January 20, 2015 #PartII

Memory. I remember that first half marathon experience so many ways. All of the emotion of running my first half marathon ever. Being in one of the lowest points of my (love) life and not really celebrating all I accomplished, because I couldn’t see myself. But the beginning was what I remember most about it.

From ending…to inception…

for. the. win! yasssssssss!

I tend to make lots of phone calls while I’m in the Dollar Tree. I mean this place is perfect for a student affairs professional. You need a basket? Bubbles? Gift Bag? Party Favors? It’s a no brainer – they’re all $1.00. Plus, I don’t do regular foil anymore, I prefer my Reyonlds Wrap pre-cut sheets – so I go to Dollar Tree. Walking around “high on ResLife” and “high on running” I called my best friend. That’s also a no brainer. If there is a random thought running through my head, he’ll indulge me. But this wasn’t exactly a random thought – this was a competition. See, before Charlie Sheen was #WINNING, we were already all over that. We aren’t the super competitive types that won’t speak to each other; we’re the perfectionist competitive types that are really concerned with doing our very best. He doesn’t care that I’m not a professional athlete – if we’re doing a 40-yard dash, I better be in it to win it… I don’t care that he’s never taken an Organic Chemistry class, he better be all over those protons, neutrons and electrons.

The Challenge. Strip. The Strip. The Strip – At Night. 13.1 most awesomely fantastical miles down the Las Vegas Strip. It’s on. It took me maybe 30 seconds to convince him to do this with me. The deal was done. The conversation was over. My bougie foil was paid for.

     

We spoke irregularly about the race in between infrequent text messages. I was heading to Las Vegas soon, so we’d really get these details together when I got there, kiss my 2 god-daughters, and finally – FINALLY meet his significant other. I was excited to meet the girls and nervous to meet her. Not for anything that she’s done (or not done), but because it’s me. The Female. The Female Best Friend. What in the world has he told her about me? Blamed on me to get out of something? (because we’ve all done this to our very best friends at one point – don’t you dare lie) What he hasn’t told her about me? You just don’t know…and a woman, walking into another woman’s space can be a recipe for disaster.

     

I’m back in Vegas baby!!! Not on the strip just yet… Hanging out on the outskirts meeting his just about whole family. They were gorgeous. Though I was so uncomfortable for the most part, I was so happy to see my friend. The man who knows me better than any other man alive. There is this overwhelming sense of peace and calm that envelops me when I am with him. I’m less worried, less anxious, less everything that I don’t need to be.

     

We sat on that couch, my family, chatting about random things. Which of course lead the discussion of how I was going to leave him in my tracks when I crossed the finish-line. The conversation was as unassembled like a 1000 piece puzzle. We talked about what I was going to wear, how long the race was, the training plan for it, the dance I was going to do at the finish line, and how it would be hella cool to run, stop by a casino, and get a drink every few miles. I could not have been happier. To do a half marathon, in Las Vegas, in the evening, with my best friend in the whole wide world running with me (part of the way…yea, we definitely were not going to be able to keep the same pace, he’s a professional athlete and my chest is the size of a small child).

     

Then she spoke. As innocently has his daughter speaks to him. Well, maybe not exclusively innocence, like 80% innocence, 20% message. That damn 20%. So it seems (things he conveniently didn’t tell me) that his significant other has always wanted to do a marathon and/or running type event with him. She didn’t seem to have as much luck with getting him on board with the idea as I had. Like I was then going to say anything about the 30 seconds it took me to get a verbal agreement from him. Nope, just like a man, unsure of how he got to this point in the relationship where he obviously did and/or said something wrong, I shut up.  

The conversation ended amicably… After all, to her, I was still more or less company, and she wasn’t going to show her spots about this – at least not yet or to me. It wasn’t my fault, or was it? I gave him the “how dare you put in the middle of that” side eye. And then, just like Chrisette, I had my epiphany. It was clear – crystal clear to me. And before I could speak the truth in my storm, I had to let my best friend have it for his.

