Failure to Assess and Launch

I'm really excited about a few things I have planned. It's like all of those years of struggling are finally coming together to make sense. If  you take a look at my life, divine timing is definitely real. When I speak to people at work and in my personal life, I have no issue holding up myself as an example of what can happen when you hold your head and work through those challenges.

My modus operandi is to always have several backup plans and always expect the unexpected. Those two things have helped me land on my feet time and time again, because I'm not often caught off guard. I've had people accuse that mindset of me being "negative" but the fact is (knock on wood) my bills are paid on time, even when circumstances are shaky.

I talked a while back about my therapist labeling me a track star and how I had to sit in that for a while, trying to figure out my life. I did more processing than a little around the label of being a runner. I wanted to asses it inside and out. Is it really me? And if so, what can I do about it?

I even checked in with some of my good friends, to get their opinions on it. At one point, I reached out to my homeboy Tony. Tony is kind of cute and we've always had a flirtatious relationship. I called him the other night, again wracking my brain with news of my new label. Tony plainly said to me "if you don't think you're a runner, what's the issue?" 

I explained to him that therapy is about me learning myself. I mean, ignoring my flaws doesn't make them go way. Tony said that if I don't agree with the term, then it simply doesn't apply. I said to him that even though I may not like what someone says, that doesn't make it untrue. And that we become better versions of ourselves by being honest with ourselves and assessing honest criticism.

I could almost feel Tony checking out. That's when I told him that we should at least hear what people with good intentions have to say about us. I mean, naturally I don't listen to every critical word that some idiot says about me. But if someone who cares, or better yet, the psychologist that I pay out of pocket, gives an honest assessment of my character, it bears being examined.

But something about the way he just kinda, I dunno, checked out at the thought of examining honest criticism. I wasn't just turned off, I was honestly a bit disgusted. Like how can you, as a grown ass man in your 40s, be so opposed to acknowledging anything wrong with yourself? To the point where you check out when someone is processing their own criticism?

When I recognized that Tony's response was just to bury his head, I was so... UGH. I mean, I was legitimately a repulsed. And I used to think that Tony was so cute. But when that happened, I looked at my life and I looked at Tony's life. I met him when I was in undergrad at Kennesaw in my 20s. Since then I've finished undergrad, did some living, and went to grad school. Meanwhile, I've worked in mental health for 15 years. I have a career. I've had several relationships, some obviously better than others. My resume gets me pretty much any job I have my eyes on. I have a job with a well-respected organization. I have a pension. I have a short-term plan and a long-term plan. And Tony has evolved by... well, by not much.

All because of his refusal to accept and access honest feedback and become a better version of himself. I don't understand how someone's ego can be so fragile that they'd rather stay complacent in life than to grow and build.

I guess that's why I'm flourishing, and he's, well, not.

Track Star

I had a bit of an epiphany about Fred the other day. After nearly 2 decades of back and forth with him, I'd feel some kind of way if I met a man I was interested in and he had a similar relationship with another woman. I mean, how does someone new to the fold compare to that? It made me look kinda hard at my own dating situations, ya know?

This afternoon, I met with my therapist. Dr. T is amazing. Early in our meeting, somehow we began talking about my father and I began listing off the many reasons I've chosen to cut him out of my life. I saw Dr. T literally double take as I told story after story about the many things he has done to betray my trust. Doc even went far enough to call him a sadist, which I can definitely agree with.

During our meeting, I told Dr. T that I wanted to change course slightly and talk about something else. She gladly accepted. I then told her about my revelation- that my history with Fred would be difficult for an outsider. My dear doctor listened intently as I'd shared how I felt that our literal cross-country love affair is deeper than I may have realized. I mean, I can be honest and share that there are men who I've prioritized over Fred and if the right man came into my life, I'd have no problem doing so again.

When Dr. T asked why we've never been a couple, I admitted that our differences are pretty big and some of the things I think he'd want, I don't fit into. I mean, I'm open to it, I guess. But I'm not running into that fire either. I also shared that if I met that man for the first time tomorrrow, even though I'd be physically attracted to him, I highly doubt we'd get much past a hello. We're just so different now, I don't think we'd gel as new friends.

