lessons before 30 (Part 3)

Lessons Before 30.

4: There's nothing wrong with being particular. 

I'm 5'6', over 200lbs, with very thick thighs and hips, a long torso and broad shoulders. So I'm particular about the way clothes fit my body. And in my journey to minimalism, I really don't want to buy a bunch of clothes I don't absolutely LOVE. I also don't want home décor I don't LOVE. Or jewelry. Or pretty much anything I don't absolutely love or really need. There are Christmas and birthday gifts I've immediately known I would donate. Needless to say, I go shopping alone most of the time. Many people don't have the patience for me to try on 10 things and possibly only like one of them. Or none of them...

I've been criticized for this behavior. But I have friends with closets twice as full of clothes as mine who still need "more." They have clothes that don't fit. That they've only worn once. Or that they don't really like wearing. Home decor they begrudge having to dust. I just don't want that kind of headache. I don't want stuff for stuff's sake. It's just more for me to manage. And I've learned that giving too much weight to criticisms about being particular only gives me mental grief and clutter. So if you are also particular about clothes, or the foods you eat, or anything else, don't let anybody shame you for it. Living the way other people think you should live will never make you happy. 

5: There's nothing wrong with being particular... about dating either. 

Listen, honey. Chiiiiile.. I understand that sometimes people set very unrealistic expectations that don't allow for the messy chaotic thing that is humanity. Some folk want perfection and servitude, while they are imperfect and selfish. That ain't balance. This is not about that. At this age, being particular about dating is more about being honest with yourself. For example. I don't want kids. Not now, not ever. Not me. I've known this for at least 22 years now so its deeply unlikely I will be changing my mind anytime soon. So, if I want a lasting long-term relationship, what do I look like continuing on with a man who is adamant about having kids? A fool. That's what. Somebody who doesn't prioritize her own desires in life. Or the fact that I am a super spiritual child of God. I can't date an atheist. It's not about opposing viewpoints. I need a partner who will pray for me. Not gonna work. Or even the fact that I am well read. I understand that everyone doesn't like reading. There are podcasts, documentaries, videos galore. I don't have time for someone who has no curiosity about the world. Someone who is uninterested in learning and expanding their mind will bore me to no end. This isn't hyperbole. I after nearly thirty years, I know I am very easily bored. For someone to keep my attention, they need to be able to offer me good conversation. Can't do that if all you know is small talk. Can't. Do it. These things might not be deal breakers for someone else.... To that I say... Ok... (Jay-Z voice).

Don't let anybody make you feel bad about not wanting to put up with things in a partner that will reduce your dreams, your beliefs, or your needs. Only YOU know what you need. You betta get like Princess Jasmine! 

6: Sometimes Good Enough is Good Enough

There are projects, journeys, or goals you will begin, that will look nothing like what you expected in the end. And they will still be good. If you are a perfectionist, you won't see it. That book will need one more draft. The scale needs to read 3 lbs lighter to be perfect. And the fact that you've written a book, or reached a goal for your body won't even matter. It will be overshadowed by the lack of "perfection." You'll obsess and obsess and miss the point - enjoying the 'doing' of the thing. What is the point of a life where you are just ticking off boxes of "perfectionism." I've learned that I'm way too critical of myself when I am focused on perfection - focused on the outcome. And I'm not talking about "slacking off." I'm talking about those times that you give it your best try, you give the fullest effort, and it still doesn't match up exactly as you thought. In those moments you should celebrate your efforts, your lessons, your talents. You can be so focused on the destination, that you don't enjoy the journey. You're supposed to enjoy the journey. If things don't turn out exactly as you planned, that doesn't mean they aren't still good. Sometimes in life, good enough is perfect.

Grief and other Adventures.

It's been about 5 months since I've written for anyone's blog. Truthfully, the delay started with a cracked laptop screen (which still isn't fixed by the way). From there, I somehow wrapped my mind around the idea that I could just take a break and blame it on the laptop. In all honesty I think I just needed to have one less thing on my to-do list.

I had high hopes for 2014. It just felt like the year of greatness. Of big things manifesting. Well, about 6 and a half months in, it's not nearly the year I'd hoped for. I let go of the man I loved, I lost a friend, my brother died, I lost a job, certain friends turned out to be wolves in sheep's wool, I've been duped on payment for jobs, and there's that devastating feeling of simply growing apart from some people as lives change.

