AHA MOMENT # 3
(HOW TO STOP, BUT THEN START AGAIN)

life can bring through many changes
just don’t give up
it’s gonna be alright
people come and they go
it’s just the way it goes
everything is everything
its alright…
~ Ledisi

Sometimes it is okay to turn around and go back. And there are times, literally, that you have to “cut and run—” backwards. This revelation came to me while running on Friday. See, on Monday, I got drenched during my workout; if only I had turned around...

The afternoon sky was full of bright, fluffy, non-threatening clouds that looked like pillows almost too good to sleep on. And a nap was in order once I completed my very tardy run (bad, lazy soldier!). It was noon already and half past scorching hot, but I needed to tackle some fitness demons—small hills and lunges, or Iron Mikes. Both are about mind over matter. If you don’t mind, it don’t matter. And since I had a lot on my mind, this workout was necessary.

About two months ago, I began stopping at a nearby recreation center halfway along my route to jump rope, and get in some Iron Mikes. It took a while to get used to this, because I felt that stopping, was resting, or cheating. Moreover, I was scared that if I stopped, I would not start again. Starting, stopping, and starting again has never been easy for me. I explained to someone recently, that I’m an “all or nothing” kinda person.

Again, it’s hot as hell, and now I’m a little thirsty (forgot my canteen). Nevertheless, I pause my run, and began exercising while intermittingly directing the choir as Mariah Carrey’s “Fly Like A Bird” blasted in my ears. After 20 minutes, I glance up at the sky. A few more clouds had gathered and appeared to be forming a tight affront, but no big “whoop.” I stretch again and wiped a few tears from my eyes because Mariah puts the “B” in “A & B” solo (if you don’t know, ask a southern Baptist Fire-Baptized Pentecostal and they’ll explain it to you).

I began a moderate-paced run back to the house. After half a block, I feel a few sprinkles. Still, not a big deal; however, in a flash, the rain became quite steady. A sane person would have considered going back to the recreation center shelter. But the last three years have been everything except sane for me, nor has anything made much sense—multiple, devastating deaths in my family, my tires getting jacked off my car as it sat outside my window, and an accident on the job that could have killed me and the passengers on my vehicle. Some would say that’s just “life,” yet it seemed to happen all at one time.

So I trudged on believing this rain was a symbolic cleansing or benediction of sorts to my spiritual workout. I kept my stride, undaunted, even when the sky completely opened up and it started raining like a—you get the idea…

By the second block, it became crystal clear I had made a mistake. I could not see a damn thing. Sweat mixed with rain stung my eyes. Making matters worse, was my cell phone, glued to my hip. All day I had been anxiously awaiting a call; the last thing I could afford was for that to stop working. I quickly tucked the case inside my already soaked shorts.

Now the frightening part—all along this particular block, the trees hang quite low and into the street. The week prior, two metro Atlanta teenagers were struck, one fatally, by lightening. I did my best not to panic, and ran to the nearest porch. Don’t know a soul in this neighborhood and I gotta be honest: I was scared. What if the owners freak out seeing a soaking wet black woman with locs on their porch and start to shoot? I decide to take the chance with the buckshot to the ass over the lightening.

After about ten minutes, the rain subsides. I haul ass and just as I reach the front yard it starts to come down again. My phone survived, alas my Adidas did not. They are lying in state on the patio while I pass the hat to raise enough money for “final arrangements.”

I was soaked to my drawers, y’all. As I rung out my clothes, muttering, “Stupid, stupid, stupid,” I thought about all the times in my life I had to “turn around” and “go back.” Or how sometimes, I started, stopped, but never went back and finished; there are many. I was joining the Reserves in a few days; this is my third enlistment. The fact that I had “cut and run” from the military before—twice, and returning—again, took center stage in my mind. When I left active duty in 2008, a lot of people thought it was a dumb move—and they were very vocal about it. There were several serious, personal reasons for my decision; and I’ve tried not to let folks’ opinion get to me. Nevertheless, it hurts, because most of the naysayers are immediate family. Some, including an ex-boyfriend, indirectly called me a coward and said I was “afraid to deploy.” Whoa.

