Not My Monkey, Not My Circus

 A few years back, I heard a saying that changed my life. 

"Not my monkey, not my circus."

For a very long time, I felt enmeshed in the lives and drama of others. I became overwhelmed with the pains of the rest of the world. But this saying grounded me like never before and helped me realize that I gotta stop carrying other people's shit.

I've been Buddhist over 10 years now, but I'm starting to hold firmer to the faith and even meditated for the first time in forever yesterday. But the joy of Buddhism is that it frees me from expectations and problems. I deal with things as they come, but I now know not to get overwhelmed, especially with problems that are not even mine.

A large part of that also came from Pete's passing. After his death, I went into a bit of cocoon, no sex, no dating, minimal friend interaction, just me and mine. Work, home, school, motherhood, grief, I just didn't have the emotional bandwith to be the social butterfly that many have come to know and love. But once I started to emerge from my depression, after isolating for so long, it occurred to me that I was no longer wearing the issues of so many others and my ish was pretty good. My bills were paid, and I wasn't dealing with a lot of the bullshit that comes with dating. I didn't care if a guy didn't call me back or if he was lying through his teeth. Dare I say, I felt good  just to be in my own space. It was then that I realized just how much of my problems stem from sources outside of myself. On my own, I kept it 100.

So I while I did falter at times, for the most part, I was able to remain within my own bubble and create far less drama for myself by just being in my cocoon. And I learned that when I see bullshit coming, I have every right to get out of the way, or simply decline to engage.

I've stated many times before, how the Universe will test us on our path. Oh boy. So my son's father and I are no longer trying to kill one another, but I sure as hell wouldn't call him my friend. Relinquishing him from my mind and spirit was the best gift that I could give to myself. I'm no longer angry about the hurt. But I will never forget who he is and that he brought me to my lowest point. But he no longer has access to the same Malika that everyone else does.

So anyway, baby daddy recently informed me that he was diagnosed with COVID-19 and told me that he will be unable to take Caleb for his weekly visit. I was surprised that I actually cared! I small part of me was concerned, and I genuinely thought that I would not be worried if he'd ever gotten hurt. My first instinct was to call and ask him if he wanted me to bring him soup or something. But I held off. He no longer has that Malika. She's dead to him. I texted him back and said a simple "I hope you get better."

While I was tempted to rush in and save him, I remembered that for every time he disrespected me, lied to me, called me out of my name, insulted me, etc., he showed me how he felt. And now that he is alone and suffering, he is no longer my problem. There were always many women lining up to be with and do for him, one of those women is welcome to do the honors. 

Because he is not my monkey, and that is no longer my circus.

Unpacking

 My first time being immersed in the idea of minimalism, I was visiting a friend's home. I was immediately drawn to his actual lack of stuff. His was a neat home. A low bed, a low couch. But it felt cozy. It felt livable. I loved the idea of having such a home. And it wasn't that he was poor either. Nope, he was a singer who'd traveled the world, and had great taste in design. He just didn't have a bunch of extra stuff in his apartment. I did all kinds of mental gymnastics to figure how I could one day have a home with the same decor, but I gave up on the idea, although not completely. The fact is that I simply had too much stuff to pull off such a look. But I wanted it.

I've always had a lot of stuff. Quite honestly, the first time in my life I ever moved was from College Park to Decatur and I still have some old magazines and boxes packed up from that. On occasion, I'll pull it out and look through and reminisce about my teenage years. But not enough to justify the space taken, if I'm honest with myself.

The next time I started to look closely at my stuff was after Pete died. The whole time I attended Clark, I looked forward to being able to purchase nice things for myself. I'd developed a love of Coach bags and I prided myself on splurging on a new bag whenever I came into a few extra bucks. I saw my bags as a sign that I'd finally made it and was able to buy nice things for myself. I loved the compliments I got on each one of my bags, as they all signified my being stylish and a woman of means. BWAHAHAHA!!!