That's a lot for six months, and I won't bore into the details of each of those horrendous boulders.  Point is, I didn't want the responsibility of blogging. So I stopped. I'm grown. It's my blog. I can do that, right?

Right... Except....

Here I am. Grieving still at so many losses. None of them has gotten better. In fact, some hurt worse. But I'm blogging. What gives?

Here's the thing about grief. It sends you on a roller coaster. Without. Mercy. Some of the things you may experience:

Doing extremely questionable, and risky things to distract from the pain.
Messing around with people you have NO BUSINESS  dealing with.
Crying.
Drinking lots of wine because you're classy. Then a little bit of Vodka because you're young. Then Tequila because clearly your tolerance is higher than it should be. Then eating ridiculous amounts of sweets because... F-it... Feels good. Then swearing off alcohol the next day.
Crying.
Saying EXACTLY what's on your mind, consequences be damned, because life is TOO SHORT.
Cursing in odd and randomly timed outbursts.
Cutting ties with the waste-of-space people you no longer have time for because they are only dragging you down.
Throwing things away in your house/apartment/room, because suddenly you have the strongest urge to start everything over.
Dancing.
Quitting jobs or taking days off because you are no longer fulfilled because "see above".
Staring at old photographs and crying.
Writing.
Crying.
Drinking more wine.
Laughing riotously.
Making playlists and crying.
If you're me... Dancing into a frenzy... Then crying.
Texting, then deleting the text before you have the guts to send it.
Sending it anyway.
Only taking condolences via text because it hurts too much to physically talk about it.
Swimming for hours at a time. Crying salty chlorinated tears and singing songs of worship, because it's 9pm and no one else is in this hotel pool.
Writing.
Crying.
Dancing.
Crying.
Impromptu-ish road trips.
Writing on the road trip.
Writing.
Writing.
Dancing.
Evaluating who you are, and what you REALLY want, because you desperately want to make the most of your life but Big G (upstairs person) hasn't exactly made it clear yet, or else you can't see it because all this grief makes you feel like you're still in survival mode.
Dancing.
Crying.
Writing.
Dancing.
Writing.

Those are my two escapes. Words and rhythm. I can't exactly blog my dancing for you, but trust me, it's happening.
As for the writing... That's why I'm back here. I forgot that I first and foremost blog for me. People like me tend to have this "work is play" thing going where we turn our talents, loves, and escapes into our day jobs, so we can do it all the time. The downside to that is forgetting to do the "play" part. This blog is not just a place where others can feel like they are understood. It's also my mental palace- to play and take risks, and release.

I don't know what the REST of 2014 holds for me. Better be a dang break. I just don't know if I can take anything else. But I do know that it is time that I give myself back the gift of blogging. Grief has me up and down and sideways. Sometimes I'm feeling like I can make peace with what has happened, then before you know it, I'm in tears. I don't even like tears! And there just doesn't seem to be any gap time. Everything has just overlapped everything else.

I don't come here to be cool or  witty or popular. Any resemblance to the aforementioned attributes is purely coincidental. I'm just a pretty nerd with an opinion. I have no desire to paint some false picture of my life as ultra-perfect or together. I come here to share my life with you, that you may see some of yourself in me, and we may be humans together.

Anyway, I'm back snitches!!!

Love you.
Later.

Mrs. Carter and female sexuality

Dear Momma.. I hope this article doesn’t make you blush too much. I hope, instead that you read this and applaud yourself for raising a woman who is empowered and healthy and intelligent enough to respect her WHOLE self- sexuality included. I love you.

Dear Jordan…  Read it as an intellectual, instead of as a father. Or as my very intellectual father that you always are. Love you too.

 I am a Black American Woman. I am also a sexual being. Meaning, I have had, and do thoroughly enjoy sexual intimacy. I have my own opinions about my likes, my dislikes, and I base them on my own experiences, not what any outside source says I should like, or dislike. I am unabashed and not at all shy about expressing these likings to a lover, playing no part of the shy virgin. In this country, for that I might be shamed.

Enter Mrs. Carter. It’s not new, this hyper-sexuality she promotes in her latest album. But of course, there are men and women alike who reject a woman who talks about sex openly and frankly and… sexily; not in dry sterile medical language, or airy philosophic lexicon, but with open liking, open lust, and sincere desire.