Things are somewhat different for me now. Some good, some bad; yet, enlisting is a choice I feel a lot better about this time around. I’m a little more in control and indeed better informed. So the Friday after my baptismal by “southern afternoon downpour,” I checked the sky for clouds and smiled. I was confident that sometimes it’s okay to turn around go back. Every so often in order to keep dry and prevent lightening from striking your ass, it’s damn necessary.

Axe.

The Lesson:
One of the secrets to success is to never tell what you know. No matter who you are, or how nice of a person you may be, someone will for whatever reason, want to piss on your parade. When you have a plan in mind: keep the shit to yourself (seriously). But put that plan into motion; don’t just talk about it—be about it.

MOUNTAINS VERSUS MOLEHILLS

…I’ve got my strength
And it don’t make sense
Not to keep on pushin’
~Curtis Mayfield

Don’t know who in the hell came up with the saying, “stop making a mountain out of a molehill,” but um, I have beef with them. You see, I have found in recent weeks that in fact, molehills can actually be mountains. While working on my exercise regiment for three months, using the outdoors plus anything I could find in the house and my imagination, I got in good shape. I was confident that I could not only “Be All That I Could Be” when I re-enlisted in the coming months, but I could also successfully combat any genetic or stray disease that came my way.

There are three massive hills, junior-sized mountains, within a half of a mile of where I live—almost a 35% upgrade. I slowly, but surely overcame them inside of about 60 days. Slowly, surely. Yes, there were days when I had to walk those hills; but as soon as I got to the top, I started running again. Eventually, I was able to run up those “mini-mountains,” at a moderate pace, of course, with little to no ease.



Now, the minor bumps in the road, 10% to 15% upgrade—the molehills, if you will, I never gave a second thought. I would race over those with near maximum speed and arrogant determination. “Shoot. Little ass hill ain’t nothing,” I would brag as I increased my stride and pumped my arms to whatever song I was listening to on my MP3 player.

Alas, that was in April.

Then suddenly and unceremoniously, I hit the wall, as Cliff Huxtable once explained on “The Cosby Show.” And it was not just any wall, y’all. It was the small hills along my route that were giving me as a fellow writer says, “the business.” All of a sudden I could not make it over the molehills. I would get half way atop them and have to either slow to a walk or a damn near crawl (say what?).



Cannot pinpoint exactly why this is happening, or specifically now. Heat, maybe (this is the hottest summer on record in a long time)? Lack of rest, perhaps (admittedly, I need to go to bed a LOT earlier)? Increased stress about re-enlisting (can I keep up with the young ‘uns?)? I just don’t know. But it got me to thinking about theoretical or figurative molehills.

It’s not the big fights with the ex-in-laws that drive you crazy. It’s the “little” comments about your kids’ clothes or behavior. It’s not the fact that the co-worker you have no love for purposely passes by your desk eight times in one morning talking loud and being disruptive, but the fact that she looks you in the eye when she does it. It’s not the fact that that there is no more orange juice in the house and your mouth was “all set” for some OJ. It’s when somebody’s trifling ass leaves the (large) bottle in the fridge with less than a swallow that you wanna scream. So yes, dammit, the small shit—the “molehills,” they matter.

What am I going to do about my molehills—literal and metaphoric? Shit, I have no idea. But it seems to me when you acknowledge them, realize & believe that you are bigger than they are, and make a plan, they can be eradicated just as easily as they appeared. Just takes patience; lots of patience…

Axe.

