Tag: life

Ceremony as a Love Language

Ceremony as a Love Language

by Ranada ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

There’s something sacred about the way we do things.

Whether it’s a homegoing, a church service, or a college commencement, Black pomp and circumstance has its own rhythm: a choreography of care, history, and pride.

I thought about it this weekend as I sat in the sanctuary of the church I spent my childhood and young adulthood attending regularly. It was lined with so many flowers I couldn’t see the pulpit from the second pew. As I watched everyone sit on the right side, leaving most of the left open for the family to process in, I started thinking about how we just know. How customs are just rooted and observed through time. There’s an unspoken order to how we show up. A reverence that moves through us like a well-rehearsed hymn.

The same feeling rises at commencement. At Tougaloo, the drums start first — deep, resonant, ancestral — and suddenly we’re connected to something far older than the institution itself. It’s one thing to observe it, but it was a whole different thing to experience it as a graduate myself, trying to keep up with the march across campus to our seats. When I attend commencement to support new graduates, I’m reminded of that feeling but also am grounded in this ritual serving as a thread that ties all of us together over time. And I’m looking forward to feeling that feeling again when I go back for my silver graduation in a couple of years. It’s not just ceremony; it’s continuation. A declaration that our striving and our joy deserve a soundtrack.

In church, it’s the hymns that have survived generations. Sometimes when I sit in my church, I envision Deacon Jones starting the devotional and wish I could hear him call “I know I am a child of God” and wait for us to respond as a congregation. I miss the devotional because it just felt important in my bones. It felt deeply spiritual, and every now and then I sing it to myself, and as I sit here typing, I wonder what healing or comfort it’s providing that I don’t even realize. I can still hear Mother Curlie sing her special version of This Little Light of Mine, wondering if I’d ever be that voice that leads from the pews without ever touching the choir stand. I cherish the way I give countless hugs when I walk in on my way to my seat. I appreciate that when a word hits home, there’s always someone I can look at, and they just get it without me saying anything.

Even in our everyday lives, the rituals are there. The “say thank you” that echoes from moms through the generations, the debates about whether or not fish and spaghetti go together, the connections through memories of fried chicken Wednesdays on varied HBCU campuses, the plastic-covered furniture or the wooden panel walls in your grandmother’s living room that somehow we all reminisce about. The details that shape us, bind us, and make us smile when we realize how universal they are.

Black pomp and circumstance isn’t about extravagance. It’s about intention. It’s how we show love, how we hold history, how we make meaning out of moments both monumental and ordinary. It’s ceremony as language. Beauty as inheritance.

We’ve been curating sacredness for centuries — in our grief, in our joy, in our striving, in our rest. Whether it’s a processional, a praise, or a favorite meal on a particular day, the message beneath it all remains the same:

We matter enough to mark the moment.

Soundtrack of My Life: Total Praise by Richard Smallwood

The Stories that Shape Us: Six Minutes, Dragons, and Big Words

The Stories that Shape Us: Six Minutes, Dragons, and Big Words

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I can’t believe it’s been 7 years since I wrote this post about the podcasts Frederick and I were listening to. Back then, we were exploring the joy of shared stories in audio form. Of course, we also watched shows like Yo Gabba Gabba (which came up as a trivia question the other day!) and others as he got older, and we read out loud to each other. Now, those stories have expanded across podcasts, books, and shows—threads that weave together our routines, our conversations, and even the way relate to one another.

Our current car-ride soundtrack depends on what’s happening in the news. Sometimes I start with The Daily or Up First because I think it’s important for him to know what’s going on and to have an opportunity to ask questions or discuss our thoughts before he hears about it or talks about it at school. I want him to have a safe space to be able to process his own thoughts and opinions and to have gentle pushback or validation or whatever else our conversations bring up.