Now, I respect that not everyone is openly sexual. Some people, men and women alike, are much more reserved. But to condemn Bey for her frankness is, to me, a step backward in our country’s already molasses-slow progression. In this country, women have been objects and property, then delicate porcelain dolls who had to be protected, then sexual objects. Our sexuality has very rarely been in our hands. This picture is even more imprisoning when looked at from the Black woman’s lens.

We spent a much longer time as objects and property, then as third-class citizen laborers. (No porcelain delicateness for us. They don’t make porcelain in brown I guess.) We became sexual objects the minute our brown and black hues entered the world under shackled oppression. With our first infant cry, mothers worried about keeping us safe from lurking white male eyes, attached to authoritative, unquestionably powerful hands. We were both desired and ugly. Taught to be demure and hate ourselves. We were well-purchased investments in whoredom. Oh to be a black girl in America..

And that’s the issue. We became whores. Meant to simply please men. Our sexuality just wasn’t ours.  Even my lesbian and bisexual sisters have faced this testosterone-driven objectification. Their desire to be with women is “acceptable” while my gay and bisexual brothers' is deemed “unnatural.” Why? Well, in my opinion, because two women are always better than one…. If I was a heterosexual male, that is. They aren’t two people who love each other and express that love sexually. They are a peep show, a burlesque pornographic. Don’t believe me? Read below.

Guy: So… you’re queer

Girl: Yes.

Guy: What does that mean?

Girl: It means I am beyond labels. My sexual desires don’t really fit any one mold.

Guy: But you’re attracted to women too…?

Girl: Yes.

Guy: Do you think I could ever watch you with another woman?

Girl: Would you want another man to watch you and I  having sex?

Guy: No

Girl: exactly. To you its two women. To me, it would be me sharing an intimate moment with another human being.

*lightbulb*

This was an actual conversation, give or take some phrasing, between a guy and a girl who had just started dating. She had to explain to him that her attraction to women was, for her, no different than being attracted to other men. It didn’t mean she was up for a threesome. He didn’t really understand at first… This is just a tiny, real-life moment of women’s sexuality being viewed through a male lens. And I’m in belief that most societal standards of female sexuality are. A sexually confident woman is aggressive. A sexually liberal woman is a whore. A sexually expressive woman is a freak. These labels would suggest that to be anything other than demure, reserved, and quiet is to be unnatural as a woman. And if a man is equally demure, reserved, and quiet, then hey... Y’all be happy together.  But the truth is, we don’t encourage those traits in men. We allow men to mold the ideals of sexuality, and they come out on top every time. (excuse the pun).

I once met a young lady who interpreted her sex life to be all about pleasing her man, with no regard for her own pleasure. She felt this to be what her church pastor was intending in his preaching, and took it to heart. My issue with this? It belittles the woman’s role as a sexual being. Such thinking makes her little more than a life-sized sex toy, devoid of needs and urges. Don’t get me wrong; wanting to please a partner sexually is a very respectable quality to have. Yet, in disregarding one’s own desires and preferences, one might actually be doing their partner a disservice. If you have a healthy, loving sexual relationship, chances are that your partner wants to please you also. Their attempts to do so might be thwarted if you are unwilling to know what that pleasure looks like. And you are missing out on the fulfilling satisfaction that can come from a mutually SHARED experience.

I know many women who leave their sexuality up to others. Women who do not know what their genitals look like up close. Women who never see themselves naked. Women who berate themselves for lusting after their own significant others. This does not suggest some kind of piety or goodness to me. If anything, it suggests a woman who only wants to be “sexual enough” but not too sexual. What the heck is that about? Too sexual? Is that like being “too womanly”? Or “too hungry” for food. Or “too black” for beauty. If it’s really what you want, and it doesn’t break your moral code (ie, pedophiles and rapists), how is it too much? These women are puppets. My poor sisters who leave their identity up to external factors and call themselves empowered are simply unfulfilled. Real empowerment does require that your power comes from you. Its sorta mandatory.