Currently Reading: Various Army History tidbits (if you have one that is interesting or unusual, please share!)
Currently Listening To: Keep On Pushing by Curtis Mayfield & The Impressions

AHA MOMENT # 29

When down and out…
…always reach out.
~ Sonia Clark

For the past 27 months, like a lot of Americans, I have been under- or un- employed. The last few months that have been the toughest though. It started back in February. I was closing in on a 6 mo. housing situation that in itself ain’t bad at all; some would say it’s ideal. Howsoever, when your ego is used to things “a certain way,” even a minor miscommunication feels like Mt. Rushmore. Add the frustration of isolation (my close friends live out of state), constant lack of funds, multiple deaths in the family including my Dad, and a minor health revelation to the mix and it’s a bad thing. A very bad thing. (BTW: I’m in good shape, but must continue to work out regularly and STILL desperately need to cut sugar from my diet completely).

A month ago, I began asking for help from some friends, mainly fellow college alum and folks from the block back in Brooklyn. They’ve been a wealth of support and offered priceless information. No, they didn’t solve all my problems or find a job for me. Yet their advice, added to the leads I already had, and my plans to return to the military as a reservist, greatly broadened my prospects. And it is simply because I finally shared my desires and asked questions. It has been nothing short of amazing.

Yesterday, however, I started to kick myself for waiting so long to seriously, earnestly ask for help. “What took you so long?” I ask myself aloud. I was driving home after meeting members of my new Army Reserve unit. “Damn,” I say, shaking my head, realizing that months of being ashamed and embarrassed to ask for help, equates to precious time wasted. And time, is irreplaceable.

This pity part of sorts, trying to do things “on my own,” is a natural human reaction. When “wounded” or feeling helpless, we either lash out or go into recluse. We hide or take swipes at people who are merely trying to help. National Geographic or Discovery channel shows often tell of injured animals that do any and everything to keep people (or other animals) away. Why? They know they are vulnerable and can easily be further harmed or even killed. All the animal knows is to protect themselves at all costs. Big mistake, but when you are hurting, protection at any cost appears to be the usual instinct.

As I was running a few days ago, G.C. Cameron’s, “So Hard To Say Goodbye To Yesterday” came on my MP3 player (the “original,” y’all). I thought about the final scene of Cooley High, with Preach at Cochise’s grave. Preach had ditched the funeral and was running away from home—to Hollywood, to pursue a writing career. Even before the death of his best friend, a dude he called brother, Preach was already hurting. Earlier in the film, his teacher (played by Garrett Morris) saw Preach wasting his life. So he asks the quick-witted, extremely intelligent pupil, what, exactly he wants out of life. Without hesitation, Preach answers, “I want to live forever.” Because immortality is impossible, this answer was about spitting back at life. For whatever reasons—fear probably being one of them, Preach feels his dreams were simply not possible. So the fact that he thought he could not accomplish his dreams hurt Preach. And now, with Cochise dead, he is really hurting.

However, Preach pulls himself together and declares to Cochise’s coffin, that he is “gonna make it...” With that, he turns, backpack on his shoulder, and begins to run, setting off on his quest to become a screenwriter. Cue The Four Tops, “I’ll Be There/Reach Out.” This cut is actually a love song between a man and a woman. But I have made it my anthem. I’m gonna reach out. Stop being too proud to say, “I need a little help with…,” “Really want to get my book published, yet not sure how to…” Or, “I’ve been trying to get a gig at --- yet I’m not getting a response on the phone or via email. You know anybody there…?” And I hope that when someone feels I can help, or at least point them in the right direction, they will reach out to me as well.

Axe.

Currently Reading: Why We Make Movies (Black Filmmakers Talk About the Magic of Cinema) by George Alexander

Currently Listening To: Various Army Cadence (I say, “Ho’ah!”)

GREENER GRASS AND KINDRED SPIRITS

Girls have an unfair advantage over men: if they can’t get what they want being smart, they can get it by being dumb.
~ actor Yul Brynner

When we look at our negatives, we always think that the person with the positives has it so much better. Today I realized it is not about better. It’s simply not. When I came across the Yul Brynner quote on someone’s FaceBook page, it gave me cause to pause. And it was a long pause, y’all. See, I went on my morning jog and pondered why Yul would say such a thing. He seemed like such an intelligent guy when he was alive; seemed being the key word. Maybe this shit was taken out of context. Maybe.

