather  have oatmeal chocolate chip cookies or fresh bread straight out of the oven?  But there’s a price to pay for bread and cookies that taste good now, but lead to low energy, diabetes or jeans that the whole family has to help me get into. The bottom line is that broccoli may not taste good now, but it has benefits that will continue to pay off in all the days to come.

            It's interesting though because broccoli shows up in my life in different ways. Sometimes it's the conversation I don't want to have but I need to because its the only way I'm going to bring about change. Other times the "broccoli" is a relationship that I am enjoying but I know is no good for me. The person, although nice, is draining me and will eventually deplete me if I'm not careful.

            I've not worked out with my personal trainer in six months since starting my new job and after gaining 10 lbs and catching the flu twice I realized that I needed to do what was best for me and not what I wanted to do. The other day I met with my personal trainer Danny and I swear that there were times when I saw a stalk of broccoli where his head should have been. I hated every plank, push up, and kettle bell swing he ordered me to do, but in the long run I know it's going to pay off.

            I've also gone back to drinking my Green Energy Smoothie every morning. Thankfully it doesn't contain broccoli, but it does have  spinach, celery, carrots, mint, oranges, apples, lemons, limes, and  cucumbers. It's not a Krispy Kreme donut, but its not completely disgusting either. Like my daughter Lyndsay says, "it's a toss up between grass and dirt." Nevertheless, in the long run its good for me so I hold my breath and drink it down.

            I know I would be a lot healthier and happier if I just did what I was supposed to do and not what I want to do, so here I go. It's not about Resolutions or feeling guilty about previous bad choices I've made (food, relationships, exercising). Rather, it's about being conscious about what I'm doing. I really do know what's best for me and when I take the time to think about it I tend to not get caught up and I make better choices, so please pass the broccoli. 

It's Hard Out Here For a Pimp and a Writer Too

     There's a Grammy winning song by Three 6 Mafia called It's Hard Out Here for a Pimp that I'm about to make my theme song. Although the lyrics are about a man trying to get his hustle on at the expense of the women working for him, I'm beginning to see how the lyrics can apply to most of the people I know in this Game. It seems nowadays everyone has a hustle and they're trying to find a way to get over on the next person.
     Lately I've felt like a bit of a pimp myself. Thankfully I don't have a stable I have to take care of. I'm responsible for only one, and as an author I'm constantly having to pimp myself. Every now and then I have to hike up my skirt and parade across social media because that's what new authors are supposed to do. I hate it because I'm a private person by nature. I would rather exchange meaningful dialogue over cups of tea instead of  Tweets. I'm not a Twitch or a Twigger and I honestly have more to say than what can be condensed to 140 characters or less. Don't get me started on Facebook. Every time I type a status update I feel like I just got naked in a back alley.
    According to Pimpology: The 48 Laws of the Game by Pimpin' Ken, all pimps must Get a Name in the Game, so I do what I have to do even though it's not natural to me. I write, I edit, I push send. Another of Pimpin' Ken's rules is that Pimpin' is What You Do, Not Who You Are so I guess, maybe, I need to just grin and bare it.
     It really helps to think I'm the pimp, but honestly I'm probably not. When I think about how most new authors like myself are treated, I realize that we're getting played. We hustle all day and all night and then turn over most of our money to the man (or woman) in the suit. It doesn't really feel like prostitution as it's happening, but afterwards you realize you just got screwed.
    Earlier today I spoke with a very successful writer friend of mine. Thankfully he talked me off the ledge and reminded me that in this business no one is going to take care of me better than me. I've watched enough movies to know that once the pimpin' begins the friendship ends so I need to be about my business.
   So I'm waxing off the Caddy and putting on the flashy suit and the big hat with the feather. I'm selling me. I promise, though, if you look closely enough you will see that behind the pimp facade is a shy writer who only wants to share her stories.

Holding On Too Long

     When I look back at my life, I see that I have a history of holding on too long. Normally I wouldn’t say this was a bad trait because it has actually served me well in many aspects of my life. For example, in my teaching career, there have been students who were struggling with the lessons and with life. I knew that I should just give them the failing grade they earned and move on, but something inside of me wouldn’t allow that, so I kept at them until they saw their own potential. Each time I see a former student and he or she says "thank you Dr. Thompson for believing in me" I realize that I did the right thing. 