But maybe there's really more to us than I've accepted. Dr. T wondered why I'd been so deep in my feelings over this. That's when I shared the world's worst-kept secret with her- I'm terrified of commitment. I've done it before. Most of my boyfriends, I never cheated on, not even with Fred. Except for one, my son's father and I deserved every orgasm that Fred gave me during that time. Even though some of the others definitely deserved to be cheated on, and I had many opportunities to do so. Still, the thought of being in a relationship scares the bejeezus of me. 

Dr. T wondered why Fred and I never got together. I confessed to her that I'm not sure that we'd even make a good couple. I openly asked her why we can't be like an Oprah and Stedman, ya know? Why define things? Dr. T then reminded me that Oprah and Stedman at least live together. Oof.

That's when she hit me with it. Dr. T looked up and proclaimed to me "you're a runner." 

Me? Huh?! A runner?! That's when I was reminded of my past coworker. I shared with her my absolute terror of the idea of entering a previous relationship. My coworker looked at me and said "Malika, you are a runner." What?! Me?! How?! Who?! My coworker then said "bitch, you are a track star!" One of my favorite things about working in mental health is that you're surrounded by therapists who are happy to give you insight on things you previously overlooked.

So Dr. T is literally the 3rd person to have called me a runner. I have no clue why this is hitting so hard. I sat tensely in her office, fidgeting and trying to sit in these feelings. I admitted that the idea of calling myself a runner kinda stung. Dr. T then asked me what I'm running from. I fidgeted even harder. I'm traditionally pretty okay with my shit. All of my emotions. But sitting in her office, in that chair, ironically made me want to bolt out of there.

It was the end of our session, so we had no chance to go down the rabbit hole of why. I normally hate when our sessions end, but I was definitely okay with it today. Perhaps I am a runner. I dunno. Me though? The woman who embraces emotions and wants to talk and hug everything out? Am I really running from something? I don't know.

I gotta go.

The Crazies

Today was a perfect coffeehouse day. I'm thankful that my little genius of a son helped me to find a new laptop. With the rain drizzling outside and recent goings on, this is the perfect moment to sit down and sort out my thoughts, on top of updating my monthly budget.

Anyway, a while back, I saw a meme where a person thanked the people in their life who'd been kind enough to listen to them incessantly talk about whatever mess they were involved in, until they were through it. It immediately took me back to two of my good friends. Both, Hashim and Alto, have been an absolute godsend over the years, supporting me while dealing with all of the shit my ex heaped onto me. I made it a point to verbally let both of them know how much I appreciated it, because I know they were both beyond sick of me talking about it.

Which brings me to where I am now. I have a friend I'll call Angela. She and I go way back. She's also been a support while I was dealing with many issues, including legal stuff resulting from my ex and my family. Angela happens to work for local law enforcement. Ya know that friend that can find nearly anything or anyone online? That friend is typically me. But Angela is able to give me a run for my money, even without having her police connections. She's an absolute beast at pulling up info.

About a year ago, Angela started confessing that things weren't going very well with her husband. And working in mental health, it's kinda natural that I'd become her therapist/support through all of this. And I'll admit that it was exhausting to listen to. I'll own that a large part of what helped me to grant her patience was my recognition of what an absolute mess I've been in my past relationships and knowing that when I needed an ear, so many friends were there for me.

When Angela would call or text me, outraged at whatever new shit her husband had recently done, I'd remind her that he's literally doing what he's always done and you can't be surprised when you don't have expectations. She'd finally had enough and decided that once they reached a particular milestone in their relationship, she'd pull the plug. She'd confessed to me that it was pretty difficult to play nice, but she knew it was in her best interest to do so.

A few months back, Angela also presented with evidence that her husband was cheating on her. Yikes. And on top of that information, the side chick had also started following her online. Now, I'm one to be honest with my shit. I've done my dirt. But these new side chicks are a whole different level of bold. Following the wife online?! My last dalliance, with a man who was recently separated, I literally blocked that woman, in case my name ever came up (thankfully, it never did) and I have since sworn off married men, but that's for a different post. The less she knew about me, the better. I've even mentioned to other men how with that particular guy, I knew my place. I had no intentions to meet or argue with his wife. I didn't want to replace her or meet their kids. I understood that my friendship with him was what it was, and I had no desire for anything extra. Not surprisingly, many of those men proposed to me that I take on the role of side chick to them, and I declined. It ain't worth the headache. But my point is that I knew my place, and that particular guy appreciated it. He and I stayed good friends for years, he ended up being a bit of a mentor for me, and he helped me a ton in my career. And even though we ended things, I know I could call him tomorrow if I needed to. Since then, I've opted to stop talking about that part of my life with my married guy friends, because I have no desire to play that role again.