I recall sitting on my therapist's couch and explaining that since he died, I no longer wanted nice purses, I wanted instead to be free of such nice things, because they no longer held value. But as time went on, and my grief waned, so too did my desire to free myself of my Coach bag collection, and I'm currently up to 5, with a side of a Kate Spade.

It only really hit home how much shit I own back in July. I'd just returned from my cross-country trip, and with everything going on, I decided that it was time to move. I looked around at my apartment and immediately got overwhelmed with the idea of moving. I had so much stuff. I had full bookshelves, magazines dating back 10 years, dozens of dvds, years of old blankets, a bunch of pots and pans in my kitchen. My decision to move made me look even differently at the toiletries in my bathroom. For the first time ever, it occurred to me that I had literally dozens of perfumes. I took stock in my hygiene items and realized that I had about 5 bars of deodorant, 5 different hair moisturizers, 6 or 7 lotions, a few body scrubs, 3 tubes of toothpaste... just so much stuff!

After I decided to move, I looked at my apartment differently. My ultimate goal was to move into my new crib with just a few boxes and a few of my favorite pieces of furniture. But my small little cozy collection of stuff became an overwhelming pile that I needed to unload. It was no longer my stuff, it was just stuff. While I previously looked forward to adopting a new Coach bag this spring, with part of my tax return, I've since lost interest in it. I'll stack that money and put it toward a nice vacation instead.

Circumstances weren't good for a move because of the pandemic and not wanting to move my son from his school, so I stayed put, but the seed to scale down had been planted. I made a conscious effort to start unloading things. My best friend said that he likes candles, so I made it a point to slide him a few candles that had been sitting at my home. I made it a point to actually use the perfumes I had. By the time I move, I'd like to be down to 5 or 6 scents. Rather than using a small splash of random scents, I made a conscious effort to use one bottle at a time. And not only did I start using what I owned, I also realized that part of my issue was to stop buying shit too!

I'm a sucker for Target's sales in the toiletries section. It took a few days, but it finally started to hit home that I have to avoid Target's toiletries area, because truth is that I have about 6 months to a year of most supplies already. There is nothing there that I need. I also implemented a rule where I'd periodically look at the toiletries that I did own, and I'd toss not only  the things that were expired, but also the things that didn't work (or at least worked <50% in the way that I needed them to). For those items that didn't work, but I'd still held onto, I finally decided to just throw them away.

As the Universe tends to do, symbols and signs started to lead the way. Someone posted this on Facebook recently and I was inspired even further to embrace minimalism once and for all. Coincidentally, at the start of the year, I pledged myself no more Starbucks for the full month of January. In that space, I started to realize that I actually just enjoy spending money, which coincides with accumulating stuff. So all this time, I didn't even realize that. All of this stuff that I've been collecting, was in part because I'd enjoyed just the actual act of buying stuff. It just occurred to me that this is an actual issue I have!

I got to a point where I actually enjoyed throwing things away. I get a bit of glee looking at newly empty spaces. As I started to get rid of things, I happened to start my new job, working with women in a residential treatment center. Many women there entered with just the clothes on their backs, so donations came through the door constantly. I'd also started to take a look at my closet. My precious, precious clothes. There are clothing items that I've owned since my mid 20's and even my teens in my closet. I'm 40. As I've had women report to me that they needed clothes, either as they'd gotten larger (because of pregnancy), or they were just eating a lot to pass time in rehab. Some women also needed clothes because they were starting to go on job interviews and needed outfits. I finally found the chance to unload all of these clothes. Unloading things means that much more when you know that someone else will get better usage out of it.

I decided that when I move, I'm trashing all of my plates, as they don't match anyway. I didn't really care about plates and glasses though, mostly because my child is much like his mother, clumsy af, and I opted not to buy a matching set of dishes until he is out of high school and I'm living solo. I plan to unload many of these pots and pans too. All I need is a couple of baking sheets and about 3 pots and 2 pans. I might even just toss it all and rebuy nicer things once I move. I've been collecting so many more  things over the years, as people would often unload their things onto me. And even though I didn't need them, I took them on anyway, to stash them away to never be seen again.

