The Bad Days

I can honestly say that I'm pretty blessed. Got a job that I like and I'm good at. My health is good, in addition to the health of my son. I've got plans. I've got options. Things are amazing. But some days... some days, those thoughts creep back in. I'm not really "over" my loss of Dres. It still hurts. I miss my friend. Even though we didn't talk everyday, he was my friend, my brother, my backbone. I miss my homie. And some days, I can chalk it all up, smile through my pain, and move on. But other days, I feel like I do right now.

It isn't always just the loss of Dres. It's the loss of so many people in my life. I lost Pete. I lost Ali. I lost Jody. I lost Uncle Tippy. I lost Rod. I lost Celeste. I lost Andrea. I lost Jarronn. I lost Conchata. I lost Tracey. I lost my mind.

Most days, I move forward, knowing that it is what it is. My Buddhist leanings long ago taught me that sometimes, shit just happens. Which goes along swimmingly with my agnostic beliefs, because who really knows if there's a guy up there running the world? I lean into that, because I've seen so much stuff, good and bad, that it's really difficult for me to pinpoint if I believe in a higher power.

A few years back, when I worked at the hospice that I credit with saving me after Ali died, there was a chaplain, named Jim. I appreciate Jim being patient with me, and always willing to answer questions for me. I even worked at the hospice when Ali's dad, my Uncle Tippy died, and I'm so grateful for the compassion they showed me during that time. I recall one day, asking Jim why God makes bad things happen. Jim responded that he does not believe that God makes bad things happen, he believes that bad things happen and that God's role is to guide us through them. Strangely enough, that made me feel a lot better.

Anyway, today is one of my rough days. I hope "God" is up there guiding me. I started out thinking about Dres, but then the weight of all those losses just hit me at once. Why me? Why them? Why now?

I Choose Me.

I've been open about my intentions this year to do an overall reset, and a big part of that has been choosing not to have sex. While I didn't start off with that being my intentional plan, it simply became clear to me that my emotional and mental safety depended on me taking a step back. It was genuinely a sense of self-preservation. And it wasn't always easy. Although I knew that I needed to be alone, I'd kept it in my mind that I'd at some point start dating again, with a much clearer idea of the kind of man I sought out.

At the beginning of this year, I had no idea the kinds of shifts I'd be seeing and going through. I just knew that I needed to navigate my journey to the best of my ability. I'm so eternally grateful to the support that my therapist has given me during this time. I've encountered slight accusations that my therapist may be attempting to lead my steps, but she isn't. She's just really good at helping me to unpack my own decisions and feelings regarding my life up to this point. She's been way more right, than she's been wrong.

To make things even more interesting, a man who I'd literally wanted since childhood recently became available to me. Over the years, I'd literally hoped and prayed for this man, being of the impression that having him in my life would make everything better. And we tried. I mean, kinda.

But it started to occur to me that he wanted me to be present. He wanted phone calls and text messages. He wanted me to be available to talk about my day and while I'd hoped and dreamed that I'd have him wanting this part of me in the past, it started to feel laborious. I let him know early on that I have my occasional times where I might just disappear into my own head, and he won't hear from me for some days, but when those moments happened, he struggled to understand it.

He wanted us to come together and share lives. And there were days that I wrestled back and forth about what this would look like and how it would feel. I was even transparent with him about my lack of sex, and he seemed relieved. I mean, it sucked that I wasn't having sex with him, but at least he knew that it wasn't because I was out loving on other men.

It started to feel like the more he wanted from me, the less I wanted to give. We bickered on occasion, and all I could think to myself is how when I'm by myself, there is zero bickering. While I understood that disagreements were a part of getting to know and understand one another, I suddenly didn't have the genuine desire to reach a middle ground. Like, I just didn't care whether or not we stuck with one another. I began to recognize that I'd honestly rather just be alone. I don't want to plan a future with him, or any other man, quite frankly.

I know that he's holding out for me. He's playing the long game. I see it. I need to scale back my contact from him, and that's my plan. I don't want to play games or lead him on. But I no longer want him, and I recognize that I no longer need a man to make my life complete. My baby is about to graduate high school and I'm looking forward to traveling and living an amazing life. Work is good, my energy is aligned, my spirt it clear. I wake up every day, grateful and excited for whatever I'm about to run into. I'm no longer choosing other people.

I choose me.