     

There is no problem with a man and a woman being best friends. I realize this thought strikes many people as odd, if so, this means, this isn’t for them. You can’t do it. If you think it’s odd, then you have doubt, and you can’t enter into a relationship like this doubting. I’m not going to say something silly like, “to me, he is just a guy” or anything like that. My best friend is super fine – if I met a man like him on the streets that wasn’t him, that fool could get it. He’s a great guy, he has a good heart, he’s smart, he makes me laugh, and he really gets me. These are all great qualities for a mate. But they are also perfect qualities for a friend. And that is what he is to me. It wasn’t meant for us to be together – and while I don’t say that to test God, I just say that to say, today, we aren’t that.

     

But herein lies the rub. I can get him to do just about anything with me. And much like my father’s love, I dare not abuse that. We like to compete – so if one of us lays down a challenge, the other is accepting, bottom line. It’s more than our pride though. We’ve seen each other through some really amazing times, and we’ve had to stand beside each other all by ourselves. We know things about each other we’ve only told each other, things we have entrusted to each other that we’ve never spoken aloud. We have a very special connection. Something many people may not ever really understand. And we really don’t care. We are who we are.

     

It was crystal clear! She doesn’t hate me. She can’t hate me; she doesn’t know me. And the reality is, it’s a rare person that actually “hates” me. Who doesn’t love a Leo? But what she will hate, or dislike, or what will always give her pause, is that there is a woman (no matter the relationship) that can convince her man to do something, to go somewhere, to get something, to say something…there is this woman who is connected to her man in a way that she will never be – because he has a female for a best friend.

Memory. He didn’t run that race with me officially that day. But I would not have finished without out him convincing me to start. And every time I thought about quitting, I thought about him. It was literally the only thing that kept me going. Not the music, the water, the gu, or the thought of a hot shower. It was him. I’d like to think that I ran that first half marathon for myself. It sure started out that way – as something for me. But it was all for him. It was a gift to him. A sign that I was on my way to finding myself again.

And he loved it.

I went back to Vegas in 2013 and did it for myself.

And he loved that even more.

January 20, 2015

Memory. For many years, my best friend in the whole wide world never remembered my birthday. He was always doing something football related. The day would come. Someone would eventually remind me that it was my birthday. I would spend the rest of the day (not) celebrating. And the day would end. Like clockwork, two days later he’d call and wish me a happy birthday as if I in fact, was born on the 20^th of my birth month. Funny. He was born on this day, the 20^th, the first month of the year.

Now that we’re older and grown(er), he calls on my birthday. I hear my beautiful goddaughters with their Happy Birthday GodMother! shouts. Then he gets on the phone and we talk. He usually has some inappropriate birthday wish for me. I chuckle uncontrollably. Then we end the conversation. Without saying it, we thank the Lord for another year we’ve been blessed with, and being able to be the same old us.

Memory. You know, I started this blogging ish because of something I wrote. It wasn’t on purpose at all. I did not get that medal in Las Vegas after I finished my first half marathon. So, I wrote the Competitor Group a letter. I shared it with Alicia maKeykey. She could not believe it. I added it to that thing I called a book. Then she made me read it aloud to people like Carrie Bradshaw. And, it became my very first blog post on these here internets.

But when you read about it, or see it mentioned in my hashtags, it just seems like all the other races. The good, the bad breathing while running, the AWESOME playlist, the crazy runners around me, the finish…everything except the medal. And mostly, that’s true. But this race was unlike any other race for a couple of reasons:

It was my very first half marathon.

My best friend was with me the whole time.

Memory. I remember this race experience so many different ways. This race experience will always be that way, because he was part of it. From ending…

The first man I ever said “I love you” to was my father. He gave me life, and I repaid him with love. And because we love each other, we never take advantage of everything it means. We speak our truths and our “I love you’s.”

The second man I ever said “I love you” to was my best friend. It was not planned. I wasn’t exactly the emotional type back then, so it surprised me when I said it. I was probably more shocked that after I said it, I didn’t even think about taking it back. Hold up... I meant it? Well damn, I sure did. I didn’t feel uneasy, or awkward. I felt free. Like I finally repaid that $10 I didn’t want to borrow, or returned that book I used last quarter. He looked up at me and told me he loved me too. We exchanged love like Monday Night Football highlights. We got each other up to speed on the catches and missed tackles, then went on to the next discussion topic.