But then I thought about comedienne Mo’Nique. For a long time, I did not like her—at all. Oh, I gave her props for being funny and all, but she wrote two books, “Skinny Women Are Evil: Notes of a Big Girl in a Small Minded World,” and “Skinny Cooks Can’t Be Trusted.” WTH?

This hurt my feelings especially since I have in fact struggled with weight issues at least three in my life; twice even, while I was in the Army. Why was she perpetrating all this hate on women who happened to be thin (whether they had to work for it or it was simple DNA?). What, exactly, had we done? Truth be told, I am jealous of plus-sized women. Except for two times in my life, I have always been flat-chested. And without surgery, that will not change—not gonna happen; well, maybe… Anyway, all of the full sized women I know have it together—confident, no-nonsense, and handling their business. True, I often see men overlook them, and I feel their hurt because, hey, guess what? I am not winning beauty contests, my damn self. So with regards to myself and the rest of the plain women versus plus-sized ladies, in the words of Andre 3000 (“Elevators”), “…we like neck to neck.”

The other reason Mo’Nique got no love or respect from me, was her sitcom, “The Parkers.” To me it was the dumbest show on the planet that degraded Black women everywhere, even in Africa! It was supposed to be about a sister going back to college with her daughter, the challenges they faced, etc. All I saw was a together black woman voluntarily living a stereotypical life—speaking Ebonics, frequently behaving ignorant, and chasing after a man who did not want her at all. Plus, the dozen or so times I happened to watch, I never saw them inside of a classroom. The plot from week-to-week was some re-hashed “Laverne & Shirley” or “I Love Lucy” bullshit.

Yet we all know what happened—Mo’Nique used that as a stepping stone.




And I have watched her career. I loved her in “Domino (though I have fallen asleep on it twice).” Then I recognized that she was spreading her wings a little bit in “Two Can Play At That Game” and “Baby Boy.” Have to pause here and share that I recently read Mo’Nique says the most valuable advice she ever received was from Jamie Foxx who told her, “Never let them tell you what you cannot do (say what?).” Not sure when, exactly he told her this, but we all know that Ms. Thing rocked the house in “Precious” as the mother even the Devil wouldn’t want—Mary Jones. Furthermore, this role earned her mad awards, including, an Oscar. First time out in a major role, first time win. Lotta people said she was a long shot, but I was pulling for her and not surprised when then called her name.

Today was the first time in forever that I thought about her comments regarding skinny women. Not sure how she feels now because she has dropped a massive amount of weight. Nevertheless, I don’t think that Mo’Nique had it in for us thin ladies or was intentionally out to make us feel “less than.” She was merely highlighting the differences amongst us, obviously being “pro-Big Girl.” And like most comedians say, “It’s just jokes...” Furthermore, I do not think Mo’ was playing dumb on “The Parkers.” Shit, it’s a man’s world—plain and simple. And often in order to get what you want, you have to speak a man’s language…

Axe.

Don’t usually do this, but since I am neither specifically reading nor listening to anything at the moment, I’d like to dedicate this entry to the following women:

K. Redd (you got the Sunday paper?), S. Thompson-Johnson (NYPD Blue, if no one else does, I appreciate you!), M. Massey-Jones (I’m taking your spot in the alumni band), J. Hoffman (are your ears tired, yet?), J. Canty (ditto), T. C. Lagon (ditto, ditto), K. M. B. (is BKLYN--not that other borough, in the house? Just kidding. Thank you.) and my daughter—my baby (but my oldest), B. L. M., a.k.a. “Headley” (Mom loves you, sweetheart!)

PS I actually am listening to a Robin Harris clip on TJMS. Man, I miss that dude. He and Bernie Mac—both gone too soon. RIP gentlemen.