Once Angela realized that she had a new fan, she made it a point to dedicate her online presence to pictures of her and her philandering husband, much to the chagrin of his side bae. Meanwhile, I'd been tasked with listening to and supporting my dear friend. It made me that much more grateful of my current peace and my intentional decisions to only entertain men who had some damned sense. All I could think to myself is that I'm in my 40s, I can't imagine still dealing some man who is hell bent on pain and destruction. That's also another reason that I don't want more children. I don't ever want to be in that frame of mind over a man ever again in my life.

A few days back, Angela contacted me and stated that she had information that her husband had been spending money on the side chick. She was fuming. I tried my best to remind her that a fuccboi is going to do fuccboi stuff, and to stay focused on her fast-approaching date to file for divorce. But obviously, one to press her luck, the side chick then decided to follow Angela on another site. Angela, feeling froggy, decided to inbox the woman to ask if she had any information to share with her.

Woo chile, if this didn't take me back to my 20s. I can now attest that nothing good can come from this. I urged Angela to block her. She knows what it is, she's planning to divorce dude anyway. Angela, practically a detective, knew exactly what was going on. She had all of the evidence in the world.

I got a call from Angela last night, while I was at work. I sent it to voicemail, unable to speak. She called me back a few minutes later, and I texted her that I'd call her on break, which ended up going an hour later than I'd anticipated. When I had a moment, I finally reached back out. "I needed you," she said. "What's up?" I offered. "I needed you" she said again. That's when she dropped the bomb.

"I went to her house, and he was there." Oh shit. She explained that she pulled up and saw his car. She called him and demanded he come out. She then called the woman and told her to send her husband out. He opted to stay where he was, which was likely the safest for everyone involved.

As much as I'd danced around it before, I told Angela point blank that she's going to mess around and lose her job, or possibly more- her freedom, if she kept this up. I have no issue with holding myself up as an example of what not to do. I reminded Angela of my jail stint and I reminded her that her job in law enforcement could be threatened if she was found out to be in the streets like this. On top of it all, Angela recently got promoted to the much-needed job that will allow her to pay bills comfortably once she and her husband split. She mentally and financially cannot afford to lose this job that she just worked so hard for.

And here she is, in the streets, about to lose it all for a man who clearly is not worth it. Angela stated that she'd just needed confirmation and a confession. "Why?" I asked her. Again, she's a beast with the info. She knows. She knew. She had pictures, conversations, phone calls, addresses, dates, and text messages. And she pressed her luck. But I can't judge her. I get it. Lord knows, I get it. I been there. It ain't a good place to be in. It got the best of her. Love and rage will do it. 

Angela came down with the crazies.

Strange Places

I remember vividly what made me decide that hospice was the job I wanted to do next. I was next to my beloved cousin Ali, who was just days from dying. A hospice CNA came in and sponge bathed him. I sat there, mere feet from him, in a chair, big heavy tears running down my face. The CNA kept a straight face and never even looked up to acknowledge me. And strangely enough, I was grateful to her for that moment. Because I had no idea how to function at the time when our close loved one is dying. In a moment like that, no matter what kind of education or experience you have, your brain seems to just seep out of your ears. But she was professional. She had a job to do, clean and check on him. While the family was all so emotionally spent, she came in and did what needed to be done. That was literally the moment I learned how important hospice really is.

I took two months after Ali died to finish writing a book (at least I thought I was done), before I went back to work. I'd been so distracted from the last few years that I knew that after being fired and losing my cousin, I needed a break. I'd tried so long to finish the book previously, that this was the first time that I felt like I could really work on it with no distractions, and once it was done, I would get another job. When I was ready, I started applying. 

After the job I'd gotten fired from, I wasn't really looking forward to going back into social work. I'd been bullied, lied to, lied on, gaslit and underpaid from many of my last few jobs. I was over it. But I decided to look at hospice jobs in the area. Coincidentally, my classmate from Clark was working as a hospice social worker and I remember vividly telling her that there was no way I could ever do something like that. She assured me it wasn't that bad. I had a hard time believing at the time that a job dealing with death and dying wouldn't emotionally drain me. But by the time I applied, I had a newfound appreciation for the position. And I landed at a place I'll call Chances Hospice.