We never talk about that day. We don’t ever need too. We know what we are to each other, and that is enough. I was there to make sure he believed in love, so until he finds love, he has me. And he was there to share my life with – and until I find someone to share it with, he’ll be the one at the finish line in all my competitions. And he was.

In 2011 I ran (or something like it) a half marathon in Las Vegas. On the strip. At night. Strip At Night. I was too busy drowning in my sorrows to see how proud of me he was. To see me being all the things he knew me to be, when all I could see was what I wasn’t. Those damn “nots” – they are so binding. That’s the thing about him. How he sees me. I’m not the sum of my “nots”…as I tend to see myself. If you were to ask me what I was, I’d tell you all that I wasn’t. Ask him though… To him I’m not a sum of my nots… He doesn’t see what I lack, for all that I am. I’m intelligent. A great cook. An artist. A prolific writer. A loving person. I’m going to be a great mother, he says. I’m an awesome sister. I make my parents proud. Oh, I’m brave, confident, fearless.

He didn’t deserve what he took for me, on my behalf that day, and I don’t deserve him still. He walked with me step by step as my corral migrated to the front smiling the entire time, he celebrated my finish before I could even see my start, he watched me jump the road blocks as my corral left me while I was waiting for the bathroom, and most importantly he photographed me at the completion of 13.1 medal-less miles so I would never forget how incredibly defeated and depleted I looked at the end. I stood – barely – in the lobby of the MGM Grand and thought about my life and the decisions I made which led me to that place that particular day. I would have cried, but losing any more liquid in the moment would have literally ended me. And when I couldn’t take another step, he made footprints for the both of us.

Crossing the finish line I still didn’t see it. How many people do I actually know, run in distance races, let alone half marathons? Oh man, he was sick (and tired) of what I became, but he never showed his frustration, not once. He made me sit, in the car, the passenger seat, at McCarran Airport and hear about this really wonderful person he knew. She was intelligent, one of the smartest people he knew, kind, pretty, and dammit, one hell of a woman. He said she would find what she was looking for, but she had to start being person she was supposed to be. I could tell he wanted to be frustrated; I think becoming a father helped teach him how not to be. Tab played professional football, and he had not competed the way I did. I did something athletic that he would probably never do, and that was amazing to him. That made him proud, and he couldn’t understand how I could make it so small, so tiny, so forgettable.

Memory. I always remember his birthday. It’s today. He’s a year older, wiser, braver, and funnier. I’m a year luckier.

There are so many wishes that I have for my best friend on his birthday. But I dare not speak them. I do, however, pray that I am everything I need to be for him when he walks into them all. He's going to have everything I ever did hope for him...and then some.

Happy Birthday.

Standing In The Gap #ItsMothersDay #IAlsoWentToTheGapToday

I have been lost a while, in the silence of my mind. It’s the place I go when I am unable to make heads or tails of my feelings, my emotions, my thoughts, my life. It’s the place I go when my life doesn’t make any sense.

It seems that almost nothing can bring me out of the silence. I wander there. I never make my way out of it on my own. I always need help. I always need someone to save me. And as luck would have it, I got salvation.

Today. On Mother’s Day.

It didn’t come from my Mommie either. Though she usually finds me when I’m lost. It came from a child. My child. My baby girl who spent no time in my uterus. This morning, I awoke to a text message from her which simply read: Happy Mother’s Day Mommy!! :)

I have gotten that text message from her every Mother’s Day for the past 6 years or so. I smiled and rolled over. Attempting to get a few more zzzz’s before getting ready for Church.

While at Church, we all took a moment to greet each other. Introduce ourselves, shake hands, and love on each other a spell before the message. I reached out to an elderly black woman a row behind me. A woman who’s birthed generations of greatness, I’m sure. I'm absolutely positive.

Me: *smiling* Happy Mother’s Day Ma’am!

      
Her: Thank you. Are you a mother?