I'd always felt that I'd feel some kind of way if I got rid of some of my things. But the fact is that I don't miss stuff at all. I feel lighter. My apartment is less cluttered and easier to clean. Those extra cups I tossed make my kitchen less junky and more spacious. My bedroom is cleaner without so much stuff and my closets are neater and better organized.

So while I'm not quite the minimalist yet, I'm sure I will one day be. I'm loving, learning, and correcting these maladaptive behaviors that I've had for so long, and unloading this stuff, I'm learning to unburden myself of a lot of pressure I'd previously held. Sometimes, my memories are enough. I don't have to spend money to have a good time. While I felt more secure surrounded by random baubles previously, I'm really enjoying not needing the protection of what I can buy and have bought, I'm leaning on my independence. I'm noticing that I'm starting to save money too. I frequently scan my apartment for things I don't need. It's almost like a game I play with myself- what thing have I owned for years that I don't need, that I can now throw away and no longer miss?

 I still plan to move one day, just not as soon I originally planned. But I maintain my original goal of only needing a few small boxes for most of my belongings, followed by the furniture that I plan to bring (I'm planning to toss some of the furniture as well).

It's all starting to click. I'm getting there. I'm more inspired than ever to write, and more focused to expand my career in order to help people. Unloading myself of needless casual dating, in addition to unloading unnecessary items, while learning to avoid buying new ones is what real freedom looks like. I'm thankful for the little things and grateful to be on my way to becoming a better version of myself. I don't need stuff. 

Because I am enough on my own.

Solitude

Makes sense that this would be my first post of the year. I honestly can't believe that I've been chronicling my life for over a decade on here. It's like my own little corner of the world, and I'm thankful for that. I've felt huge amounts of guilt over the fact that 2020 was pretty good to me. I like to think that is the Universe's way of making up for the total shit show that I suffered throughout 2017. 

I turned 40 over the summer, and despite not being able to go to Jamaica for my birthday, as I'd planned, I'd say that my epic 10-city road trip certainly made up for it. Before I'd even got back to Atlanta, my former friends seemed to be dropping like flies. It was all stuff that needed to happen though. I don't really miss any of those friends. Well- I'm lying. I miss parts of their friendship. But overall, as I look forward, I'm thankful to the transition and I'm no longer feel obligated to hold onto people, especially if their actions tell me that they don't want or need to be held onto.

As December wound down and I began to reflect on 2020, another thing I'd thought about was how many men I'd given my heart to, only to be seriously let down. But I wasn't angry, I wasn't even sad. I was just tired. Since early childhood, I've always been a giver. A sufferer of emotional and physical abuse, I always felt that rather than perpetrating the abuse I'd suffered, I'd be the opposite and love the people around me. It's amazing that at the age of 40, I'm just now finding my voice and understanding that enough is enough. Recently, during a staff meeting, a coworker began to confess that she was beginning to suffer a bit of "compassion fatigue" while working with our clients. I felt her on that. While I don't feel that in my work place, I certainly am starting to feel it in my personal life. I feel like I've always given so much. Whether it be a ride, money, a couch to crash on, food, babysitting services, or just a comforting ear, I made it my mission in life to be available. But I'm tired.

During my self-talk about the upcoming year, I decided that I essentially would not be dating. Again, not mad, not angry, not sad or heart broken. Simply tired. I committed to making 2021 about building my career skills and goals, and more traveling. The only way I'll date any man is if he's absolutely serious about a relationship/marriage. No more going to men's apartment "just for drinks" and I'm honestly not even thinking about sex at the moment. The best thing about going into this is that my motivation is different. Rather than using this as some way to manipulate a relationship out of thin air, I'm simply going to allow myself to decompress from a lot of bullshit. I uninstalled Tinder and other dating apps I was on. All simply because I was no longer looking.

I tend to believe that the Universe tests our commitment in various ways. My test came fairly quickly. A guy who'd inboxed me several times over the last few years popped up. I'd always played him to the left, simply because he only reached out whenever I'd taken swaggy pics with celebs, and dressed to the nines. That particular guy had dozens of pics himself, dressed equally as sharp. I dismissed him because I saw what he posted online and noticed when he reached out. If he wanted a woman who would wear a beat face and a ballgown for a Target run, I obviously was not the woman for him.  His mother died because of COVID, and I did reach out to offer support. But other than that, our communication was minimal.