Chances sat in the middle of nowhere in a small town, about 30 minutes from my old apartment. When first I interviewed, I told them that I'd just lost my cousin and I saw the importance of hospice up close and personal and I wanted to share that blessing with others going through a hard time. I was hired on the spot. Chances had an interesting cast of characters. It had the typical, small Southern town feel. The office wasn't too far from the local downtown area, which was only a few small shops and restaurants.

I was told that my list of clients would be south of I-20. I loved so much how I drove through all kinds of farmland to visit my families. Miles and miles of grass, as far as the eye could see. The job definitely put some miles on my car, but I was more than happy to collect them. They were so grateful for me, unlike working in crisis, where people drop all kinds of shit in your lap and it's then your job to put out their fires. Hospice was a much slower pace, less drama, less paperwork and I loved that it was overall based much more in compassion. When my uncle, Ali's father, died a month after I was hired, my coworkers were so kind and gracious. Not "so when are you going to get over this?" like the job I was fired from after Ali died. No, they were genuinely loving and allowed me all the time I needed and didn't give me mess when I had to fly to Denver for his funeral. When I met with a client's family right after my uncle died, I had to excuse myself to go cry, and my coworker was more than understanding.

I was heartbroken to have to leave Chances. I had every intention of staying there until my son graduates high school in a few years. But at the same time I was applying for Chances, I also applied for my current job. And when that major organization reached out to me much later, I knew what I had to do. Chances was great, but the other position that I'd been offered was too much to pass up. When this organization calls you, you pull up.

I offered to stay on part-time, but my coworkers at the time asked me not to do that, for fear it would cut their pay if the higher ups realized that my job could possibly be a part-time position. I respect it. I told them that I'd gladly stay on as a volunteer, and even emailed the volunteer coordinator twice, telling her that I was interested, but I never heard back. I assumed that management was miffed at my early departure, which is why I was never called. But even with that, I never lost love for Chances.

I stopped in to see my therapist today. Dr. R happens to be located in my old neighborhood, and the inviting weather told me that it was time to stop by Chances again, after my visit with her. I didn't expect to talk about Fred with her, but she's great at pulling things out of me that I'm trying to avoid. Nevertheless, when I emerged from her office, I called my old coworker, Sophie and asked if she would be okay with me stopping in for a visit. 

When I got off the exit, I was transferred back to the time when I started, just two short years ago. I remembered how peaceful I felt, driving through the small town to my office. I was also on the opposite side of town from all the traffic and I never had to encounter the hustle and bustle of rush hour, which I was also grateful for. I remembered those treatment team meetings, and how my coworker, Jennifer, and I would exchange funny memes as we updated one another on our clients.

Mostly, the old gang is still there. I was happy to learn that some of my old clients are still on the services and even still ask about me. I confessed to Sophie that driving through that small town into the office today helped me to recognize just how much Chances really saved me when I came in, 2 years ago, and I was far more broken than I'd realized at the time. Sophie encouraged me to reach out to the volunteer coordinator, but I told her how I'd done so previously, but never heard back. That's when she told me that the that the previous person in that position wasn't too good and that's why I never got a response. She told me that Chances desperately needed volunteers and encouraged me to drop my info. I anxiously filled out the application and emailed the woman before I left.

I came into Chances, grieving from the recent loss of my cousin. I was just a hair from leaving social work. I'd just broken up with my extremely shitty boyfriend, and I was still really processing my feelings regarding moving back from Los Angeles. And although I didn't realize it at the time, your girl was going through it! And driving out, in the middle of nowhere, and getting to support families, and being welcomed in, 5 days a week, from 8-5 was all I needed. I saw cows and horses. Heard all kinds of wild stories. Working there was like being transformed to a time when everything was simpler. I wasn't catching crap about dress codes and office politics. I wasn't bullied. When my uncle died, I was given nothing but genuine support. Chances gave me the work family that I so desperately needed.

Coincidentally, when I left Chances today, I called my friend Lisa, who I'd met through my work there. I was her mother's social worker, and Lisa and I just took to one another. Lisa had been caring for her mother with dementia for the last 4 years. Lisa's mother died recently, which I'd learned when I Googled her one day. I immediately called Lisa to offer my condolences, but she was with family. I told her that I'd drop by later. While I was out at Chances and in Lisa's neighborhood, I stopped on in.