     In my own academic career I have been extremely persistent.  When I was in graduate school, there was this one professor who said I was a pit bull because once I bit into something I wouldn’t let go. I've always  wanted to go a little farther and push a little harder until I could see progress. Maybe that’s why I’ve started marathon training. I like to push the limits and since there are no mountains in Florida I have to run. 
     While running last Saturday, my friend Natalie and I were on mile 11 and it was cold and dark and we were both ready to quit, but I reminded her that at that point it was all mental because our bodies had already proven that we could run long distances, we just needed to focus and push a little more to make it to the finish line. 

     Anyone married for as long as my husband Lynn and I knows that there are times when you want to quit but you realize that it would be best for everyone to try a little harder for a little longer because you don’t want to give up on what could have been.

     But as I watch the last of 2012 slip through my fingers, I know that there are some things I need to let go of. There is this one business relationship that I have held on to for far too long. I’ve listened to the empty promises and the flat out lies and I've kept hoping that things would get better. They haven’t, so it’s time to say goodbye. There are also some vampires who suck up all my time with their trifles. It’s time for me to begin guarding my time the same way I guard my energy.

     I promise not to give up on my students and others who I see have the potential for greatness and I’m sure as hell not going to give up on my own hopes and dreams, but I am going to begin charging a higher admission into my life. I am also going to do what my writer friend Karen suggested when she paraphrased Ronald Reagan “believe, but verify!” When a person makes a promise I’m going to believe them only until I can find out if what they're saying is true and if I discover it’s not I’m going to move on.  No more waiting around for them to try to make it right.

     So here it is December 2012 and I am releasing it all. I have no idea what God is about to do, but I am ready because I am no longer clutching tightly to things that should have been released a long time ago.

Roy's Miracle

Recently I was invited by my friend Sheila to speak at her husband Roy's graduation." Roy's the only graduate and it'll just be a small group of family and friends," she said.  "I know it's not what you're used to, but it would really mean a lot to us." I was already over scheduled, but everything else would have to wait because it's not everyday that I get to witness a miracle.

It all began in the late 1950s when Roy was unable to obtain his high school diploma. Growing up in the rural south in the late 1950s taught African Americans many life lessons, but the lessons Roy had to learn were bitterly hard. He fled his home at a young age in order to seek a better life, and a better life he did find. One that included a wife, Sheila, who loved and supported him, seven beautiful children, and more family and friends than he could have ever imagined. Although he knew that God had protected him and blessed him all of these years, there was still something missing:  his high school diploma.

Over forty years later Sheila began to make his dreams come true. Together they found an online program that would allow him to earn an actual high school diploma and not a GED. In the evenings after work, he would study and his entire family encouraged him during those times when he thought he could not go on.

It was only at the end of this story that I entered the picture and I played such a small part, but it touched me in a big way. I got to see first hand what faith, love and courage were all about.

Before the ceremony Roy was insistent that we practice, so I slowly donned my full academic regalia and waited for instructions. Sheila pressed a button and Pomp and Circumstance played from mini-speakers connected to her phone. Before marching around the small room, Roy said apologetically "I know you've done this a million times before." I listened to him and smiled and followed Sheila who had assumed the role of Commencement Marshal. In my peripheral vision I saw Roy wiping tears from his eyes as he took it all on.

Later when I got up to speak I was able to look into the faces of those who came to share this moment with Roy and Sheila and I saw how proud they were of him, but more importantly I saw how proud he was of himself. Not only was he about to receive his diploma forty-plus years after he should have received it; he was graduating with honors (he had earned a 3.6 grade point average)!

I work on a university campus and take for granted the degrees on my wall and the cap and gown that I have to wear twice a year during commencement. I barely even remember my own graduations-and I did it three times for three different degrees, but Roy's ceremony will stay with me forever as a cherished memory. I was humbled because I've taken my own experiences for granted and had failed to pay attention to how important every achievement was. Roy had accomplished something amazing and I wanted to pay attention this time. I wanted to honor him for never giving up on himself even when others had written him off. I wanted to bear witness to the love that Sheila had that made her put everything else on hold to help him achieve his dream, and  I wanted to acknowledge that something amazing had taken place.