That guy reached out to me around the 4th or so. He inboxed, asking how I was. He said that I was simply on his mind. I let him know that going into 2021, my goals are career and travel and that the only men I'll give even the smallest amount of time to, are men who I'll see a serious future with. The guy expressed interest in joining me for my travel and dating. We talked briefly via video chat. He told me that he's well off, due to some investments he made, which I'll admit, was a definite bonus.

I reached my destination and agreed to contact him again that evening. I called, as I said I would. No answer. I wasn't pressed. A few hours later, I texted him to say that I wanted to talk to him to pick his brain on something. He texted me back to tell me that he was out, and that he'd call me on his way home. He did not. I wasn't pressed at that point either, but I definitely took notice.

The following day, he texted me a simple "hey." No mention of not calling me back the previous evening, just "hey." Oddly, I've grown to detest "hey" as a text message. As a giver, I've grown acutely aware of how often a man will text me "hey" and I'll reply with a smiley face and ask about how his day is. As I'm now in the space of reciprocating energy, I waited 15 minutes and replied with "hey." He did not respond. Just like I'd figured, he wanted me to show some kind of excitement about him reaching out to me. WRONG, playbwoi!!! A few hours later, I grew bored and called him. He didn't answer. A while later I got on the phone with a cousin of mine who was in the hospital after a recent heart attack. He called during that conversation, but obviously, I was not going to get off the phone with a hospitalized relative. I shot him a quick text message, letting him know that I'd call him back momentarily. Roughly 10 minutes later, I called him back. No answer. *sigh* Here we go with this shit... I knew already what it was. He wanted me to chase him. He wanted to be the rabbit, and me the hunter.

But what his punk ass forgot is that during our conversation yesterday, I told his ass that I wasn't with the shits. I told him that the only man energy I'm entertaining is about a real future, a partnership, not these frat boy games. On top of all else, after he did not respond to my phone call, I saw that he'd posted some kind of dumb ass statement on Facebook. He wanted me to know that he was dodging me. Know what I did?  *BLOCKED*

Fact is that I don't know that clown outside of Facebook and he didn't bring near enough to the table to start off on some b.s. I gotta admit, I'm proud of myself. Historically, it would have taken me several more months to look at this situation and recognize that he was on some mess. But as my career and travel is my focus now, anything that seeks to distract/hurt/irritate/annoy/disappoint me is going to get stopped at the door.

I've been catching up on the show "Insecure" lately. I looked at it on Friday night, and longed for the warm beaches of southern Cali. The fact is that I'm absolutely suffocating in Georgia, but I cannot move until my son is out of high school. My mother moved me in the middle of my sophomore year of high school, which really just set off a lot of depression. I've decided that I can't do that my own child, so I just gotta suck it up for now.

I awoke on Saturday and decided that I'd take a bit of a road trip to Chattanooga. I called a homegirl and she and another friend ended up meeting me there at a swanky hotel. We had an absolute ball, and during our first excursion, I was inspired to finally start writing. I sat in the middle of a restaurant, and later on, a bar. I was painfully aware of the people and the smoke around me, but it didn't matter, I needed to write, so I did.

The following day, after we parted, I opted to check out a used book store that I'd read about. I went first to the psychology section, which has become my favorite part of any book store that I visit. I found numerous books that I knew I could draw from with my clients. I later on went to the Buddhism section, which I found would offer further support in my practice, so I loaded up, looking forward to being able to use each and every one of them. 

So here I am, happy and ready to move forward. I'm alone, but for the first time, it's self-imposed, as opposed to not having a choice in the matter, something I'd previously had to just suck up and work through. I'm excited about the books I'm going to work on. I'm planning to obtain a professional license soon. 2020 set me up to set the world on fire in 2021. And I am thankful for that too.