Bey’s album isn’t even my favorite. But I like it enough. However, I do applaud her. She is married to the man that probably took her virginity. She is a mother, a successful business woman, and an artist. And in all those accomplishments, she released an album that reveals what else she is- a sexual being. She will not let her sexuality get swept up in busy schedules, mommy life, or even public opinion. She has not disregarded it as an aspect of her that should shrivel up and die with her thirties. She is embracing it as a natural and important part of her diverse existence. More women could learn from her. Not by necessarily trotting around in scantily clad clothing, (although Bey ain’t never been known for wearing a lot of clothes) but by remembering that they are sexual beings too. And celebrating that sexuality. However it looks. She knows what she likes. And if Jay Z took a dirt nap tomorrow (God forbid), she would still know what she likes, and what makes her body sing. That’s real sexuality. Its not defined by her partner. Its simply expressed to him. And she makes it really clear that its all for Mr. Carter. Really. Clear. She ain’t worried about y’all.

Ok she shakes her butt. And her husband grabs his testes. As do countless other men. But only because she is a woman do we even raise a brow. Because she is “tempting men.” Maybe she’s not just tempting men. Maybe she likes to shake her butt. Besides, are women not tempted by men? I get tempted all the time. I think men are absolutely beautiful. And sexy. And sometimes I think sexual things when I see them. But no one fears me jumping on them and ripping their clothes off. Is it because I’m a woman? Or because as a woman, I was taught to be disciplined and restrained?

IIf we are going to be fair, I need Dwight Howard to wear a 3x tee at all times and never ever get hot and sweaty. Because he makes me think and feel all sorts of things. All. Sorts. Of. Things. Although I’d settle for a date and a long courtship that leads to marriage. Then I could do all those things without making him nervous. (I hear He’s a devout Christian. I’m not going to tempt the man to go against his faith. He probably would want to be married first.)

Anyway….. point is, berating her for tempting men is saying that she should gauge her appropriation by how it affects men. Which is STILL giving them the power and authority over her body and her sexuality. This is the same vein that runs deep in what is commonly referred to as “rape culture.” Somehow the main objective in a woman’s life became to either please men, or do everything possible to prevent them from being tempted and acting on that temptation. Maybe we should simply be raising more disciplined sons. It’s about fairness, people. If we will, as a society, embrace men acting sexual all the time, then in fairness, we must allow Beyonce her chance to do the same. Equality, folks….

I salute Beyonce. For those of us who have our sexuality infused into our everyday existence. Who know that sexuality is in our walks, our beautiful smiles, our lovely imperfectly perfect bodies, our maternal desires (for those that have them), I think we can enjoy her message. I know I did.

Take back your sexuality women. Im not saying burn your bras and high heels are the Devil. Nor am I saying parade around naked and starting grabbing men’s genitals. But Im not “not” saying these things either. What I AM saying, is make up your mind for yourself. Like it because you really, really, deep down, like it. Say no to it, if deep down, it makes you feel like your voice on the matter is quieted, or it just doesn’t feel good. Be with who you want to be with. Don’t let the society tell you that certain sexual desires are unnatural because you’re a woman. Its YOUR nature. Unbox yourselves.

If your goal is to let that man (or woman) know that you want him sexually, don’t let society stop you. You want him to pull your hair? Tell him. Is he touching you wrong, but really into it? Teach him how he can redirect that energy. Want to lay back and enjoy yourself? Do it. Want him to lay back and let you enjoy yourself in another way? Tell him. Love the sight of your own curves that you worked hard for? Then wear things that you are proud of, that make you feel beautiful. Feel like everyone doesn’t deserve to behold your curvy excellence? Then cover up and make them earn it. Does talking “dirty” do it for you? Talk that talk then. Do you love slow romantic touching? Slow that animal down. Don’t leave your lover in the dark, or thinking they are really doing something when they aren’t. You won’t be able to fake it forever.

Sexuality, like sex, like sex organs, like human beings, is not a one-size-fits-all situation. There are so many ways to express ourselves sexually. Some look like breathtaking displays.. Some look like outspoken explosions. Some look like a quiet volcano with hot passion bubbling underneath. Some are powerful, but gentle breezes. There’s brazen public sexuality, and mysterious enigmatic sexuality. It’s more beautiful that they all look different. Don’t box yourself in.

Own it. It only gets better that way.

Good luck.

~L

Fatherless Daughter

I grew up without a father. He’s not dead, or living in another city or anything. He just wasn’t around. Boo. Hoo….

 From the gate this probably sounds like another bitter blog post about daddy-less daughters. And yes, there are some serious scars there. But this isn’t about him. It’s about the other men in my life. I implore you to read each one. If not, just skip to the point at the end.