After I spoke I sat down trying hard to fight back the tears. Then Sheila got up, this time as a devoted wife and not the person in charge, and showed the audience the class ring that she was able to design after learning that the high school Roy would have graduated from had closed many years ago and she explained the significance of the color of his cap and gown. A benediction was given and the ceremony was over.

But Roy's life was just beginning. He had achieved the one thing he wanted more than anything else and it was miraculous!

Choose Whether to Wither or to Grow

What would happen if for just one day we were to let the world see how incredible we really are? Would others shrink from our radiance and withdraw into their own chrysalis of insecurity and fear? Or would they lean into our brilliance the way flowers reach for the sun? Would our magnificence radiate for all to see?
It makes me wonder what it is about this human pilgrimage that makes us believe that this heavy suit of flesh must dull our experience? We beat ourselves down until we are merely an empty shell. We are spiritual beings and we are made in the image of the divine. Shouldn't that in itself be cause to celebrate?
I, for one, am tired of playing small. I've lost patience with trying to position myself just so in order not to offend. 
The truth is I'm ready to offend. I want to shake things up and push up against the edges. That is, after all, how the caterpillar becomes a butterfly. It's not my job to make people comfortable and I no longer assume that responsibility. Like the caterpillar, if I stay in this small, safe place I will eventually wither and die. Just as the butterfly was always within the caterpillar, my brilliance is deep within me yearning to come forward and so is yours.
It took a woman much younger than I (who is wise beyond her few years) to remind me that I have two choices: to wither or to grow. I choose to grow because I realize that she and so many others are looking to me to be all that I can be so that they know that it is safe for them to be who they are destined to be. 
As I write this I wonder who in your life is watching you play small? Who is it who knows all that you are capable of becoming yet watches you choose to be less than you really are? I know in my life it's Z and many others.
I have no idea whether or not it is painful for the caterpillar to molt into a butterfly, but I do know that it has been a painful process for me to cast aside other's opinions of me and feel comfortable being who I am without apologies. I also know that an important stage of this transformative process requires the caterpillar to completely dissolve away. All of its old self must disappear before the new self can emerge. 
That is what I think holds so many of us back. We hold onto things that are dead or are in the process of dying when we must release them in order to grow. I have not metamorphosed yet, but I am growing and I am learning to be okay with letting go and letting the process happen. I now understand that I don't have to do anything. I just have to be. And in this being-ness I become... 

I Don't Eat Shit

Why do people keep giving me their shit to eat and then call me ungrateful when I tell them that I don't eat shit?
They serve it up on beautiful plates and expect me not to notice that what they've given me is not what I've asked for? The flowers on the table and the soft music playing in the background do not disguise what's actually being offered. I'm too old to pretend that I don't notice the smell.

You see when I was younger, I was content with make believe. I enjoyed taking mud from the yard and pretending it was a pie. It was fun draping a towel around my shoulders and pretending I was  Wonder Woman. But I'm much too old for that now.

Maybe that's it. Maybe I'm just growing cantankerous as I age because I'm tired of half-baked, mammy-made, broke down, second-hand versions of the truth. I'm just sick of sorry.

More than that, I'm tired of being told that my expectations are too high and that there is something wrong with wanting. It is not that I lack gratitude because I appreciate all that I have, but I need for the charade to stop.
There's no need to promise me the moon if you don't own real estate there.
Please don't share a golden dream with me if when I hold it to the light I see where the color is chipping off.

Just tell me the truth. Tell me what you can do. Nothing more, nothing less. Let me know your limits and your capabilities. Stop pretending like you can fly because when I run along beside you I'm going to expect you to soar. Long ago I learned how to fly and if you were honest with me, I would spread my wings and carry you along, too.

I learned so much from eating dirt and pretending like I was Wonder Woman.
I learned that dirt isn't shit although sometimes it looks the same.
And I learned that it wasn't Wonder Woman's cape that made her a superhero, it was her Lasso of Truth. Don't you remember that anyone held by the Lasso had to tell the absolute truth?

That's what I want.
To wrap you in my Lasso of Truth and hear for once what you can really do.
Not what you would do if "this were that" or if somehow things were different.
I want to sit at the table and if it is shit let's not pretend it's anything but that. Instead of eating it, let's come up with a plan on how to turn it into what we desire and then we can feast upon that.