Me: *humbly shaking my head* No ma’am, I’m not. 

Her: Well, *pause* I’m sure you’ve mothered somebody’s baby. Happy Mother’s Day to you too.

And if I didn’t have that text message in my phone, I would have said, Well, I don’t know that I’ve done any of that. Because some of us never really know what we have actually done until someone sends you an unexpected message telling you exactly what you have done.

Then I remembered about that one time, when I attempted to write something that was like a book. And the life I wrote about. And the people in that life. And my baby girl was there waiting for me to remember her.

Of all my babies, she was the most naive, so I protected her like any mother fearing the dangers in the wilderness would do. I protected her from my mistakes, cleaned up after hers and openly and outwardly loved her. She had CM’s heart, AD’s attitude, MP’s reservation, and KF’s cluelessness. Milly made me think of my girls often. Mostly because anytime I said something to AD about her, AD reminded me that I only had 4 children. But they never needed me like she did.

And like all my girls, she longed for a father. So this made any man, anywhere, a potential suitor. Milly already picked her pony in this race though. And she, never having met “that guy”, was prepared to go all in. I was ready to let him go while she kept heating the embers left in the ashes.

She fought that fight alone and in vain. There is no telling really, the life she planned for me and “that guy”, but it included her – even the wedding. She would have been fine being a flower girl. Milly was all the way in that life and that is what mattered to her. While I was in Tennessee I obliged her innocence with my ignorance. What was a broken heart anyway? Wasn’t the first. Wouldn’t be the last. It was going to be broken eventually? Right? Riiiight…

Milly guarded my heart like a watchdog. I rarely, if ever, let her see me cry. Anyone really, but her especially. It was too much and she was far too young to recover from it. She needed to believe in love, a mother’s love and an intimate love, so I had to hold on to a few things that weren’t real. I also had to show her a few things that were. Because when you love someone, you have to be unselfish enough to give them what they want.

Daddy TWP. Somehow, my best friend became Daddy TWP. What were the qualifications you ask? He was (is) handsome. Milly was certain of many things – like the fact that there was something going on (or had went on) between TWP and I, and we just didn’t talk about it. She wasn’t the first to believe this. She won’t be the last.

Our friendship, or relationship, or the *ship* we are on or were on at the time was estranged by the National Football League. He was busy living his dream while I was bored losing mine. I missed my friend. I needed my friend. So I decided to scrapbook my very best friend.

Old photos, laughs, memories, and other things that he and I would understand, a story succinctly told in 50 or so pages.

ooooooo Mama, what’cha doing? I wanna do it! Milly’s voice was always full of curiosity and excitement. She didn’t have to announce herself anymore, she had the spare key.

I’m making a scrapbook. Not sure I even looked up from the kitchen table.

Who is this cutie? Hmph, he’s fine!

That’s my cousin. Smiling, each picture was such a found memory.

He’s still fine.

…and that’s SDP and that right there is TWP. My three men.

TWP? What he do? Where he live? Is this your boo? Oh yea, he can get it! Milly’s reactions to attractive men were fairly scripted. The questions are sometimes asked in a different order, but they always end with, Oh yea, he can get it!

Wow! Um, no, that’s my best friend. He plays football and he’s going to get this scrapbook. A decision I made right then, in that statement.

Still stuck on the “um, no” Milly couldn’t get any further, ...you ain’t never did nothing with him? You should…hmph, this my new daddy since you don’t know who my real one is… Oh yea, Daddy TWP.

For weeks she watched me cut, paste, copy, print, do, re-do, match, tell and re-tell days of old. When I was a different me in a very different world. Milly listened more attentively to those stories than any of her classes. She could recite them like old family memories. I wish she would have paid more attention to those classes though. But I knew she loved them – the stories. Hell, I loved telling her. For no other reason than to remember people who made my life something special. I never thanked UCLA for bringing us all into the same space, so that we could be all the things that we were to each other. Westwood was a wonderful host. I suppose as long as I keep paying Direct Loan Servicing Center, I’ll always be saying a special monthly “thank you”.