The Father Figures

Uncle Charles, who did his best to make sure that my grandmother, mother, sister, and I didn’t lack. He wants me to be a superstar, always telling me that I should pursue singing. I think it’s because in his mind, I AM a superstar already. He wants the world to have some of it.

Uncle Joe, who tears up a little every time he sees me, and never hesitates to tell me he loves me. He tells me the raw truth behind his gritty, rough life. I think it’s because he doesn’t want me to be naïve. He wants me to know how bad it can really get, but no matter how bad, we are all human.

Reggie Smith, our family friend, who never really called me his daughter, but was willing to do probably anything I asked of him. Who gave me a police badge that says “daughter” on it. He wants to keep me safe, and out of harm’s way. I love that.

Anthony Jordan, who is my pseudo godfather, surrogate father, the only man I truly feel comfortable calling “Dad.” He wants me to be… well… me. He tells me I’m beautiful, and appreciates my intelligence. He doesn’t push, but he speaks his mind too. He is proud of me, I can tell.

Dwight Drew, my sister’s father, who never made me feel like “another” child. He always called me his daughter, and I believe that if I really needed his help, he’d give it, though I’ve never asked. He is proud of me too. He wants me to do well, and live comfortably.

Calvin Brookes (RIP), an old family friend, who would NEVER see me walk a foot if he could help it. Always ready with a smile and a helping hand. I think I amused him. This makes me smile.

Robbie (Mr. B) Baines (RIP) who truly proved that love is bigger than blood. Though not biologically, this man was my grandfather. He was the rounding out of my family portrait. Hearty laughs, heartier hugs, gifts always, and love. I may not have been his favorite, but I was still his. And he let me know it. I was HIS family, HIS responsibility, HIS to worry about. And I miss that.

Terrence Spivey who is more of a mentor than a father, but who believes in me and my talents like none other. He has been more than willing to give me opportunities to hone my craft, and sees me as a young peer, one who still has much to learn, but is capable still. He wants me to respect and honor my talents. I appreciate that.

The Brother Figures (just a few)

Tor Smith who looked into my heart and saw a passion for young people that enamored him to me. He has a subtle way of looking after me that doesn’t even require words. But the words are there too. “I Love you’s” and hearty embraces. He makes me truly feel like a “kid sister.” And after being the oldest for so long, I adore it.

Dylan Sellers, my faux- twin. Nothing alike in appearance, my cerebral surrogate twin gets my love of discourse and dislike of chit-chat. He talks with me, shares with me, and prays with and for me. He listens while I speak of fear, then talks me out of it. He is my friend.

Marcus Spears who is the little brother eternal. Forgets to call, usually a knucklehead little brother. But when I have really needed him, he was there. In ways one can never forget. There will always be a place in my heart for Marcus. He loves me for me. How refreshing is that?

Edward Boone who isn’t really my brother, but a sincerely dear friend. I think He just wants me to smile. All the time. Always trying to talk me out of being down, and making an effort to put a smile on my face. He is never shy about wanting to check up on me. He makes me feel thought about. This is important.

Alexander Winegardner who is my real brother, my baby brother, in my mind. He has never looked at me with anything except love and excitement. I adore being his big sister and watching him grow. He spikes me with fun-loving cheerfulness every time I see him. I need that.

 Cameron Boggan who is my real brother. Though time has taken us away from each other somehow, he alone understands some of the pains of being who we are. Of where we come from. And the joys as well. When we were younger, he gave me an ally against a painful emotion.

Jonathan Tyes, my cousin “brother”, who just sort of balances me out sometimes. He is yang to my yin. Forever fussing like an old man, Jonathan’s goal in life is to get me together. And encourage me in my pursuit of the finer things in life. He is classy and a tad bit crass all at once. I rather like it.

Mario Johnson (RIP) who is my real brother. My quiet, strong, mellow brother. He never seems to worry about anything, though I know this isn’t true. Mario loves me unconditionally, and doesn’t need to say it all the time. It simply is. He has shown me what it looks like to accept life as it is, and now, even more so, he reminds me not to waste time with pain, but to love while you can.

Julian Jackson who is my real brother. Though it’s been awhile since I’ve seen my brother, he never treated me like an “other”. Although I was not his mother’s child, he knew no difference in my sisterhood. As children we played and fought and ignored each other like any siblings.