Following My Own North Star

Like so many women I know where I want to go, but the path that leads there is unfamiliar. As I look at all of my options spread before me like cards on a dealers table, I'm almost afraid to choose one because of the consequences of choosing wrongly. There are just no easy answers, so sometimes I don't bother asking the questions. What's comforting is that I know I am not alone in this dilemma because all too frequently I hear other women express the same concerns.

Although the sky appears dark, I can see my North Star twinkling if I focus and look in the right direction. I know if I gaze upon it long enough the way will become clear to me. The challenge, however, is that in order to follow where my North Star leads, I must leave all that I know behind. 

Although there may be things I don't like about where I am, it is familiar. I know the location, the players, and the game. What will happen when I set out on the new adventure and it leads me to perilous places? Do I have what it takes to wade through murky waters and cross large expanses of barren land? Will I know how to communicate with others who seemingly speak an unknown tongue and will they embrace me although I am a foreigner?

What happens if the world is really flat and I fall off? Will all of the people who warned me that my dreams were too big cluck their teeth and whisper behind my back "that's what happens to women who forget their place."

Right now I can only gaze up at the night sky and imagine the worlds that await me. One day soon I will walk naked into the night toward my shining star. When it’s time to travel, I must listen carefully to the wind for the whispered directions from those who’ve set out on the journey before me. Surely they will tell me what lies ahead. And when I arrive at the place where my North Star leads, I will lay stones to commemorate the lessons I’ve learned along the way and the parts of my self that needed to die. Then I will begin sending word back to the women who are waiting to follow. 

All My Ex's Live in Texas (Well, Actually Indiana But That Didn't Rhyme)

All my ex’s live in Texas

And Texas is the place I’d dearly love to be

But all my ex’s live in Texas

Therefore I reside in Tennessee

For the past few days my daughter has been walking through the house singing the George Strait country hit "All My Ex's Live in Texas." I think it might be because there is an AT&T commercial currently airing on TV featuring that song, but whatever the reason it has me thinking about my ex's. Although they are not living in Texas, they are out there somewhere and they are testament that I had to kiss a few toads before I found a prince.

Probably the funniest story that I have about an ex boyfriend is the one who went to the store and bought things for breakfast-a breakfast that he expected me to cook-and after we got into an argument, he took the bacon out my refrigerator presumably to have another woman cook it!

And then there was the ex who sold all of my stuff so he could get high, which was not funny at all. I was so naive that I didn't even realize he was using drugs. When I think about him, I realize how narrowly I escaped a bullet. He was tall and handsome and promised me the world, but thankfully I got away from him when I could. A handsome face and a sexy body aren’t worth spending a life in misery.

Oh, and there was the model who spent more time in the mirror than I did. He had the IQ of a pencil, but he was pretty to look at.  As long as we didn’t talk much things were good. I do have to admit he had an annoying habit of mentioning all of the women who were in love with him. Not! As far as I was concerned they could have him. Maybe they could help him moisturize, hi-light and wax. Maybe they could also help him get his GED because he was one french fry short of a Happy Meal.

Don’t get me wrong, there were some nice guys through the years but they became ex’s for a reason. Should our paths cross again I would  genuinely be happy to see them and hear about the direction their lives have taken, but I would also be happy to say goodbye knowing that we now live thousands of miles apart.

"What's Up My Niggah? Oh My God That's So Ghetto!"

For the past few months my daughter has been embroiled in a cyber war with a group of girls who she used to cheer with. The drama began when my daughter was given an award at the Varsity Cheer Banquet that stated she would be the most likely to "convert the team into ghetto girls..." This probably could have been ignored if these same girls had not spent all season mocking everything that my daughter and the other African American cheerleader said. I ignored the times my daughter came home in tears because she couldn't make them understand that they made her feel different and apart from the group. I thought things would get better.

I have moved my daughter to a new school and explained to her what ignorance really is, yet it continues-as recently as today.

What troubles me the most is that these young ladies are unable to see how hurtful their words are. They actually think it is okay to make the word ghetto synonymous with African American culture and in the past they they haven't seen anything wrong with saying "What's up my niggah?"

It really troubles me that these young women break their necks to "get with" black athletes, but they snub their noses at the beautiful black girls who are these boys' sisters. They ask insulting questions like: "why is your hair like that?" and "you CAN'T be all black!" As if there is only one way for blacks to be.