If we have time or if I don’t prioritize the news or politics, our go to podcast right now is Six Minutes. It’s short, interesting, and just the right dose of suspense for our commutes (even though we definitely listen to multiple episodes at a time). Frederick has become a pro at anticipating the plot twists or figuring out the mysteries (just like my mama!), and we get to have “What would you do if that were you?” convos, and my hope is that we’re regularly building blocks for his critical thinking. Also, this morning, because of the plotline, I asked him if he thinks he’d be friends with me if he met me when I was a kid. We had an interesting exchange about that, and of course, I’m also thinking about what I’d think about my parents if I met them at my age (or as kids). Food for thought!

TV wise, we’re watching the How to Train Your Dragon animated series. After watching the live-action movie before school started, Frederick wanted to dive deeper, and here we are. Now it’s part of our evening unwind over dinner. This too has become a jumping point for conversations, and I love that for us.

Of course, books are still a large part of our lives, even though we’re no longer reading out loud to each other. We started listening to Dear Haiti, Love Alaine, and while the story pulled us in quickly, it also got a little heavy sooner than expected. We decided to press pause, a reminder that it’s okay to honor our own pace with stories—especially ones that carry real weight.

In the meantime, he’s deep in his reading list for his school’s Reading Bowl team. Right now, The School for Invisible Boys has his attention. It’s been so fun to see him stretch his imagination while also honing the discipline of reading with a purpose. The way he breaks down plot points with me—plus the sheer size of his vocabulary at 13—reminds me that all these years of bedtime stories and library trips are bearing fruit.

What I love most is that none of this is just passive consumption. Every book, every show, every podcast has the possibility of sparking a conversation. We talk about fairness, bravery, identity, tough situations, ethics, and so much more. Sometimes the conversations are lighthearted and fun, and sometimes they’re unexpectedly deep. Sometimes they are the gateway to sharing experiences or problems that maybe wouldn’t have been discussed otherwise. Sometimes hearing his general perspective is so insightful. Each one is a reminder that these shared stories are shaping him—and me too.

Parenting doesn’t come with scorecards, but when I hear him pull out a word that makes me pause (words or word combinations I know most adults wouldn’t reach for so easily) or get excited about choosing our next podcast or book, it feels like a quiet nudge from the universe: You’re doing alright. Keep going.

What are y’all reading and/or watching with your kiddos? Let me know!

Soundtrack of My Life: Reading Rainbow

The Burden of Strength

The Burden of Strength

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People talk a lot about the blessing of being strong. They call it resilience. They call it beating the odds. They admire how you always get back up, keep moving, keep holding it all together. However, they rarely wonder or ask what it costs.

The truth is, being “the strong one” is a lonely place to live. It means that when life piles on, when your body is tired, when your heart is stretched thin–people assume you’ll handle it. They forget that you, too, need soft places to land. They forget that the defender sometimes needs defending. They forget that you’re human and are sensitive even if you don’t usually wear that sensitivity on your sleeve. They forget that strong doesn’t mean unbreakable.

These days, the weight feels heavier. I’m watching my parents age. I can see their needs growing, and with it my worry: worry that I won’t have enough time, enough resources, enough of me to give. At the same time, I’m raising a teenager. Teen years so far feel complicated and overwhelming. They require an abundance of patience (that I do not always have), guidance, and the kind of steady love that doesn’t waver even when your child pulls away. Doing it alone sharpens the edges of that challenge. There’s no one to trade shifts with. There’s no one to tag in when I’m drained. There’s no one who witnesses what’s going on.to vent to. There’s no one to brainstorm with in moments of strife. There’s no one to carry half the load.

My life feels like it’s becoming a balancing act between generations. I’m trying to give my child wings while also making sure my parents still feel held. And in the middle of it all, I’m trying not to lose myself while I pursue my passions and try to do my part in this world.