Wakeem Goode who is more quintessential “homie” than anything. When we were in college, I think he thought he WAS my Dad, the way he always needed to know where I was going. He’s not a man of fluff, but he emanates warmth and love, underneath his serious demeanor. I don’t think Wakeem would ever turn down helping me if he could help it.

Dwight (Milk) Drew Jr. who was my first attempt at “stepsibling”. I didn’t even realize how much my brother he was until someone tried to tell me he wasn’t. But he never made me feel that way. Not once.

William Wright, Anthony Griffith, Stephen Lee, DeShea Smith, James Barron, Eugene Williams, Nate Tuggle, Malcolm-Jamal King, Devin Butler, Justin Hopkins, Remmie Bourgeois, Brandon Wright, Michael Wright, Nick Lemon, Kashiff Alexander, Travis Covington, Chris Harts, Jerome Johnson, Damon Bailey, Nick Mitchell, Charles Michael Livingston, Saul McCoy.

All men who have loved me, and been there for me in some way, just because.

There are others, but I think you get the point….

My life has been filled with men trying to provide for me, protect me, care for me, laugh with me, affirm my greatness, get to know me, support me, and teach me. Like any father would.

I have had no father to rear me. But I have had fatherhood scattered across my entire life.  So often we ask God for something and we don’t notice when its happening, or if it’s already been happening for most of our lives. Don’t waste any more time ignoring the love that is already in your life. I did. I wasted a lot. And recently I’ve had my eyes opened. Men have been loving me for years. Love with no ulterior motive. Love with no shame, no secrecy, and no conditions. What I wanted so desperately from one man, I was given ten-fold in many men. And it is beautiful. When God takes something away from you, he gives you something so much better.

So… to all  my father-less daughters…. The next time you curl up in your own ball of despair at not being loved…. Take a moment to reflect on who HAS shown you love. To anyone who wishes for more love in their lives…. Ask yourself if you are acknowledging and appreciating what you already have, before asking for more.

As for me… I’ll keep healing. Bit by bit.

Peace.

P.S. “I love you” may not always look or sound the same. Sometimes it’s giving you a ride to the hospital and waiting with you for hours. Sometimes it’s buying you food because you’d never ask for money. Moving you to your new apartment, for free. Giving you things to keep that you only wanted to borrow. Coming to see you perform or whatever you do. Making phone calls on your behalf. Calling to check on you. Teasing you to make you laugh. Telling you your new beau is a wuss. Bugging you when you don’t want to be bothered. Just sitting with you, in the silence of your pain. Listening to you talk. Asking you to come over and chill. Asking you to look after their mom while they are away. Grumbling about your clothing. Letting you put them in a headlock and think you’ve won. Putting you in a headlock to remind you that you haven’t. Threatening boyfriends and future boyfriends. Making sure you’re ok at a party before they disappear to mayhem. Making sure you leave that same party ALONE. Teasing you when you look smoking hot. And especially… sharing food. Haha.

They may not be as verbally expressive as many women. But it’s love all the same. 

Quote: Love is...

Originally posted on Facebook 02.19.13. 

"Love is everything. Love can fill your world with a power so immense that it runs deep into the veins of your soul. Love is more than romance and lust. Love is the simple pleasure of being alive. Treasure your breath. Bathe in the myriad of blessed colors you see every day. Savor every nourishing morsel of food and every crisp drop of water. Love is there. Love is living and recognizing your life as a gift you can never fully repay except by maybe passing such kindness on to those around you. Love is everything."

~Leslie Colleen Wright

aka Zuri

For more inspirational quotes, pictures, and outright positivity, like me on Facebook!

Who reflects you?

Hey yall!!!

I got a request before I get down to the blogging. 

Scroll on down to the comment box, and answer this question: Which of your friends remind you most of you and why? 

It's Ok if you have more than one amigo that makes you feel like you. I'm open to that. If you want to, you can put their twitter username, I'll tag them for you, because I'm nice like that.

Back to the blogging now. . .

Loren & Lauren. 

I've got quite a laundry list of friends, male and female. The list is comprised of several ages, ethnicities, religions, and other cultural identities. And within those people, I see the best of myself. My friends either remind me of who I am, or reveal to me more of who I want to be. 