Perhaps what irks me the most is that there continue to be people in the African American community who find this acceptable. They throw around "my niggah this" and "my niggah that" without understanding that we're nobody's niggers. Have we forgotten how hurtful this word is? What made us forget that black men would have their testicles cut and stuffed down their throats  before being tied up to the highest tree? Did they forget the shame that came with being called "niggah bitch" because you were born a Negro female?

 What's absolutely ignorant is that people say "well we mean  it affectionately when we call each other niggah." There was, is, and never can be anything affectionate about a word filled with so much hate. EVER.

And the word ghetto is NOT synonymous with Black. As a matter of fact, during the Holocaust Jews were rounded up and forced to live in ghettos. So when I see a young Jewish girl talking on her cell phone or doing something else that Jewish teenagers do should I say "That's so Ghetto." I think not.

What's ironic is that my daughter has never lived in the ghetto. My husband and I earned advanced degrees so that we could maximize our earning potential. We chose neighborhoods that were diverse so our children could learn about cultures. As a matter of fact the home we bought when our children were toddlers was a mini-United Nations. We had a Vietnamese family across the street, a white family to the left of us, a Korean family to the right, an Indian family two doors down, and a Middle Eastern Jewish family behind us. It was wonderful to watch the children grow up together and embrace their differences.

I am blessed by the differences of the people who I have met throughout my life. I am thankful for my first gay friend who loved me when I didn't love myself. He thought I was beautiful just the way I was. I am thankful for my friends of different faiths who have taught me that God is bigger than I was taught to believe. I am thankful for my White friends who have shown me that we humans are more alike than different.

I truly feel sorry for these young ladies because they don't seem to have this. At least not yet. And I fear that it may be too late before they realize that words are very, very powerful and that the childhood song "sticks and stones will break my bones, but words will never hurt" was absolutely a lie. Words don't hurt. They can destroy.

Surviving the Rip Currents in Life

“Enlightenment for a wave is the moment that wave realizes that it is water. At that moment, all fear of death disappears.“

                                                                        --Thich Nhat Hanh

With the grace of God I have accomplished a great deal in life, but when I tell my story I prefer to focus on the parts where I struggled. To me those moments when I felt  that I would forever be lost at sea can be a light house to another person. I truly believe it was through those difficult times that I realized exactly what I was made of. 

There was a time in my youth when I believed that I was unwanted. I thought my birth was a mistake and everywhere I looked I saw evidence to support that. Since my father only made three appearances in my life: at my conception, just after my birth and then again on my seventh birthday, I believed that I was unnecessary, irrelevant, immaterial.  Somehow I believed that the whole world would be better off without me and that I was taking up space that was needed by someone who was worth so much more than me.  Whenever someone would give me a compliment I would question the motive: Why did he say I was pretty? What did he want from me? She likes my shoes. Was that a veiled insult?

What’s ironic is that I found myself attracted to people who did not value me. People who put their needs before my own and who made me apologize whenever I dared utter that I needed more.  Often I contemplated death, actually welcomed it because I thought it would be a way out. But it was only when I realized that death wasn’t a promise. It is life that is the promise, that I surrendered.

Like the wave, I realized that I had originated from the very thing that I was about to crash into. I was made of something so much larger than me and although I didn’t understand it, it just felt right in my Spirit. But this realization didn’t come easy. There were currents along the way that hurled me so far away from where I wanted to be that I had no way of knowing how to cope with the heartaches and disappointments. My life felt like one big tsunami and the more things happened the more it confirmed that I was a mistake. There were unhealthy relationships, illnesses, deaths, rejections, disappointments and despair. I didn’t want to live, but I was too afraid to die.

Many of you who are familiar with my writing or who have heard me speak before know that as a child I nearly drowned. That experience, along with another one here on the World’s Most Famous Beach, taught me a lesson that has kept me a float all the days of my life: how to survive when caught in a current.

Funny how we are out in the waters of life enjoying the gentle rhythm when we feel something grab hold of us and we realize we are being pulled away from where we want to be. Instinctively we want to fight. We want to thrash against the current in order to return to the shore. When we get the diagnosis, when we lose the baby, when we learn that it was all a lie, when the promise wasn’t what we expected it to be and we’re left trying to make sense of it all we want to fight. We wear ourselves out fighting back in our own strength. We panic when we realize we're facing something that is pulling us away from where we think we ought to be.

