The freedom revealed in moments of clarity are fleeting. I know that as soon as I find that moment of peace free of the lists and the responsibilities of my transition, I will begin to worry. Why is it that insecurity stalks our peaceful moments and leaves us breathless in fear? I sometimes imagine that my happy thoughts and daydreams are frostbitten waiting on a change to take me on a vacation. They are packed and ready for the sunny beach bungalows filled with books, friends, wine, and cheese. Every now and then, they send me little snippets of the happy daydreams to keep me feeling light as air. And I embrace them like a deserted soul grasping for mercy. Even the smallest of the memories, and dream, and moments are enough to inspire me to seek clarity’s freedom.
Today, I am as light as air. I know the moments are fleeting, but I don’t mind. What is life if it isn’t living for the next? What is today if we aren’t trying to make tomorrow better? My daydreams and happy moments are motivators. As long as I am light as air, I can stay above the fray that consumes so many of our dreams. What is it that you want more than anything? Does it benefit anyone besides you? Will it hurt anyone for you to have it? Take stock of your purpose, influence, and responsibilities to society. Dream in peace and never stop seeking the clarity that makes you light as air. Freedom is forgiving and fruitful; share it with the world.
Contemporary hip-hop is as fake as a square two-cent penny and everyone is trying to spend that crap on a Furby. I don’t listen to the radio anymore. I hate hearing the lyrics so simple, vulgar, and pointless that either have the words are censored or a two-year old can sing the entire song like repeating a presidential list of Fry words. Don’t get me wrong. I know that music evolves and there are some great artists out there repping the craft; but, what happened to the real backbone of hip-hop? What happened to relevance and feeling? What happened to relating to life and not expecting drug money glamour and shiny plastic round bottoms? None of that is for me. Most of us are everyday people who are cool like that, right? I miss the golden age of hip-hop. I guess that’s why I love the movie, Brown Sugar, so much. A love letter to hip hop. Now, it’s more like a Dear John.
I wrote a poem about it on my other blog. Here’s the link. And you thought you knew
Beginnings are frightening. Gloriously, joyfully, frightening. A little over a week ago, I wrote about how hope is temporary. (Link posted below.)
Well, here’s an update. I have my new beginning. I am venturing out into the great unknown. I am at the precipice of one path and preparing to jump the Great Divide. I should be more afraid. It would be smart to be more afraid. Because, fear is a great teacher. It makes you cautious of the unknown and attentive to your ignorance. I am new in my new beginning. Things of the past are merely pebbles in the fish tank and I am jumping into the ocean.
Hope fails if temporary. My hope, however, was eternal and invested in a higher power. My now and His Now aren’t always aligned. My now is driven by my ambition and desires; His Now is the only When. I am grateful for the opportunity before me and even more grateful for the ones I have had. So, here at this precipice, I’m not afraid of the height or the distance I must leap. I’m just going to enjoy the view.
Worth the read: Hope fails if temporary
Sometimes I want to just be free of responsibilities, duties, obligations, and worries. I want to feel light and airy, I want to be a souffle. I want to rise every day and be free to meditate, simmer and stew in my own thoughts and daydreams. I get my best ideas from my daydreams. Remember that post about my dream Saturday? I want to make that happen.
I feel horrible for wanting to be selfish for just a little while. It seems as if so much depends on my attention and so many people need me for my various abilities, that I sometimes forget to be important to myself. Don’t get me wrong. I love all the extra responsibilities that I have and the volunteering that I do. All of it comes from my heart. What I don’t like is being required or requested to do things that can be handled by someone else. What I don’t like is being asked to do something that someone else was just too lazy to do. What I don’t like is being asked my opinion on something as if it will matter, when said person is just going to continue as is!
I have anxiety. I wish to be calm and I want to willingly let go of things outside of my control. But just like many people who I know, I worry about money and work and my students and my parents and one million other things that invade my mind like parasites. I know that I suffer from it because of the early morning fretting and the constant worry about things that I can’t control. My anxiety does not allow me to be calm unless I am writing or thinking about food. Even when I am writing, I worry about what people will say about me, my thoughts, and those words that escape. That’s the qualm before the calm. One day, I will tell all of my worries and restraints, “que sera sera” and they will wait outside my Saturday room while I escape, write, and read. Maybe they will get tired of waiting and stalking me. Maybe they will pack up their bags and leave me for a local politician some distance away. Maybe they won’t be waiting for me like they are every morning at 3:30.
I like being in charge, but I will gladly relinquish control of a situation to someone capable of making it work. Most importantly, I will relinquish control to a higher power. Lately, I haven’t been as close to God as I want to be. I haven’t relinquished control out of want and desire. I established a pattern to single-handedly fulfill my own wishes and needs. I prayed for the things that I wanted instead of the things that I needed. In the end, I didn’t get what I wanted. I got something that was better for me and for those with whom I will be collaborating.