Nostalgia

Word came out online the other day that an old Atlanta staple, Eats Restaurant on Ponce de Leon Ave, will be closing soon. I hadn't eaten at Eats in some years, but I immediately thought back on one of my earlier memories there. I'd gone to eat with my ex, my son's father. Early in my pregnancy, I was glad not to experience much vomiting as my morning sickness, but my little parasite made sure that I remained extremely nauseous anyway. One day, he and I were at Eats, when I was clearly nauseous. We were sitting inside, but my stomach was in knots. My ex took one look at me and said "we gotta get you home." I was by the car, and I'd leaned over, hoping to finally blow chunks, and be relieved, at least temporarily, of wanting to vomit. But it never came, much like the other times. Only this time, I'd looked up and realized that my son's father was rubbing my back. It was a small gesture, but it was so kind and loving. I felt so seen in that moment.

The kid and I go visit a new restaurant every other Thursday, when I get paid. We decided that we'd make this Thursday a trip to Eats, before they say goodbye. While we were in line, I told my son about my memory of visiting with his father, and even shared with him that I started eating sweet potatoes, after his father put me on to them there. It was seriously one of the very few moments over the 13 years since I left him that I felt some sort of warm nostalgia for my ex. While standing in line, I told my son that I was tempted to call his dad and reminisce about how we ate there when I was pregnant. I even felt a slight smile across my lips. My child, the peace keeper that he is, begged me not to call his father, for fear that another world war would start, with him again, in the middle. In spite of my warm, fuzzy feelings, I assured my child that I would not call his father.

While eating inside, I vaguely remembered where his dad and I had sat together, on that beautiful day. Later on, as we started to drive home, I went even deeper into those feelings. I pointed out to my son the laundromat that I'd been at, when my friend first suspected that I might be pregnant. I told my son that early on, I really wanted him to attend Inman Park Middle School, and later Grady High, which were also nearby. I had every intention of my child calling the Poncey-Highland area his home, which he actually kind of does. I asked him if he wanted to see the gelato spot that his dad and I went to on our first date, and he didn't care either way, but I made a beeline for it, wondering if it still existed. And to my surprise, it does. Then I thought back on how on our first date, his dad had left his wallet, and I ended up buying our gelato. Afterwards, I shot over to my apartment in the area, where I was living when I got pregnant with Pumpkin. I pointed it out, feeling the wistful moments that seemed like a lifetime ago. My child stated that the apartments looked like where some young adult who parties all of the time would live. I mean, guilty, I guess?

I feel like I'm truly looking at the end of an era. Today was the last Thursday that we'll enjoy our meals, we'll soon be doing weekends instead, as I'll now be working every Thursday evening, but I'm graciously going to getting every weekend off, moving forward, which I have not had for the last 3 years. Thank God, working every other weekend, with occasional single days off is not the move. Nevertheless, I'll miss our Thursdays together. That simple act of meeting on an off day, like a Thursday, became a firm tradition for us, and falling on weekends now, it just won't hit the same, even though my little foodie will undoubtedly continue to drag me to different eateries.

Anyway, when I drive my son to school in the morning, we often listen to the Bert Show. And my son pointed out that Moe Mitch had not been on air, and how irritating it is to have a white woman talk about her undying love for Taylor Swift every day. And then a month or so back, it was confirmed that Moe was no longer on the show. And now a few weeks later, Bert announced that he's retiring from radio and that the show will be ending. Which stings, because my son and I have listened to that show faithfully, on our morning commutes. Actually, I recall listening to Bert way early in my 20s, way before I was even pregnant.

I often gleefully share how many days I have until my son is out of high school. Currently at just over 200 days. I look forward to being able to fly around the country and live a life of freedom and fun. I have a few trips coming up before he even graduates, actually. But as so much of the city changes, I'm reminded how much time is really passing by. I'm no longer the 20-something party girl. I'm now the 40-something mother of an incredible child. I'm also a proud, educated 40-something social worker, who has lived a hell of a life and now has many more adventures to look forward to.

But it was nice, for the first time in forever, to have some sentimental memories and feelings at this of point in my life. I guess time has a funny way of doing that.

The Paradox of Peace

I've talked quite a bit about my quest to unpack my centering men, in part by being sex-free. It hasn't always been easy (but far easier than many would expect), but I've held firm for almost a year. My skin is clear, my spirt is doing well. I'm happy, I'm at peace. I'm drinking my water, minding my business. I love it here! And I'm exceptionally hesitant to do anything to come down from this space.

I've had to recognize how much men, sex, and dating have been toxic for me, leading me to make horrible mistake after horrible mistake, seeking that elusive "peace" that I'd been led to believe would come from finding my unicorn of a man. So yeah, I'm single, sexless, and exhilarated by it.