The hardest part? Very few people check on the strong ones. They assume we’re fine because we make it look fine. Yet sometimes, we aren’t. Sometimes we’re standing in the kitchen at midnight staring into the fridge, wondering if anyone sees how tired we are. Sometimes we’re smiling through the meeting or the church service or the family dinner, holding back tears because we know if we let them fall, we might not stop. Sometimes we’re biting our tongues when people talk recklessly to or about us because we feel like we have to be the bigger person. Sometimes we want to not be the responsible one who considers everyone else because we never seem to be considered. Sometimes we want to be more (or perhaps less?) than the person held to the highest of standards. Sometimes we want to be given the benefit of the doubt when things go awry. Sometimes *I* just want to feel like someone has my back no matter what.

But alas. Here I am. On a Friday night fighting through my feelings of so very rarely being held with care. And of course, this isn’t a plea for pity because pity is something I can’t imagine being given either. It is, however, a reminder—for me, and maybe for you, too—that strength and softness can coexist. That the strong ones deserve tenderness, too. That it’s okay to admit the load is heavy, to ask for help, to say out loud, “I need care.”

So if you love someone who always seems to have it together, check on them. Handle them with care. Let them know that they matter. They may not say it, but they need it. If you are that person—the strong one—let this be permission to take off the cape for a while. To breathe. To rest. To be held, instead of holding everything. I can’t tell you just how to do that because I haven’t quite figured it out myself. But I do know we deserve it.

Because even the strongest need somewhere safe to rest and recharge before going back out there and being that one.

Soundtrack of My Life: Hear My Call by Jilly from Philly

The Truth We Owe Each Other

The Truth We Owe Each Other

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I’ve walked into the Tracey Wyatt Recreation Center more times than I can count, but today hit different. We were there for Part 2 of We the People, our intergenerational civic engagement series, and the room felt alive with purpose. Juneteenth reminds us that freedom is not just won—it’s passed down. But in order to pass it down, we have to first be able to tell each other the truth.

Today, we told the truth about disinformation, distrust, and the divides that make it harder to move as one AND provided training on how we can help the people we care about move closer to the truth when they believe false narratives. We began something sacred: the work of repairing what’s been splintered, of listening across generations, of building a bridge wide enough to carry us all. Not just toward the ballot box—but toward each other.

Disinformation isn’t new, but its tools have evolved. Today’s lies come wrapped in algorithms, delivered through funny memes and passionate hot takes, and sent straight to our loved ones’ phones. However, the impact is deeply familiar: confusion, mistrust, and division. What we know, though, is that we are more likely to believe people we care about. According to a 2024 survey by the Majority Institute, 75% of Georgians say they trust their family members and 60 percent say they trust their friends over all other messengers. That’s why this work matters.

Our We the People series is designed to help everyday people communicate more effectively with the folks around them. What we did today wasn’t just teach digital literacy—it was soul work. We helped each other name the harm, then offered tools to heal it. We’re not here to shame people who have adopted harmful narratives–we want them to leverage the trust they already share to inch them closer to the truth. Combating disinformation is less about winning arguments and more about staying connected long enough to tell each other the truth with love.

Juneteenth has always been a reminder that truth delayed is freedom denied. The very origins of the holiday are rooted in disinformation—an intentional withholding of emancipation news for more than two years after it was law. Black people in Galveston kept laboring and surviving under the weight of a lie. While the context has changed, the tactic has not. Today, our communities are still battling distorted truths—about our power, our history, and our future.

Disinformation isn’t just a political weapon—it’s a spiritual one. It clouds our discernment and limits our ability to imagine what’s possible. It isolates us from each other by breeding mistrust, and it dims the collective light we need to organize, vote, and build. That’s why this work—naming the lie, speaking the truth, and doing it in love—is so sacred. It’s not about “fact-checking” in the narrow sense. It’s about continuing the fight for freedom.