What made me so arrogant in my singularity? Nothing other than lack of consideration or realization that I did not collaborate with God. Foolishly, I considered myself and expert in all things Meka without acknowledging all that He has done for me. You don’t have to be religious to feel as if your destiny isn’t fate. I don’t have a religion; I have a relationship. I forgot about that relationship as I dreamed of happy days and success. Why is it that when the sky is falling and the ground is crumbling, I remember the need for this connection, this heavenly collaboration.
I have been blessed with family and friends with collaborative spirits. We meet and tackle troubles head first. I have no doubt that, at any time of the day or night, someone is willing to help me. I hope and pray that everyone has that same collection of supportive people. One by one, we are singular in our motives and our successes; but, imagine if we collaborated on our dreams and hopes? We could advance our communities with limitless resources. That transcends religion. Regardless of what you worship and in whom you believe, our relationship with a higher calling makes us want to do good and present the best of ourselves to the world. I like to believe that 90 percent of our issues with society can be eradicated with a little spiritual and wholesome collaboration. I want better; you want better. We should collaborate, ya dig?
I don’t want this to be the end. I don’t even want this to be the ne plus ultra of my ability. So here I am bearing my deepest want. Here I am paint-stripper scraping the basement of my soul and telling you, the reading world, what I want. I don’t want. I don’t want finality to be mundane. I want you to read my words and feel as if you were breaking your Fitbit goals in my head. Run around in here, have a seat, get comfortable.
But that’s the hard part. Who can ever say that they feel genuinely naked and unafraid with how they are perceived? I don’t. Even when I am exhausted and having that moment of clarity, I hold back from what I really want to say. Not that I fear frightening people, I fear letting you know me. I fear the finality of your lost curiosity and disinterest. If you get to know me, the writer, you will know my soul. And that personal revelation feels final.
Still, I want my finality to be the crowing achievement. I want to leave the words uttered from the depths of my living soul to never die. I crave the immortality that only literature can deliver. In a hundred centuries, I want some one to dust me off, open my cover, and fall in love with the words that desperately escaped me.
From the moment that I wake to the second that I fall asleep, I have traversed the corners of my mind and lost myself in its maze. Much like my grand and well-planned ideas, I try to begin with some pattern of order.
For example, I had a dream that instantly gave me the idea for a book. I instantly start writing ideas down and doing research only to be distracted by the idea of a poem. The idea of the poem reminds me of something that I read by Langston Hughes. I love Langston. Off I go in search of a book of his poems that I keep in the guest room. I cannot find the book, so I go online and use the remainder of my Amazon gift card to buy another.
While online, I see a link (courtesy of website cookies) to more Happy Planner stickers. Anyone who knows me knows that I love my Happy Planner/adult sticker book/scrapbook/life organizer. One “Oooh! I want that!” second later, I am digging in my work bag for my planner. Darn, I haven’t finished the weeks of May and there are many activities on Post-it notes waiting to adorn my stickered pages. Ten minutes later, I am sitting at the dining room table with my calendar caddy, planner, and laptop. As I mark the dates, my mind wanders to the meal planning and recipe stickers that I found for less than a dollar.
The menu stickers make me think of dinner. What should I cook for dinner? Speaking of dinner, Ayesha Curry sure makes meal prep look easy. I then proceed to research recipes online. But, the kitchens are so pretty and there is a conveniently placed Pinterest pinning button. As I pin the dream kitchen for the dream house that my dream job will purchase, I think of lemons. I like lemons. Do I have any lemons? Nope. I decide to go to the store for some lemons. Lemon, butter, garlic, and chicken.
Mental list made, I take a shower. The shower reminds me of songs that I need to learn for praise team practice. I jump out of the shower, leaving fat wet footprints on the floor as I run to get my phone. With the playlist going, I sing for the rest of the shower. The phone rings. Some poor soul thinks I deserve a free vacation that I must pay for. Sorry, no. A vacation outfit comes to mind. I reach in the closet and grab my sun yellow kimono shawl, a white tank, and some jeans. Mascara applied, I head to the store thinking of lemons. On the way, I see the new library they are building. I think of the books that I want to read. So, I go to the library. Books make me want to sit and read. Well, sit and read as I drink coffee or tea. So, I head to Starbucks, pre-order my tea, and sit for a spell. The book makes me hungry for tacos. Tacos would be great for dinner. I eat a taco from the place right by Micheal’s. I wonder if they have more clearance stickers at Michael’s.
Ten minutes and three dollars later, I am in afternoon traffic headed home where the laundry is not done, the dinner will not be, and the beginning of the book never was.
My mind is a maze where I am often distracted and sidetracked. Although I know there is a way to master it, I find that the turns and walls keep me doing exactly everything that I want at that one fleeting moment. Perhaps Daedalus had a point; just like his masterful Labyrinth, my mind changes and grows with my every move. I think I like the happiness of it.
Speaking of happy, my Happy Planner cover reminds me of the lemons that I never bought. Doesn’t lemon herb-butter chicken sound delicious? Does Ayesha have a recipe for that?