Anyone who lives near the ocean knows that the last thing we should do when caught in a rip current is panic. We must relax and conserve our energy so that when it passes we can swim back to the shore. You see rip currents will never pull us under, only away from where we think we're supposed to be.  When we fight and try to swim against a rip current,  we are pulled out to the deep and we are too exhausted to make our way back. You see rip currents are not insurmountable and eventually we will get to the end if it and  can make our way back. Unfortunately sometimes we are so focused on where we want to be that we fight where the current is trying to take us. It may just be slightly up shore, but it’s a new destination yet we resist.
Perhaps what is so frustrating is that when we come crawling out of the water, we try to hurry and clean up in order to conceal what we've just experienced instead of warning others and sharing our triumphant stories. 

I Would Have Been Burned at the Stake

I'm pretty sure that if I lived during any other time in history I would have been burned at the stake. Of course that's not something I'm proud of, but I realize that I've never been the one to sit demurely in a corner and let a man make decisions for me. I remember when my husband Lynn and I got married I struggled with the teachings from the pulpit suggesting that I had to submit. It was just something I could not do because I had an image of having to sit passively in the corner as he made all of the decisions for me. Boy did I have it wrong! I tried that for maybe five minutes and Lynn saw that I was about to bite my tongue off because I just had to say something. Finally with Lynn's help I realized that being submissive wasn't about giving my power away but it was about understanding that as the husband he covered this family and allowing him to do so.
As a young black girl raised by a single mom I was instructed to always use the intelligence God gave me and to never put myself in a position where I was dependent on anyone else. I shudder at the thought of what could have happened to me if I had not learned at any early age to speak up for myself (and others) and to question those things that just did not sit right with me. Although Lynn and I are raising our children together, I've paid special attention to the messages we've sent our daughters. I've told both Tai and Lyndsay to always speak their minds and to feel comfortable going against the grain. I've told them that their bodies belong to no one else and if they wish to tattoo and pierce every inch of it that is their right, but thankfully they have not chosen to do so. I've also told them that a marriage is supposed to be a partnership. Just because they are female doesn't mean that they have to wait around for someone to take care of them. They may or may not choose to work outside of the home when and if they marry but what I'm referring to is about so much more than an occupation. It's about living their lives and fulfilling their dreams and not waiting for the approval or permission of a man.
One of my favorite quotes is "well behaved women seldom make history." Throughout history it's been the bad-asses that have spoken up for equal rights. It is these women who gave the finger to the establishment who we remember.

"Ain't I woman?" asked Sojourner Truth.
"So what I'm poor and black.Watch me build a dream on a city dump, educate others and advise some of the most powerful men in our country," said Dr. Mary McLeod Bethune.
"I cant fly where?" inquired Amelia Earhart.
"I'm going to tell my story because I don't like the way you're trying to tell it," said Alice Walker, Toni Morrison, and Terri McMillan.
"Heck no I'm not giving you my seat," proclaimed Rosa Parks.

When I'm gone, I want my girls (and my son) to remember me as fearless. I want them to know that I used every moment of my life trying to make a difference. Thankfully they won't have to watch me burning on a pyre to realize that I was like my mother, and her mother, and her mother before her. Women who weren't afraid to ignite a fire.

Take Me, Baby, Or Leave Me

The Broadway musical Rent is probably one of my favorites. Besides the musical score being absolutely one of the best, the themes in the play speak to acceptance of others and self and the acknowledgement that unconditional love can and does exist. There is one scene in the play where one of the characters is feeling jealous and unappreciated by her female lover. She confronts her and the accused says, "Take me, baby, or leave me." Her point is that all of the accusations thrown at her were true and she asked only that she be accepted as is or be left alone. Well, that is exactly how I feel lately.

Recently I had a conversation with a friend named Harry who is an actor in New York. We talked about the different personas I often feel I have: mom, wife, educator, writer. I explained to him that at the core of it all, I am, and have always been, Michelle Donice. Most of you know that Michelle Donice is my birth name, it is the name given to me by my mother when she first held me in her arms. Although there are several last names that I can be associated with-my father's which is Frazier, my maternal grandfather's  which is Dixon, and my husband's which is Thompson- I have always identified with my first two names.

There are some people who only want Michelle Dixon to show up, or Michelle Thompson, but I am all of these and I can only be who I am.