But I've noticed a bit of a strange conundrum that comes with this peace. Honestly, I feel like when I was having sex, and "of the world," I begged for attention from the men around me. Hell, I lavished in it. I'd do practically anything to see some handsome young devil look at me and give me a knowing, sly wink. But at some point, I started to understand that those glances didn't do much for me. As a matter of fact, they even started to take something from my spirit. The more I dated and sought out love, the more I was drained and depleted. My smile started to fade and I grew far more cynical.

As I started to process it all, I grew to kinda resent that old version of myself as well. She wasted so much energy looking for validation from men who were never worth her time or on her level to begin with. But the funny thing is that I've started to notice a shift. The more I turned my energy internal, and started to focus on my own peace and healing, the more I seem to draw in men. They seem to be so attracted to this happier more grounded version of me. They love that they can lean into me and this wiser, more sage version of me can soothe them, and hold them up and provide support and kind words. 

And the irony is that now I'm the best version of myself ever, I no longer want them. The fact is that I'm so in love with this new and improved Malika, that I'm terrified of undoing her work. And for the first time ever, men are seeing my value in a whole new way. And I don't want them at all!

It really seems like the more I look at my life and love what I'm doing, the less I want to have to deal with a man in my space. And it seems that the more that I heal and love myself, the more men are drawn to me. And better quality men. But the irony is that while these more loving and attentive men want me, the more terrified I am of leaning into any of them and disrupting what I have accomplished so far. 

So yes, I'm in the best mental shape of my life. I'd be an amazing wife, thoughtful and loving and kind. And I damned near can't leave the house without a man saying that he wants me. But I'm not sure if I'd get this kind of quality attention if I was still on my bullshit. I feel suffocated by the idea of brining another man into the fold. I don't have it in me to navigate another heartbreak. I just can't do it again. The vulnerability that would be required for me to trust another man would be suffocating. I don't think I have it in me. The more I love myself and want to be alone, the more they want me. 

Home

I only got to spend a couple of months in L.A, before I had to move back. Sometimes, I still mourn the life I feel like I wish I'd had, if housing hadn't been an issue. But the fact is that the 2 months I'd lived there taught me a lot, and helped me realize a lot about myself and the city that I currently call home. Living in Atlanta, I'd taken it for granted that we often meet one another so easily, and quickly build friendships. Only once I'd moved to a different city did I realize that welcoming the welcoming nature of Atlantans is not a universal trait. In L.A., you can meet someone, have a great conversation, and they have no desire to build a further friendship, they'll just shake your hand and walk away. It's truly maddening.

I was meeting with a buddy recently, where I'd started to notice that we'd occasionally throw names around, of people that we'd mutually been acquainted with. I actually became a bit fascinated by the fact that even though we didn't know those individuals "together," we both had known them and managed to share great memories with them. I'm always kinda blown at how much many Atlantans on the music/party scene seem to know one another, even in passing. The same can be said of our shared hang out spots. We all have our shared memories of Apache Cafe, Masquerade, the Old MJQ, and many old Atlanta staples and restaurants.

It almost reminds me of high school. I've said to many individuals how living in Atlanta, when you start mentioning certain people and our various memories of one another, it feels like we all grew up together, and in some ways, we did. I mean, sure we were legally young adults when we all came into the fold, but many of us came into actual adulthood together. Some people moved to Atlanta to attend college, while others of us were born here, and/or got here way before college age. I've said before how many times I've watched new people come to Atlanta and immediately want to be introduced to the heavy hitters, and I will explain to them that it doesn't work like that around here.

I mean, sure, I can introduce you to my people. But my connection to them ain't gonna be like your connection to them. You see, me and those people have broken bread together. We've had genuine laughs. We've slept on one another's couches and watched one another's kids. We've given one another our last $20. So you may be the dopest m.c., but trying to get into the fold, based on your skills alone, ain't gonna cut it. You get into the fold by spending time and showing your character. No shortcuts to stardom. And strangely enough, we like it that way. 

When I hung with my buddy recently, I'd marveled that I'd known him over 20 years. I can't believe that we'd seen one another through various seasons of life. How many of us were just young knuckleheads, new to life and figuring it all out. And now, many of us are ADULT adults. Like we've got good credit and own houses, and our cars are no longer held together with duct tape. We value our peace. And even though we're grown now, there is always an underlying love and understanding of who we are, because we've walked through the trenches and grown into it on our own. And together. 

Cuz this is home. You just had to be there.