She told me about watching her mother slowly decline. I knew she was still processing a lot and I allowed her to talk as much as she needed to about her mother, knowing the loss was only a month ago. Lisa's house happens to be on a lake, and we sat outside, talking, enjoying the 80 degree day. I told Lisa how I'm hoping to buy a home, but I'd been thinking about getting something in the city, so that ultimately, I could pass it on to my son, if needed. 

But being out there today, in the small town where Chances is located, made me rethink things. Maybe I really will buy a home in that tiny, country town, where I can be invisible and loved on at the same time. Chances did more for me than they will ever know. I am eternally grateful.

Balance

I haven't had vivid dreams in a while. Things are pretty tame in my life, so my dreams tend to match. But I had a pretty lively one last night. In it, my son's father and I were getting along quite well. So well, it genuinely surprised me. In the dream, I recall saying that I'd have to work out in therapy how to actually like my ex as a person, because I'd started detesting him so much, and he was so nice now, that I would miss my actual hatred for him. But then, the dream, he said the one thing that would set me off (which is par for the course with him) and I wailed on his ass right there. I woke up shortly after.

Like any typical Thursday for the last few months, I woke up this morning and dreaded going to see my trainer. Even though I've seen the benefits and observed my clothes fitting loser, yeah, I still hate it. On a good note, I've gotten to be pretty close with my trainer, and he loves to hear the stories about my debaucherous life. Actually, my life is pretty boring these days, compared to what it once was, but he's married, so any news of my ignorance, he's always happy to hear about. 

As I stepped in, he said to me "this is going to be a tough workout, you're going to hate me." I low key feel like he takes joy in hearing me whine about not wanting to do whatever he tells me to do. He told me that today would be a cardio workout that focused on balance. He had one of those workout tools I'd seen, that's half ball, the other half is flat, known as a BOSU ball. I'd seen those things frequently, but never stopped to figure out what they were.

He explained to me that I'd be standing on the flat side, balancing, while doing squats, and holding onto a pole. I surprised us both by getting through the set pretty easy. Next up I did the squats on the BOSU ball, without holding on. Then I lifted weights, while balancing on the BOSU ball. Then he had me standing on one leg, all while I did squats.

Once again, they were all pretty easy, and dare I say it, pretty fun. My trainer remarked on how wild it was that whenever he had me do lunges, I'd practically face plant, but here I was, doing one-legged squats on a balance ball, like a pro. He marveled at how uncoordinated I often am, and while he gave me tasks today, he said that I'm literally only one of 2 people he's ever worked with that had this level of balance. It's probably attributed to the at-home workout routine that I've done on and off for years. I'd never really thought much about it, but at the age of 43, I'm glad to see that I'm doing so well. My trainer joking referred to my combo of terrible coordination with immaculate balance, as me being a "conundrum."

Not sure what made me ask my trainer, but out of no where I asked him what men would typically think about my hair, which is in nearly waist-length, multi-color locs, that I currently have curled up. My trainer said that most men would likely see my brightly colored hair and think I was a free spirit or easy. I wasn't surprised. The fact is, while I love my hair, I get sick of talking about it with and getting complimented on it, by men. I did it because I like bright colors, not because I wanted the attention. I told him that I wasn't shocked, because men comment on my hair the most. My trainer suggested that I darken my hair and appear on the Kendra G show, and internet show where people put themselves out there and look for love. I told him that I pass.

I have no desire to do such a thing anyway, but why the hell should I change my hair to be taken seriously by a man? I'm a grown ass woman, with job I enjoy, higher education, I'm intelligent and well-rounded, my bills are paid. My hair and my tattoos have nothing to do with who I am as a person, and I refuse to dim my light to attract someone who isn't intimidated by the awesomeness that is me.

After gym time, I rushed off to my therapist. God, I love that woman! She's older, and a little old-fashioned, but she's thoughtful. It took her a few weeks to really learn me, but she has, and I thoroughly enjoy meeting with her. She's managed to identify that my biggest stressors are my dating life and my family.

As I walked in today, I immediately unloaded about the strange dream that I had. It was weird, mostly because I haven't talked to that knuckle-dragging idiot in forever, and he's thankfully another woman's problem now (or based on his extensive history, several women's problem). There's no reason for him to suddenly appear in my dreams. In fact, I've been meeting with my therapist for nearly a year now, and only one of our bi-weekly sessions talked deeply about the abuse I suffered at his hands. He's not at the forefront of my mind. So why am I having dreams about him now?