I left today feeling so fulfilled because even in the heaviness of thinking about how to “confront” people we love with hard truths—joy showed up. The event took place alongside a festival, where there was music and food and games. Before the event, I spent time hugging necks and chatting with people I value but don’t see often. People who have known Frederick since he was an infant got to gush over how big he’s gotten. After the event started, there was room for laughter and creativity. It reminded me that joy is also the truth—a truth we’ve always carried.

In a world that seeks opportunities to amplify Black trauma, joy becomes data. Joy signals to us what’s sacred. It tells us what we’re fighting for. It’s not just resistance—it’s record-keeping. When we allow ourselves to feel it together, even while we wrestle with the harms of disinformation, we’re creating proof that freedom isn’t theoretical. It’s already among us because we are a resilient and communal people. We are still here. We are still joyful. We are still building.

That joy makes room for the harder conversations, too—even about generational divides in how we vote, how we trust, how we make meaning of the world. One reason this series is so important is because misunderstandings between generations isn’t just inconvenient—it’s weakening our power.

Older Black voters often carry the weight of history like armor. Younger Black voters often question systems with a fire that comes from disillusionment. Both perspectives hold truth, but that truth won’t carry us far unless we’re willing to speak it to each other.

Truth is not just fact—it’s felt. It’s shaped by what we’ve lived and what we’ve lost. The only way to pass it on is by creating space for it to be spoken with love and with openness to collaboration, not just shouted with frustration and hopelessness.

Freedom, like truth, is a process. Like Juneteenth itself, it often comes later than it should. But we can’t stop reaching for it. We keep telling the truth. We keep practicing joy. We keep trusting that the bridge is worth building.

This work isn’t about convincing everyone to agree—it’s about making sure no one gets left behind because they didn’t hear the truth in a voice that sounded like love.

We’re not just fighting lies—we’re fighting to stay open-hearted and whole in the face of them.

The truth will indeed set us free, but first, it will demand that we trust each other enough to tell it. We owe each other that truth. It starts in rooms like the one we sat in today. It grows in conversations we’re willing to keep having. It deepens in the quiet moments where we choose not to give up on each other.

I think often about what I’m passing on to Frederick—not just in legacy, but in practice. What stories am I telling him with my actions? What kind of truth am I preparing him to hold? What kind of joy do I want him to believe he’s worthy of?

This Juneteenth, I’m holding fast to the truth we owe each other. That truth is the path to a freedom that lasts.

Soundtrack of My Life: Liberation by Earth, Wind, and Fire


A New Chapter: Celebrating Frederick Becoming a Teen and My (Hopeful) Return to Writing

A New Chapter: Celebrating Frederick Becoming a Teen and My (Hopeful) Return to Writing

by Ranada ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

It’s been a minute—more than a minute, actually—since I last wrote here. If you know me, though, you know that the story hasn’t stopped, and neither have I. Today feels like the perfect moment to return to my blog, especially as I reflect on a milestone that’s close to my heart: my son Frederick is 13 today!

A lot has shifted since I last wrote in my blog. The past year has been filled with growth, major transitions, and new beginnings—personally and professionally. Through it all, the anchor has always been my commitment to being the best mom I can be to my kiddo. Watching him grow into a young man has been one of the most fulfilling (and most challenging!) experiences of my life. The tween/pre-teens was a lot, but what has kept me hopeful is the fact that so many people, including teachers and folks at church, tell me how mannerable and bright and thoughtful he is. So it seems I’m the only one he’s trying his antics with. My friends (and therapist!) remind me that he tries it with me because he knows I love him unconditionally, which I appreciate–but boy, can it be really frustrating and draining. Then, there are moments and milestones where I get to really see his growth, my teachings, or my family’s values in real time, and it’s a supercharge every single time.

It has been such an amazing journey despite the moments of heartburn. From the miracle of even carrying and giving birth to a human being, to witnessing his personality emerge very early on, to watching him go from under 9 pounds to almost bigger than I am (and soon, taller too!!), observing his curiosity and amazement as he learns, and so much more is simply astounding. Being a parent is one of the most beautiful experiences of my life.