But none of them remind me of me so much as Loren and Lauren. And not just because they are both adorable, curvy, yellow-brown girls with natural hair. Although that never hurts either. And neither of them is exactly orange. Loren is more like... Kelly Green. And Lauren? Lauren is like... Pink, but a pastel pink. The kind of pink you'd find in a floral pattern of fabric.

So here's a mini-profile on two of my fantastic friends and what they inspire in me.

My L's.

Loren Davis-Stroud

Age: late twenties *wink*
Location: St. Louis, Missouri
Occupation: Music Artist

I met Loren during freshman week of college. She was this bouncy, bubbly, sassy chick from Chicago. She was the third official girl I met. I don't know what her immediate impression of me was, but I thought she was very urban chic. Not "Apple Bottom Jeans, Boots with the Fur" chic. More like "Rasta scarf and Converse with bodacious earrings" chic. I didn't know her to love her, but I soon would. As a matter of fact, she was one of the last people I saw, leaving college, both at the end of freshman year, and at graduation.

From freshman year to now, Loren and I have become extremely close, fallen out, argued, and borrowed clothing and jewelry like...well... like sisters. We've been adopted into each other's homes and families, calling each other's mothers like our own. We've cried, although rarely together. Usually, me to her, or her to me, but somehow one of us is usually ready when the other needs to let loose a tear. We even got tattoos together! Loren is the only person I can say I share an identical tattoo with. And not to be 'cutesy' either. I designed a tatt, with her help, and we both fell in love with it at the same time. It's like that sometimes.

When I look at Loren, when I'm around her, I feel my artistic self. I feel like making earrings, and penning a poem or ten. She reflects the wild bird in my spirit, which is peculiar, because both she and I can be shy about the weeeeeirdest things. But when we are together, I think we find power in each other to overcome those shy moments. She is my affectionate self, melting me to a warm place whenever she lays her head on my shoulder (I'm taller) and proclaims so very softly "I love you sister." With my sister Loren, the tough-strong person is not necessary, although it is still understood.  I see in her, some of my insecurities, and therefore, a confidant to share them. Loren is independent and a bit stubborn, which I need more of for myself. I look up to her in that way. We share a love for most things Neo-Soul, and all fashions plus-size. And Loren is the cold-truth I give to others. She is not afraid to clock me on the head with her opinion of my 'moments.' Nor am I with her, but this is about her. Loren is a part of me, that wants to experience life indulgently. She is the part of me that I hope to have the strength to fully uncage one day. Right now, I'm still learning to pick the lock.

Here's her facebook page, by the way.

Lauren 'Tele' Kendall
Age: 24
Location: just barely Atlanta, Georgia.
Occupation: Student, and 80 other different things.

When I first think of Lauren, I think of her finite cuteness. Lauren is by far the most adorable person I know. "Pretty" is a natural, applicable description of her. Inside and out, she is a bundle of warmth. Lauren is my Little L. I met her in college as well, and became her "big sister," a colloquialism common to our collegiate culture (alliteration!!) simply referring to someone older than you who is willing to look out for you if you need them to. Now, in our mid twenties, our relationship is less big/little and more 'sister.' She is by far one of the coolest people I know.

 In a bio I wrote for her, I described her as the love child of Tinkerbell, Coltrane, Wonderwoman, and the Godfather. Lauren is the health nut I wish I was. In fact, she is often my inspiration for how to go about being healthier. She battles her problems with cool rationale, often giving me unbiased advice based deeply in logic. She isn't trendy, but always in style, having a sort of a Jackie Kennedy meets Afrocentric hipster chic fashion sense. I like to think of her as Pearls and Cowrie Shells. She is the other side of my fashion sense, and musical preferences. Real  hip-hop and jazz are her specialties. Her work with the SALT newspaper and SALT radio station reflect this gritty sophistication, covered in lace. She is wonderful.

In Lauren, I see my awkwardness, brought on by being a little too advanced. She's a cut-to-the-point lady with a warm smile. This kind of attitude does not appreciate meaningless small talk, and prefers to face problems head on. With Lauren, I am always ready to fully own my mess, not hiding behind excuses or other people's faults. With her, every problem has solutions.

