Shedding

I can't believe it's been 2 months since I posted here. A lot has happened in my life, but I've learned over the years to play my blessings close to the chest, because there are people bored and evil enough to attempt to destroy (or at least interrupt) the good things in my life. So onward, march!

To start with, the last few months have been a beautiful chaotic mess. It was kinda cool that to celebrate my birthday in June, I got to spend the night in Yosemite, under the stars. It was a bit of a bucket list item for me. My solo travels always give me extra insight and allow me to figure out my wants and needs, in a world where I'm constantly pulled in different directions. Around that time, it occurred to me that it was time to let go of the locs.

I told myself that I'd start taking down my locs a few months before the big 4-5 birthday, but I just couldn't help it. I work from home and I'm often fidgety anyway. So I started. I mean, it wasn't part of the plan, but it just felt right. Sometimes I'd inform people of my intentions to get rid of the locs, and if they were nothing else, they'd be incredulous. What do you mean, you're taking out your locs?! They're gorgeous! They were. They were cute, they were fun, they got me loads of attention. But they no longer made me happy. I'm completely comfortable moving into another phase in life.

Not sure what happened in the air, but starting this summer, I really just kinda slunk away. There was no particular reasoning for it. I just didn't feel connected. I just needed to be quiet. Perhaps it was the death of my uncle, my mother's brother. That loss left her as one of the last 2 remaining relatives on her side of the family, outside of her kids. I was noticeably away from social media. People were checking in to see if I was okay. And I was. I just needed to... away?

But as the summer wore on, even though I'd shied away from most socialization on a grander scale, I just seemed to condense my energy instead. When I got to my new apartment last year, literally knew that I hated it. It was just so small. Plus it only had literally just 3 small windows in the whole place. And the closet space was non-existent. I woke up 2-3 weeks after my move-in date and said to myself "I fucking hate this place. It's time to buy a condo."

I supposed I lucked out, because my "friend" was a real estate agent, and another "friend" is a mortgage broker. I'm not going to bore anyone with the shady ass details, but I had to scrap that team. I'd decided that I could just make peace with where I was in the meantime. And then one day, I met a woman, while working at the discount retailer. She was buying work clothes, and I bantered for a while and she explained that she was buying work clothes for her new job as a real estate agent. I told her how I'd recently been in the market for a house and how it fell apart. Her ears perked up. "What? Did you have a letter from your mortgage person?" I explained that yes, I did. I have 2 jobs and this one was more so just to get me out of the house. She asked for my phone number and promised to contact me when she finished her real estate exam. I didn't really care by then. I'd made peace with my tiny ass apartment, and working in the discount retailer at least gave me access to all kinds of lil gadgets and organizers.

She contacted me roughly a month later, via text. I saw it and wanted to respond, but I honestly just think I forgot. Anyway, a few weeks later, she followed up and I apologized and told her that while I was extremely disenchanted after my last encounter at house shopping, I'd be willing to check things out with her. And to her credit, I can admit that I didn't always make things easier, she stuck with it and saw the vision.  She helped me to make concessions where I needed to. She also helped me to find a mortgage lender who helped things along. I also really respect her emotional intelligence, because she always knew when and how to push me along, and even leaned into my pushing back on her.

Late one evening in April or so, I looked online and found the perfect house. I loved loved the location, it was in my price range and a bus stop was literally in the front yard, so my son could get around easily. It was close to a few businesses as well. I gotta admit tho, the area was a lil, well... sketch. I had my reservations, but still, I knew this house was MINE. The road block that I did not expect was student loans. My mortgage guy should have run my paperwork earlier, and he would have seen that. But he didn't. I did so much to try to make it happen. I mean I tried. But I ended up not getting the house.

I was heartbroken. I was angry. So pissed at the finance guy, because he swore to me that he could make it happen. But clearly he never even ran the numbers until the last minute. I'd continued to wonder what happened to the house, but I refused to even look, because I knew that if I looked online and saw someone living in my house, I'd likely catch charges. I happened to check in with my real estate agent, who informed me that not only was the house still on the market, it was also discounted by $10k. I immediately acted to get all of the student loan stuff resolved.

Even though I was practically willing to sign on the dotted line immediately, they wanted me to walk through the property again first. My real estate agent and I walked through the house, inspecting it, but then we settled on a small hole in what would have been my son's room. A lil bit of digging around, and we discovered that it was a bullet. A bullet had punctured the room that would have been my son's bedroom. Had I gotten that house. My house. Had I purchased the house that I leaned so hard into, I would have had to live with a bullet coming through the walls of my son's room.

I'll be honest and admit that I took about a week or so to process that. I typically adhere to an "everything happens for a reason" way of living, and I stepped away from that idea, only to discover that it applied harder than it ever had before. It's true, God was protecting me. Or more importantly, She was protecting my son.