Yes, it is true. Michelle Donice is  opinionated, serious-minded, extremely competitive and goal oriented. She is an introvert who has learned to display extroverted characteristics and she is a nerd. She has a serious temper and once a person shows that he or she is untrustworthy, she has no problems cutting them loose- for good. Michelle Donice rarely makes U-turns in life  and once she's made up her mind it takes an act of God to change it. She is loyal to a fault and expects the same from her closest friends and family. Her expectations are high but she always gives her best. Michelle Donice is  far from perfect, but she is constantly trying to learn and grow.

I am Michelle Donice and I have my strengths, and I sure as hell have a lot of weaknesses. Yesterday when Harry and I talked, he  reminded me that as an artist I must always stay true to myself even when it makes others uncomfortable. He acknowledged that there may be times when I feel that I need to speak the truth when others would prefer my silence. He even told me to go "Lorraine Hansberry on people every now and then!" I am not wired to play the politics on my job and I will always call a spade a spade. My brutal honesty can get me in trouble, but the bottom line is this is who I am.

Harry and I spoke for several hours, and as usual, when I hung up from him I was encouraged to continue to tell the truth about what I see in life. The stories I want to tell are not churchy or academic and may make people uncomfortable because they are gritty. I may be an educator, but I am a writer first.

Like everyone I want to be affirmed. I want people to like me, love me, and cheer for me as I move forward in life, but maybe that's unrealistic. The only thing that I really ask is that if you choose to love me, then love all of me. If you want me in your life, then you get the rose and the thorns. Like Maureen in Rent, the only thing I ask is that if you want Michelle, then you need to take me, baby, or leave me.

Plan B

What happens when things don't go as planned? When everything you hoped for fails to materialize and you're left wondering what happened. How do you pick up the pieces of a broken life when you've done what you were supposed to do yet things still turn out badly? It's easy to get angry. To throw your fists up to the heavens and scream at God "How did you let this happen?" And it's even easier to get angry at the world because you didn't get what you hoped for and although you played by the rules, someone else did not and you got screwed over. So you put a protective barrier around your heart thinking that it will keep you from ever being dissapointed again.

But that never works. You hurt, but the rest of the world goes on and it seems that the world won't slow down long enough to acknowledge your pain. Why can't anyone else seem to see that you've been cheated and given a bum deal?

It doesn't work because no one ever promised that life would be easy or fair. Where did we ever get the idea that things would work out just because we wanted them to? Life is full of dissapointments and separations and the sooner we realize that, it's easier to pick up the pieces and begin working Plan B.

When I was a child, I would always tell people that I wanted to be a writer. Of course adults were concerned about my ability to take care of myself as a starving artist so they suggested I have a Plan B. Something to fall back on if things didn't work out the way I planned.

Plan B was the contingency plan. The What If Plan? The Plan that would keep me sane when my dreams were crushed and my heart broken. Like most of us, I never thought I would have to revert to Plan B. It was just there in case.

As an adult, I've found myself consulting Plan B more often than I ever planned to and from this I've learned that Plan B doesn't mean I've lost faith or given up on my dreams. Instead it's shown me that I'm a survivor. That I have faith to rebuild and though I may have been knocked down quite a few times, I've never been knocked out. Plan B has been the place I've gone to garner strength. Although I've had to sit there alone sometimes and lick my wounds, God has refreshed me time after time to go back and try again.

Plan B has been what I've turned to in order to refocus the direction of my life. To take stock of those things in my life in order to forge ahead, and to cut loose the dead weight of things that are holding me back. Plan B has allowed me to recalibrate and make sense of the detours and roadblocks that were in my way. It has also become a place for me to forgive those people who hurt me intentionally and unintentionally and to forgive myself for the bad choices I've made that hurt others and ultimatly hurt me. It's allowed me to forgive myself for not acnowleding how incredible I am and playing down my awesomeness in order to make others more comfortable. It didn't serve me, or others, and it was a slap in the face to my Creator.

If you're like me and you find yourself resorting to Plan B more often than you expected, rejoice! Take time to celebrate that you're still full in the fight and you're willing to take one more swing at it. Keep in mind that throughout history people have done their greatest works when things seemed the bleakest because it is during these times when we have clarity and begin to acquire skills we never would have during happier days and we become aware of resources we previously ignored.

At first Plan B may seem like a setback, but it is merely a setup for a comeback.