Lauren is also a creative, artsy girl. But with her, it's not so much flavorful poetry and one-of-a-kind jewelry. It's beautiful decorating, and well-chosen musical selections. From the moment Lauren started living on her own, I would experience, while visiting her, that she had a natural mastery of creating Zen environments. Minimalism, sprinkled with delightful art pieces she made, was evident throughout her house. And this is really a reflection of her effect on people. Around Lauren, I feel tranquility. Anything could happen, or nothing could happen, and I will enjoy it either way. She draws people to her with this unbounded magnetism, and sets everyone at ease. This is a trait I wish to aspire to. Soon enough.

Check out Lauren's SALT newpaper profile.


These two L's are the best of who I am, or who I would like to become. Not only do I simply love them, I am literally honored to know them, and excited for who they inspire me to be. One or both of them is probably going to be massively famous, and I'll be glad to have witnessed the process. Check these BAD ladies out. Bet you find yourself impressed. It's like Kanye says. "Ain't nobody messin' wit my CLIQUE"

Be Yourself.

I had an Orange moment today. I realized how important it is to be myself.

I am Nerdy. Bookish. Sarcastic. Goofy. Sentimental. Anxious. Bubbly. Loving. Nappy-headed. Four-eyed. Quiet. Opinionated. Wordy. Passionate. Easily pleased. Easily bored. Rhythmic. Poetic. Corny. Complex. Orange.

I am Orange. I am a million characteristics I never thought I could be, or would want to be. Sometimes I think I'm pretty fly. Other times not so much.

During the 'not-so-much,' I find myself wishing I was like other people I know; über cool, focused, unique, outrageous, super-social. I don't often feel like any of those things. I feel more like the pleasant nerd. And I feel like I just want to change. . .

Social media plays a large part in this. Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram tell tall tales of MTV video- worthy hangouts, people in cool clothing, and trendy, fun happenings. It could all be a load of bullsnot, but it looks amazing. It never dawns on me to assume that none of this is the majority situation, or that anything can be made to look cool with the help of a few photo editing adjustments. I just know I want to be like them, or with them. Social interaction is another culprit in this brainwash. Post-collegiate life has found me mostly at home, or work, when I work. Social gaiety is no longer a mere walk away to the student center, or maybe even an elevator ride to my favorite nook of the dorm, where my friends live. Friends now live in other cities, or if they do live here, are now caught up in the business of being employees.

So... I envy the e-World playing before my eyes in posts, tweets, and photos. And wish I knew how to be more like them. . .

Rather ridiculous when you think about it. I have a friend, whose internet life looks like total glam all the time. She admitted to me that she is struggling to pay rent, but she MUST have these overpriced shoes she saw, quoting Drake's infamous YOLO as her excuse. I remember rolling my eyes (on the inside) and thinking how crazy that sounded. But here she was, another shining example of an Internet Photo Diva. She would look FABULOUS in the shoes to be sure, but... what about rent? Risky, some may say. Stupid, I say. (Sorry boo, I still love you, but I told you it was stupid then.)

Not every cute internet persona is struggling with financial responsibility, I'm sure. However, it gave me pause long enough to realize that maybe it's exactly what it seems like; appearances. I talk to more and more of my friends about my desire to be someone else from time to time, and besides verbally b-slapping me, they remind me that it's not so glitz and glam for them either. People who I think of as absolutely fantastic, creative, amazing souls are struggling to accept themselves and find peace in this world, as much as I am.

This revelation helps when I need a healthy dose of reality. But there's something more that I think of.
I have a friend who told me she looks up to me. I eyeballed her skeptically, since we're nearly the same age. What did she have to look up to? And when she explained herself, I nearly cried. Little nerdy, bookish, weirdo, orange me was someone she wanted to emulate. WHAT? Besides the sentiment of the moment, I thought about what it meant to have her say that. While I am busy wishing I had it like someone else, there were people who wish they had it like me. Like ME! My style, my words, my likes and dislikes, my ambitions, my flaws, my actions inspired others.

I'm still blown.

It's a good reminder, though not for egotistical reasons. Ok. . .  maybe for a few egotistical reasons. However, knowing that I make a difference to someone else, is extremely life-changing. Maybe I am cool. Maybe I'm more of the things I wish I could be. Chances are that I am. Chances are that you are too.
Chances are that sometimes we just need to see ourselves through someone else's eyes.

So. . .  don't worry about that extra fly-guy with the Kanye hair cut, and the latest Jordans. Don't worry if you don't have tribal nail-art down to a T and wish you were more artistic. Just  be you. You might be the best thing to happen to somebody else.

Peace.