Going forward, I’ll be sharing more personal reflections—especially about my experiences as a mother and how I’m navigating it all. I’ll likely also share professional insights, maybe even some research, and community building ideas that fuel me. In the last couple of weeks, I’ve been told countless times that I have so much more to share with the world, so as I figure out what that means for how I show up in the world, I’ll try to start here on this blog. There are so many stories to tell, lessons to share, and reflections that need a space. It’s also time to share more about the new balance I’m working toward, integrating my career and motherhood with intention.

So whether you’ve been here from the start and got an alert out of the blue that I posted or are just now finding this space, welcome. Again. I’m excited to share this new season with you, and as Frederick enters his teenage years, I’ll continue embracing the growth, the joy, and yes, the challenges that come with it. Let’s keep building together.

Soundtrack of My Life (bringing this back!!): If I Could by Regina Belle

I love when I make myself cry, lol.

I love when I make myself cry, lol.

by Ranada ♥ 2 Comments

This morning I got an email with the subject teaser “I love you.” Hmm. What’s this? It was a letter from the July 2013 me. I wasn’t going to share it, but why not? It’s my 2nd mommyversary today, and I am super blessed to be able to celebrate the milestones my baby has made over the last two years AND the milestones I’ve achieved myself as the sole caretaker of a bustling, precocious, charming boy. I’m so proud of him, and I’m even prouder to be his mom. He’s an amazing soul, and though this journey hasn’t been easy, it has been beyond worth it. I look forward to being Frederick’s safe place throughout his adventures. Watching him evolve is an almost unbelievable experience. I can barely even believe that at one time he was a butterbean in my body. Now he’s over half my height! If Frederick has taught me nothing else, it’s that life keeps moving through it all. He’s a daily reminder that life is mysterious and beautiful and hope-filled and worth living to the fullest. Happy 2nd birthday to my sweet thang!

Image

 June 6, 2014 vs. June 6, 2013

Anyway, here’s the letter from past me to present me.

Dear FutureMe,

Congrats on your second anniversary of pushing an almost 9 pound human out of your body! Frederick is 2, and you have even more to be grateful for than ever before. I hope that as you’re reading this you are saying to yourself, hey old me, I can barely remember the heartache from that time. I hope that by now, you have fully reclaimed your confidence and your passion and your “I can do it” attitude and have been slanging it around for all the masses to see and feel. You MADE it through the roughest time of your life so far, but just like the other rough patches you’ve been through, you are better for it after it was all said and done. Can you believe you actually thought you were less of a woman because of situations out of your control?? But I am confident that today, you know and OWN the fact that you are MORE than a woman. You are a WARRIOR and an extremely loyal, dedicated, and gifted person. Do you realize that in the worst of times, you conquered your depression, your hurt, and your bad outlook on your own life to do whatever was necessary to give Frederick everything he needed and more?? That’s powerful, young lady. Even when you didn’t want to take care of yourself, you did it anyway so that Frederick could have a strong foundation and a solid connection to his mother. Even when you despised his father, you swallowed all your hurt, anger, and sadness to try to have a cordial relationship with him for the sake of Frederick. That’s not WEAK, honey, that is STRONG. Can you believe that your sweet thing was once an arm baby, then he started teetering everywhere like he would tip over at any moment. OMG I can’t wait to see what he is like at 2!!

I hope this letter finds you in a brand new, loving, positive, promising place in your life, where you wake up with happy thoughts and new ideas and a fresh outlook on the day ahead of you. Continue to leave the past in the past, and know in your heart that your future is #winning. And live today like the star you are.

I love you for all you are today, all you have been throughout your life, and the wonderfulness you will be in your future.

Love,

Your Past Self on July 3, 2013

Sharing My Journey

Sharing My Journey

by Ranada ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

In my journey so far as a single mother, I have experienced an emotional roller coaster like none I’ve ever ridden. And not just romantically–that’s actually probably the easiest part of the ride. The scariest and most difficult parts of the ride have been dealing with my self-image, managing and changing the dynamics of my friendships, and reconciling societal perspectives with my reality.