NOW…

…that I have written about never giving up (Did I Miss The Revolution?), gotta—or GOT TO write about picking up and moving on after failure. Singer and actor Chris Brown made a horrible mistake last year and people have been trying to crucify him, almost literally, for it ever since. And one of my favorite singers, El DeBarge has had recurring, serious trouble with the law, plus a dependency issue for several years. Neither of these men—brothers, had nothing to lose when they performed on Black Entertainment Television’s 10th Annual Awards show. Absolutely nothing. Still they rocked the house and reminded us—quite passionately, why we loved them in the first place.

For Brown, it was tribute to the Late Michael Jackson (first time I written “late” next to Mike’s name; perhaps my denial is slowly starting to wane…). Though I was a little disappointed that the multi-talented singer could not pack the pain away for a few minutes to at least start and try to make his way through, “Man In The Mirror,” I still had goose bumps watching him. It was amazing. The crowd loved him. Sure, that’s cliché, but there is no other way to phrase it. They were giving him his due—something he had been begging for since February 2009.

I KNOW he would have rocked the song, yet I believe that Mike was there on stage in spirit, giving Chris a magic moment to “be one with the audience,” as MJ himself had probably done on occasion. Brown was so moved by the love that he could not even speak, let alone sing. I look forward to Chris keeping his public promise (not to let anyone down); although, the reason his transgression has been dragged out is because people are looking to judge, hold a grudge and be hypocritical. We all need to mind our damn business, let this young man go back to making a living and entertaining us in the process.



But it was El. I say again, it was El. Eldra to those who know what it’s really all about—“I Like It,” “All This Love,” “Stay With Me,” “Time Will Reveal,” “Love Me In A Special Way,” “A Dream (say what?)” and “Rhythm of the Night.” Mr. DeBarge, “still fine and he can call me any time,” let us know that he had been truly bent, but not broken. Down, but not out; shattered, but now most definitely self-assured. As El turned to face the audience singing “All This Love,” and began the lines, “I’ve had some problems…,” he had a look in his eyes that let us know he was testifying.

And while he performed, “Second Chance” (new cut from forthcoming CD), he had such a confidence about him that the lyrics very well could have said, “I’m back and I’m ready.” His crisp, seductive falsetto voice has not changed a bit; that’s a blessing given that he’s been to prison and the struggled with drugs for quite some time (listen to Whitney’s chops post-rehab…). It may have seemed a little cheesy or degrading that his second performance fell into one of the “Music Matters,” segments. MM is BET’s way of showcasing new artists who have not had much time in the spotlight yet. But in essence, El has got to pay dues all and work his way back into the hearts and souls of folks. And it might be my imagination, but to me, he seemed to enjoy singing in the same category with the “unknowns.”

And did anyone else peep the teeny tiny ironies surrounding El’s return? The fact that Jermaine Jackson was present to introduce Chris Brown, who paid tribute to MJ and that Brown himself was making a comeback of sorts? See, when DeBarge blazed the scene, people sorta-kinda compared the group to the Jackson 5 and sorta-kinda said El was the next MJ (in retrospect, though, I’d have to say, “not so much.”). And that it was Jermaine, in fact, who was already producing the older DeBarges in the group Switch and then introduced the younger DeBarges (Bunny, El, Mark, Randy and James) to Berry Gordy.

Nevertheless, with or without these coincidences, El knows he is ready to do what he does best. I find the whole thing inspiring, and my heart is so full with hope it almost weeps. Everyday folks complain about their lives and what we “go through.” Here is a person who has “been there” and back, yet still able to stand and say, “I can make it.” That’s nothing short of awesome. El almost personifies Donnie McClurkin’s, “We Fall Down.”

Axe.

P.S.: Maxwell, El thanks you for holding it down (and well!); you can take a breather…

Currently Reading: Some of Everthing (SOE) ("spring cleaning")
Currently Listening To: Just letting the iTunes play...