My therapist explained that the dream could have been based on something like a tv in the background, but I know that's not it, because I sleep with the tv on almost nightly. She said it could have been something like a recent interaction with him, but again, that ain't it, I don't talk to him and I don't really even want to. Then she said that it could have been reflection of something else going on in my life. I could almost feel the lightbulb go off in my head.

I immediately thought about a new guy I'd been casually seeing. The funny thing is that the guy is such a minor character in my life, that I hadn't even brought him up to my therapist. Like he's a non-factor at this stage in the game. I enjoy his friendship, and I love talking to him, but I'm not really putting my eggs in any baskets. I'm focused on my plans for when my little walks across the stage to get his diploma in 2 years. If this dude is still there, great! He's already shared his willingness to move with me, if things progress to that point. But if not, whatevs.

My therapist immediately asked me about him. I told her the good, and I shared with her my pink flags, which are leaning towards red. I told her that I pretty much addressed my concerns with him. He grew a smidge defensive initially, but in the end, he got it, and said he'll work on things. But again, I'm not pressed. I have my plans. Alone or booed up, I'm making moves regardless. I told him that if he works on the things I pointed out, whether he's alone or with someone, he'll be a happier version of himself, which he agreed on.

What sucks about working in mental health is that you often find yourself acting as a therapist in your personal life, even if you don't intend to. I recall some years ago that I tried to gently tell a dude that I appreciated the energy he put into trying to get to know me, but he needed some serious therapy to work through some trauma. Like I could see dude's trauma long before he uttered a word about it to me. And that clown then attempted to accuse me of weaponizing my job to judge him. Bitch, I can't help what my job is, but I'm trying to put you on game. Fix yo' shit! So yeah, we don't talk no mo'. Anyway...

I told Dr. C that with the new minor character, I hipped him to what his pink/red flags were, and that he agreed to work on them. I assured her that I'm not pressed regardless, to the point that I hadn't even mentioned him until this thing with the dream came up. He works in a different field, and he makes less than me, while still making a livable wage.

I mentioned to Dr. C that when I met him, I initially told him that my job title was that of a boring paper-pusher, and I only told him later on what I actually do. I explained to her that people assume too many things when I tell them off the rip what I do, and while I'm so fascinated by my field, I don't want to spend all of my down time assessing people and doing therapy. 

My dear doc then suggested that I'm dumbing myself down when I'm not always up front about what my job title or profession is. She suggest that I essentially say "I'm a professional woman who is solid in her career" as a way to meet new people and deflect when asked about my career. But I can only imagine how suspect and off putting that would be to many people. It just makes it feel like you have something to hide. 

Like when I told dude that I'm a paper pusher, he asked no questions. But when I tell people what I do, they immediately hit me with "I could never do that" (I agree, it's not for the weak) and then they assume that I'll be a mother figure/nurse/therapist to them. 

I went on to say how because of having bright hair, tats, colorful nails, and a nose ring, men tend to assume the worst about me. Like my trainer said, they assume that I'm a good-time girl. I really can't count how many times I've met a guy and he had assumptions about me, based on his preconceived notions, and suddenly he acts like I've wronged him by not being whatever he expects me to be. Like dude, I never lied to you. You just saw bright hair and assumed that I was uneducated and unmotivated, and now you're tripping to learn that I have standards because I have a higher degree than you, and I make just as much, or possibly  more money than you.

I became a bit incensed during the visit today. I shared how free-spirited men tend to be flakes, addicts, or all out mentally ill. And polished men can't seem to take me seriously. Like there's this fine line that I'm expected to walk in life. Be bright and friendly and outgoing, but don't be too confident and sure of yourself. People don't like it when you don't hate yourself. But then go into your profession, and you should only wear these boring, muted colors, and don't appear too friendly and sociable, lest you make your colleagues feel uncomfortable and you appear unprofessional and unqualified, in spite of having over a decade of experience, in addition to a professional license.

I ended up buying a BOSU ball this evening. I look forward to using it. Seeing how much I impressed my trainer made me want to stick with the workouts we did today. I already have weights that I enjoy lifting between calls at home. At this rate, it feels only right to further work on my physical wellness, while I'm on the clock. Been balancing this long, might as well keep the party going, right?