Some days, I get to a place where I want to share this experience, and other days, I don’t–mostly because I don’t want to deal with any more opinions. I also don’t like that some think I sound bitter (and in some instances, I am)–when my bitterness has waned significantly over the last two years. What’s funny is that the more I talk, the more some think I’m bitter, when in actuality, the less bitter I am, the more willing I am to talk. There was a time that the last thing I wanted to do was talk about what I was going through. And I avoided people like the plague for fear of being seen by people whose opinions I valued as a negative Nancy and bitter Betty. And then I think to myself that the bitterness that’s left should be understood–why is it even such a negative label? Emotions are what they are, so who can judge me and say and too bitter–from my perspective, it’s just as relevant to wonder if I’m bitter enough because I haven’t allowed my bitterness to permeate my decision-making as a mother. So then I began to really appreciate the people who ASKED me how I was doing and stayed around no matter what I was talking about, whether it highlighted my bitterness or not. Because they still saw me, Ranada, and still cared about me as a full person, and didn’t confine me to the box I limited my own self-image to.

There are times that I also wonder why I care what people think. And I’ve realized it’s because I’m human. Humans need to be liked, accepted, affirmed, and understood. So when I’m feeling my loneliest, it’s because I feel like the group of people who have tried to understand what my life has been like in the last two years is much smaller than the group of people I considered my friends before this ordeal began. It’s all an exercise in evaluation.

Self-evaluation, which I’ve gone above and beyond in doing for the last two years and had to realize that even though so many of the self-help articles begin and end with self-evaluation, that I was being WAY too hard on myself, and there definitely is a such thing as judging yourself too harshly.

The evaluation of the people I can truly call my village, understanding that I could not have made it to this place in my life without their support and understanding that you can’t predict who will be standing there when the dust settles. And you can only trust that God sends his encouragement through the people He chooses–over the last two years, I’ve received a good word from the most unlikeliest of places, and they were salve for my soul.

The evaluation of my previous perspectives, societal ideals, and my current reality in the context of those.

The evaluation of what happiness is to me and what role hardships have in my journey.

Evaluation.

Zora Neale Hurston’s birthday was yesterday, and one of her most well known quotes is

There are years that ask questions and years that answer.

Sometimes I think 2012 and 2013 were question-asking years and I’m hoping 2014 is an answer-giving year. But time will tell, huh?

So as my bitterness continues to subside, or at least I continue becoming one with it and learning to not care if people use it as a label when I’m only speaking my truth, I am kinda looking forward to sharing the lessons and emotions and outlooks from this joyful yet painful, rewarding yet taxing, fun yet hard, loving yet lonely journey as a single mother. Happy new year!

Finding My Way Again

Finding My Way Again

by Ranada ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

Man, I’ve neglected my blog. But I guess that’s a reasonable trade off since I’ve been focusing on not neglecting myself. This year, I’ve really had to do a lot of figuring out how to trust my instincts, how to be confident again, how not to care so much about the street committee, how to see myself as more than a single mother, how to be more patient with myself, and how to accept help. I still struggle with a lot: speaking up for myself or not dwelling on things after I’ve decided to not say anything, asking for help, figuring out what relationships I want to invest in and/or repair, moving back to a place where I dream big and take steps towards those dreams, understanding what friendship means, and lots more. Then, of course, I’m still doing what I can to prove my worth at work and I’m still always trying to be current in what’s going on in the world and doing what I can in my community. Hopefully, in 2014, I can start back blogging and really sharing my thoughts on a regular basis. Maybe in the few weeks left, I’ll get back to the place where I’m comfortable sharing and not so worried about what people think about me. Until then, here’s a little poem I came across this morning.