Long story short, we found a house that worked. It fit my budget. It is also not located near one of Atlanta's most dangerous apartment complexes. Bus stop isn't right in front, but it's only about a 5 minute walk. So yeah. We did it. I'm a homeowner. I'm grateful. I keep getting high-fived and congratulated for this feat. I know it's big. It's major. I'm officially a homeowner. I'm now a Black woman, homeowner, graduate degree holder, and I'm a mother. 

This season is just so strange to me. I'm moving quieter. I'm still a goofball, but I'm far more intentional. Life is just lifing, I guess. People are dying. Some are getting sick. I've scaled back things with FAMM, after learning that things with him are (big surprise) not what I need them to be. Well, actually, I ended it. I knew that things with him were a crapshoot, after seeing how he moved early on. But I was wistful and hopeful. I let my physical attraction to him, coupled with our childhood together, blind me to the roaring red flags he waved. 

Going into cuffing season I was surprised when my musician friend, Dex, turned up and continued to stay around. We'd occasionally call one another previously, and I even got his help bringing my armoire into my new crib. Knowing my history with Dex and knowing how he is, I know better than to attempt to get to close to him. I credit him with always knowing how to maintain boundaries. But the good and the bad is that sexually, he and I are absolutely electric. When we first met some years ago, we were far more sexual (and still are lol), but this time around, as we've aged a bit, I love that we are growing more as friends. Being a well-traveled musician, Dex knows many people in the industry, and confessed to me that he personally knows a whopping 40 people who have died this year. One of whom, is Kasey Benjamin, a musician for Robert Glasper. I didn't know much about Kasey, but I remember him playing for RG at the Atlanta Jazz Fest and he really stood out to me. His energy was enthralling. It was honestly the best damned concert of my life, which is wild, considering that Robert Glasper was drunk as shit. Still Dex knew him. And we bonded over how strange it is to get older and all of the people you know and love start dying off.

Speaking of musicians, I saw Stevie Wonder in concert last night. I'm so glad I made it. Stevie is undeniably one of my favorites of all time and it was on my bucket list to see him. I understand that he did his more popular songs for his arena show, but my favorite albums from him are Talking Book and Fullfillingness First Finale and I wish he'd done some of the less popular songs. Because, as a music lover, his less popular music is his best.

I didn't expect it to, but concert helped me deep dive into my old favorites from Stevie. I'd completely forgotten how much I loved Innervisions too. It made me think about how my old flame, Him, ultimately helped me to move past my abusive fuccboi of a baby daddy. I remember being in my ex's car, and giving Him a ride home. Stevie's "All In Love is Fair" came on, and he seemed to ponder the lyrics. He and I were walking a bit of a tightrope, being that I was living with El Cluster Fucko, and he didn't want to cross that line. Truthfully, up until that point, I thought to myself that if I didn't stay with my son's father, I'd just forever be a lonely hermit. Him changed that. He made me feel loved and special, the way fuccboi never could. He made me feel beautiful and desirable. And even though he and I never ultimately danced that dance, he helped me to realize that even if my baby daddy couldn't see the gem that I am, another man definitely could. And he was right. 

Anyway, I'm glad that I got to see Stevie.

I think a lot about the what ifs and if onlys. And I continue to be thankful that my life worked out the way that it did. I have a job that I'm finally really good at. My boss loves me, to the point where she flew down from Kansas to join some coworkers for a gathering I planned and we're looking at doing more. I kept getting fired and quitting from different jobs, and I finally landed where I felt supported and I feel like my talents are actually utilized. Money could be way better, but hey, I'm apparently doing pretty well, I guess. Had I stayed with either of my abusers, I'd be lonely, uneducated, and a mess. Instead, well, shit, bitch is doing good! 

Anyway, I am so glad to have the new home, because I'll be using the extra bedroom as my office/exercise room. I don't have to run away to get some writing done, I'll finally have another office, specifically designed to inspire and support writing. And it's all mine.

I'm unsure of why a higher power decided that this is my time. I'm shedding a lot. I'm shedding my insecurity. I'm shedding the self-doubt. I'm shedding the idea that I need a man to feel supported and capable. I'm shedding wasteful behavior. The years of tears and disappointment have led me to this space of feeling capable and deserving of good things.

Another thing that I can't help but to think about is how moving to California (very briefly) and ultimately having to move back, set my trajectory in a way that helped me so much more. Had I stayed in Cali, I never could have afforded a house. I moved back, into extreme discomfort, and ultimately arose as victorious over whatever bullshit people tried to throw on me. It's almost like the worse people tried to make it, the better it made my life.

So here I am, just awe-struck. I'm taking my locs down, while I slowly move into my new home. I'm budgeting. I'm working on my career. I'm loving the friendships with new people I'm encountering. I moved from one space, into another. The ultimate shedding. And I am grateful.