By the time I finished (or gave up because I couldn’t add any more pages) she understood. Just like CM. Love isn’t anything but love. It’s not self serving, or lustful or any of those things you see in romantic comedies – it’s not even all that funny. The biggest sacrifice you make is loving someone else. It will be easy to do because that’s the nature of love, but it will require your everything – the hard part. It doesn’t feel space or time or distance or anything but itself. There is no explanation (which baffles the scientist in me) for it. It is exactly all that it is, and that is enough.

Milly flipped through each page, sad to see it go, impressed with my attention to detail, confused by some of the messages, curious about the inside jokes, but certain that TWP and I could love each other and that be it. Though, I know, she hopes for the “Harry Met Sally” ending. I can feel it.

Milly would leave MTSU for Atlanta, Georgia. One of two things about Atlanta that would break my heart. As much as I didn’t want her to leave Murfreesboro, I know that my sin, leaving her, would come with a great consequence. And though I didn’t make that decision for her, she is my child and I should have set a better example for her. It wasn’t time for me to go. And neither was it for her. But I understood. Any parent worth their chops know that some lessons have to be lived to be learned.

…and learned to be understood.

And just like that, I’m back. Back to my purpose in life. #writing #mothering #godmothering #GapFilling&Shopping #seewhatIdidthere

I'm busy...Godmothering!

Isley: Godmother, your legs are big.

Me: Yes sweetie, I know. Godmother is a bigger adult person. #ugh #runningintheAM #thestruggle

Triana: Godmother, why are you doing that to your hair?

Me: I have to wrap my hair because it’s different than yours. If I don’t wrap my hair at night, I’ll have to do lots of stuff to make it pretty like yours in the morning.

Isley: Are you sleeping with us?

Me: Yes, I’m getting in (that little bitty bed) with you both. Where else would I sleep?  #CallTheChiropractor   

Where are these sold?!?!?!?!

I am a Godmother. I have four beautiful goddaughters. And one handsome godson from another friendship.

My very best friend in this world has 4 beautiful baby girls, 3 of which I get to see from time to time in Southern California. They make my world so much brighter, so much bigger, and I am a better human being because of them. My life is so much, so exponentially better with them in it.

So I got to see them this past weekend. Like I did during Halloween. TWP and I planned it perfectly. I was going to come down hours before the time all kids impatiently await. Trick-Or-Treating. I was going to escort my girls on their candy coated adventures.

I walked into the house, costume in tow, ready to surprise their pampers off! Triana looked up and said, “I knew you would come Godmother.” She walked over calmly, hugged and kissed me. And then asked me why my fairy wings were black. Nobody ever told them I was planning a trip to town. 

They are amazing. And I always count them on my list if blessings. I have the power to influence them. Whatever Godmother says is true. And Godmother says they are the smartest, prettiest girls in the world. I get to love them fully, completely, with the wholeness of a broken heart. Do you know the wonder in that? The amazing experience it is to live that moment. I am the mother, given to them through parents, by God.

It scares me to death. 

You've met me. This is not a shocker.

I remember watching the movie Raising Helen. After her sister and brother-in-law dies and she inherits what? The children. Not the other sister who has a family, children of her own, and is totally capable, able and knowledgeable enough to take care of kids. Helen does. The sister who is a young, single, vibrant woman living the big city life. A person who doesn’t practice thinking about anyone other than herself, because she doesn't have to.

And that’s exactly what I’m saying every day I proclaim with pride that I am a (single) Godparent. That should something terribly unfortunate (please don’t) happen, I “get” the kids.

Whoa.

That’s heavy. Even when you consider the fact that I have fully grown kids of my own I never birthed. Or the fact that I grow kids up into adults on a daily basis. That is real, yo. 

And I suppose it’s the unspoken reason why. Like in that movie. Most parents aren’t ready to be parents, even those who “plan” the pregnancy – if there is such a thing. Everything about that experience is new, scary, unknown and lots, LOTS of mistakes are made. And they read all the books! But most parents figure it out. Make it work. Grow their kids safely to age 18. And send them to me, to get them safe(ish) beyond 21. 