After a While

After a while you learn
The subtle difference between
Holding a hand and chaining a soul
And you learn that love doesn’t mean leaning
And company doesn’t always mean security.

And you begin to learn
That kisses aren’t contracts
And presents aren’t promises
And you begin to accept your defeats
With your head up and your eyes ahead
With the grace of a woman
Not the grief of a child

And you learn
To build all your roads on today
Because tomorrow’s ground is
Too uncertain for plans
And futures have a way
Of falling down in mid flight

After a while you learn
That even sunshine burns if you get too much
So you plant your own garden
And decorate your own soul
Instead of waiting
For someone to bring you flowers

And you learn
That you really can endure
That you are really strong
And you really do have worth
And you learn and you learn
With every good bye you learn.

-Veronica A. Shoffstall

Be You

Be You

by Ranada ♥ 4 Comments

This song popped in my head while chatting with a friend today. It’s a song that’s actually a Stevie Wonder classic that I’ve always loved since the first time I heard it watching School Daze when I was a kid.

Butterflies begin from having been another
As a child is born from being in a mother’s womb
But how many times have you wished you were some other
Someone than who you are

Yet who’s to say that if all were uncovered
You will like what you see?
You can only be you as I can only be me

Flowers cannot bloom until it is their season
As we would not be here unless it was our destiny
But how many times have you wished to be in spaces
Time places than what you were

Yet who’s to say with unfamiliar faces
You could anymore be loving you that you’d see?
You can only be me as I can only be me

Now when I was a kid, I may have just liked it because the college queen was being crowned to it and the guy sitting on the steps was just crooning away. But now I like it because it’s something that I really strive to live by. So many of us spend so much time trying to go against the grain of whom we are instead of identifying then leveraging our talents and skills and personality traits to the fullest. We spend lots of time focused on what we (or actually, most ofthe time, others) perceive as flaws, instead of focusing on the essence of ourselves. God made us who we are on purpose. That’s not to say there aren’t things in life we don’t need to work on, but we need to just be. How do you even know what flaws you have if you really don’t know what makes you tick or understand what is really important to you and what’s not. Be who is naturally you. And let me be me.

I think there are several people out there that have issues with the fact that I. Am. Always. Me. I can’t even help it. It’s just not in my make up to even give a thought about being something I’m not. In fact, the couple of times that I’ve consciously tried, usually specifically just to make someone else feel at ease, it was a mega disaster. I know I’m quirky, I know I do based on what I feel, I know I say what’s on my mind, I know I can be hot or cold–which just so you know, is directly related to the fact that I’m either all in or pretty much completely unconcerned and I’m very passionate or nonchalant. I have dabbled in the gray, but it’s not often–usually it’s black and white. I’m okay with that. Why? Because I know it about myself, and I’ve learned (and am still learning) how to utilize the natural characteristics I have.

You know what’s really difficult for me? Dealing with people who won’t be themselves. It’s much much worse than dealing with people who are themselves and I just don’t agree with them or like particular attributes. But the genuine sincerity of just being commands my respect. We’re all different so we won’t always agree or even click, but at least we can have a real conversation. I’ve encountered this in dating because I’ve met a couple of guys who wanted me to direct them into being who I wanted them to be. Well, I can’t. I just want them to be themselves. If you being you + me being me = compatibility, then great! If not, that’s ok. It happens. But who wants to live a life of keeping up a mask to make someone else happy? Does that make you happy? If it does, well, … alrighty. But I know I wouldn’t be happy with someone imposing their ideas of whom I should be onto me, so I can’t do that to anyone else. Not on purpose anyway. Dig it?

I just really think that we really have to look within and appreciate our good qualities and recognize opportunities to drive your own life using those qualities as tools instead of always being worried to death about flaws that may or may not be flaws and letting them inhibit us from our dreams and goals.

Well that’s all I have for you today. 🙂  I’ll be back later. Until then, hopefully, I, while being me, will bump into you being you.