Day by Day

Initially, I anticipated cleaning and saging my home as the ball dropped. In reality, I was knocked out in my bed, from a 6pm "cat nap" that rolled on into midnight, when I was suddenly awakened by celebratory gunfire. Not the best symbolic way to spend New Year's Eve, but hey, I'll take it. I was knocked out because I stayed up late dying my hair last night and I made a trip to the gym where I made the elliptical my bitch. I recently decided to get a personal trainer for a while. I didn't think I'd see much benefit initially, but he's really pushed me. His goal is to knock out this stubborn type-2 diabetes, which is a goal I can get behind. I say quite often how turning 40 is wild because it seems like people just start dropping like flies, and my goal is to not be on that list. At least not dropping dead from something I have moderate control over, so diet and exercise it is.

On of my artist friends hit me up this evening and as we were catching up, he asked me to be his date for an event in February. Anyone who knows me knows that I'm always looking for a reason to get dressed up, so I'm already looking forward to this. I have a cocktail dress planned already, but at the rate I'm getting it in the gym and turning down the sweets, I'll either have to get the dress altered, or buy a new dress, but that's a pretty awesome problem to have.

And in a few weeks, Dexter is going to be performing a jazz concert with some friends at a local museum, so I'm also looking forward to dressing up and meeting up with him there. Things are still casual with Dex, but we still catch up on occasion. 

I'm considering myself solidly single, but I'm really good with that. Things with Love kind of fell flat, but that's okay. Essentially, the reason that we initially broke up is still very much there. It made me glad that I broke up with him originally and I see that I would have been a miserable wreck had I stayed with  him. I continue to say and mean that I'd rather be alone and able to live life on my own terms than to be with someone and have to shrink myself to make them comfortable.

I was hanging out with a new homeboy earlier. He was telling me about his divorce and his new girlfriend. Dude hooked me up with food (which I gladly accepted), and then casually mentioned how he would have to text his new gf to tell her that I stopped in. I was perplexed and didn't understand the necessity to tell her why I was there. Not that I felt that my presence should have been a secret, we had nothing to hide.

But the idea of having to track every encounter with the opposite sex didn't seem right to me. I mean, if we'd been sexual partners in the past, or had there been some sneaking suspicion about something between us, I'd understand. But my response was almost visceral to him feeling that he needed to check in. I ran by him that perhaps he felt the need to check in with his new boo after being married for almost half of his life. I asked if he'd operated like that in his past relationship, and he admitted that he did. I asked if he hoped to continue that precedence in his new relationship, and he shared that he did not.

Whenever I hear things like that, I am reminded of why I have such a fear of commitment. I don't want to track my movements with anyone. I don't want to ask permission to meet with friends. I don't want someone criticizing and critiquing me. I don't want to be a caged bird.

It took so many years of learning to love myself on my own terms, that I don't want to feel like I need someone else to make me feel valid and valuable, especially not a man.

I guess I should look at some New Year's resolutions, but the fact is that I hate them. They're so cliched. But I try to really focus on the things I want and need for myself. I like the idea of actual goals. Occasionally, I mentally go back to the night I sat in my friend's record shop and realized that I'm back and how energized I felt that night.

I spoke with my cousin today, who is Ali's brother. My cousin lost both his only sibling and his father within a few months of one another. I explained to him how I'm just now feeling like I can breathe again. The last few years, I didn't realize how much I was barely holding myself together. Between having to move back from Cali, being fired from jobs, my money being fucked up, my ex trying to kidnap my kid, the shitty boyfriend, and losing my favorite cousin and uncle, back to back, I was emotionally depleted. My dear cousin admitted that he too is finally coming back.

So yeah, I don't really have any resolutions, but I do have goals and things I hope to center more in my life. I want to do better about staying in touch with new and old friends. Before I go to sleep tonight, I want to compile a list of people I hope to hang out with soon. I want to continue to focus on exercising and lowering my sugar/starch intake. I want to focus more on my creativity. I want to continue to increase awareness of mindfulness to others and finish writing both books (an admitted goal from last year that has poured over into this year), and I want to get my savings up. I want to continue to center my inner peace.

I think that in my journey, I want my inner peace to continue to be my center. My goal. My end. And I'm proud at how much I easily walk away from anything that takes away from that. I don't have a million resolutions. I'm not on a manhunt to find a husband, or even a boyfriend. I'm just relearning who I am and really learning to like this person. This woman. She's dope. I'm proud of that.