Why would TWP choose me, of everyone he knows, to do this thing for him? To be the godmother to everything his partner in life makes inside of her? Same reason that sister chose Helen.

I got this. #challengeaccepted

Because I know him. Because in many ways I am him. And if he should depart this world too soon (whenever we leave one another it will be waaaayy too soon and neither one of us will be ready) I will be the one representing him. The way his girls remember him. Saying to his girls the things he would say if he were here. Taking them the places he would want them to see. Hugging them the way he would want them to be embraced. And love. Loving them the way (or at least something like it) he would want to be loved. Should he leave the world before me, I am the person who will show his children the man he was. His greatness. His limitations. His hopes. His prayers for their lives. His aspirations for the future. The specific, unique, individualized love he had for each of them – because that’s the way I will have to love his girls. The smile on his face when learned he would be a Dad, then a Dad again (and again, and again). The joy in his voice when they spoke their first words, took their first steps. And how he worked so hard to give them the best life. I have the history of him, locked away in my heart like insurance.

Just in case. #reallifeinsurance 

And when they sit around looking at pictures and relics of his life, I will tell them. His feeling on that day. What his life was like in that moment. I will reveal his (approved) secrets because I know them all. And they will laugh, and cry, and grieve – just a little. Never too much grieving, because he would never want us doing that. I’ll also remind them of that too. He would never want us to forget him or to grieve him. Rather remember him, be better because of him, live lives to honor him. I’d also have to make sure his girls did that too.

Before this weekend, being a Godmother was awesome. The best! Then I realized the job description.

I wish I could say I wasn’t qualified. You know, give this very important job to someone else so I can worry about all these things I don’t have control over like I normally do. Problem is, I’m the only person on earth qualified to do the job.

And I am afraid I will disappoint him. And not be what I need to be to them. 

January 20, 2014

This is where we began. #andmiddle #andneverend

Last Wednesday night, I was on a plane headed to Amazing, by way of Atlanta #thuglifeairport. I met a man on said plane with whom I had the most interesting conversation that I am going to post about this week. Anyway, the subject of my best friend came up. My best friend who happens to be a man. He, much like many others have asked if we’ve ever attempted to be more than friends. I mean, Brown Sugar, right? The answer, despite that awesome soundtrack, remains No.

But people seem to be dumbfounded by the why. I want a lover with the desperation of single chicks in the clubs with spandex life suits on. My secret thirst for my somebody’s son is at DEFCON 1 and on Level: Serengeti. I swear I see weapons of mass destruction and mirages daily. I’m not the bitter …always a bridesmaid, never a bride…throwin’ ‘bows for the bouquet chick yet…but it is real (single) in these streets. But patience is virtuous (says Jesus) and life is a waiting game (says Corinne). So, if you must wait, and not eat snickers, shouldn’t you still get something? I mean, even in the Olympics there are other medals, right?

Now wait. My best friend is no consolation prize. To know him is to have entertained something angelic. But as much as I need a lover to love and laugh with me for a lifetime, I need a best friend to do that same thing a different way. And nobody should have to be in desperate need of both. I can't take all these selfies by myself!!!!!

I’m not sure you will understand this. But I will try to tell you anyway.

Can you understand how a man and a woman can love each other perfectly, being imperfect beings? How two people can respect each other in their separate lives, but have a oneness, something so especially innocent together? Support each other's dreams, protect them like the gates of Asgard. Daily, without words, remind each other who they are – because they are the best reflections of each other when they forget. Speak truths to each other, and hear them, listen to them, and pack them away until they are needed again. To know a thing about the other, without ever sharing it…just completing the thought one had about said thing. To laugh. Hysterically. Often. Even when the conversation topic is terrible. It’s never #TooSoon. Like NEVER Too Soon! To have someone that doesn’t count each tear with numbers, but with hugs. And that be all there is.

Can you understand that? I hope so. Because today is my best friend’s birthday.

"Some people, no matter how old they get, never lose their beauty – they merely move it from their faces into their hearts." #AudreyHepburn

Shots Fired!!!! lol *bang*bang*