Choose Ye This Day... #WhichDoorIsYours

I hate the internets, yo. Hate’em.

I was perfectly content propped up in my bed, trolling social media, with my Riesling and dark chocolate. I had two salads today. I don’t need your judgment. #thishereblogismyhereblog

I took this in Europe in 2005. Dove stole this idea. LOL

Earlier in the day, a FB friend posted a link. There was an advertisement that attempted to show “real” women, as Victoria’s Secret made an effort, but uh… …nah. And there were all those kinda good feelings. That maybe a body type that is still nicer than mine, but it kinda closer to mine is something to be celebrated. Let the church say amenT.

I mean, I have PTSD about Victoria’s Secret. Did you know that in my adult I-Got-My-Own-Money-Even-Though-This-Is-A-Student-Loan-Refund life I have only been able to purchase fragrances and the occasional pair of panties from Victoria’s Secret? I was in college at UCLA, right? Went down to the Westside Pavilion I think it was… Everybody is getting fitted for bras. The chick looks at me, looks down at her measuring tape, looks back at me and hits me with the We don’t carry your size. I’m like, but uh, you didn’t even size me? And she looks back down at her measuring tape like, Uh, trust me, I’ve done the research.

So, eFF Victoria and her janky secrets. You wanna know the secret? She sucks!

And thank you for that advertisement. It made me smile.

I pretty much forgot about that enlightening moment because I was at work and meetings just had to happen. I went about my day. Bought as much discounted Easter candy as my reusable shopping bags could hold, then retreated to my place of solitude.

And found this.

It could all be so simple. I tend to make things harder. Me loving me is like a battle. I imagine if you thought about it long enough, you’d find out that you made some stuff really difficult too.

You already know I'm going in the purple one.

All they had to do was choose a door. The damn thing was glass. You could see inside. Both entrances led to the same place. But that one word above the threshold gave that door handle so much power. Made it just unattainable enough, that you had to face those inside demons, on the outside, before going inside.

Dammit.

I might have failed that test had that been me. I know that I’m average, I don’t believe that I am beautiful. I believe that other people believe I am beautiful. I’m average, with some beautiful moments. Like, I have to put work into beautiful, because I wake up every day exactly like this…flawed...and all. Some days there are less flaws than others, but ya girl got issues, bruh. Issues.

But I’m a hypocrite. Of the worse kind, because it’s so obvious, but it takes social science experiments like this one to figure it out. I have been walking around telling people that everything is about choice. Not worrying about others, but understanding your own. Accepting the choices you make. Learning them, and from them. Growing from them. Being content, or at the very least, finding peace with them.

And there is nothing about me that is content or at peace with being average. How can I not be great? How can I not be beautiful? I am my Daddie's daughter. I am the progeny of a great man and beautiful woman. I carry a legacy steeped with intelligence, righteousness, creativity and passion. And that’s just in the name I was given.

It’s the baggage. In talking to someone stuck in the mire of a relationship that ended with someone else’s choice, I realized that I too am damaged. Sure I knew this before that conversation, but it was pretty damn clear. Of the relationships and situationships that have ended – they were all choices, typically not mine…one, of recent had nothing to do with my insides, but completely about my outside. What that person saw when they saw me. The door that person would usher me through. The same door I would have chosen.

Imma stop letting these words bring me down.

That’s the incredible power of choice. The power of our own choices. And the oftentimes debilitating power we give the choices of others – no matter our understanding of them. Because Lord knows I don’t understand his. Even though his choice isn’t mine to understand. I could literally, figuratively, mentally, and spiritually, fix what was damaged by choosing the Beautiful door. Yet, I spend most of my time affirming his choice. Seeing what he saw.

Something, people around don’t even see.

A man told me this weekend that there was something about me that drew him in. Caused people to desire to be around me. To seek me out. To do whatever they can, give whatever they have to be in my gravitational field.

…and there I am, in front of the building, conflicted. #ForShame

Predominately Problematic

…but off to a PWI I went.

I follow The Anti-Intellect Blog because well, it’s awesome. It’s refreshing to see something other than the reality tv, silly prank videos, up and coming one hit wonders, and find your life’s passion memes in my newsfeed. Of late the discussion as been about attending PWIs and everything around that. Why people of my color choose/prefer them to HBCUs. People’s perceptions of the benefits of PWIs vs HBCUs. And the all too common misconceptions of the type of education one will get in a class of their ethic peers.

Well, what says I?

I went to a PWI/non HBCU. Twice.

The year was 1998. I was preparing to make the big decision, while my sister was away living the dream at Howard University. A very expensive dream. That’s pretty much where my mind was when decided what institution to attend. How much is this going to potentially cost my parents? Lae was in school already. I was soon off to somewhere. And after me, there were four more who would endeavor to be something better than our high school selves.

With that, I applied to all kinds of schools. Mostly because I did not think about the bottom line until it was time to pay it. I didn’t know much about HBCUs except that Lae was at Howard University, which was really far away, and that my Uncle always had something to say about some school in Texas (Prairie View A&M University). It didn’t dawn on me that there might be more to this HBCU thing because of how my high school life was set up. I didn’t like being one of few Black people in all my classes, but I found a way to survive it. I graduated conditioned to it. It was all I knew.

Conditioned or not, the real decision came down to money. With two sisters in private high schools, then one of them off to a private college, and many more on the way, I chose the cheap one. A good school, but it was the least expensive of all the schools who wanted me. I gave absolutely no thought to anything else. I know that my mother knew, but she never said a thing. She knew it wasn’t my dream, but I would never admit it. I deferred my dream thinking I was giving my parents the opportunity to give my other sisters theirs. Looking back, I was really just afraid to say what I wanted. #myhowthingshaventchangedmuch

I left for school knowing that I would be enduring the next four to five years. I knew that I would not see very many people like me. And I was actually kind of thankful for High School in that regard – because I already knew what it felt like, and I worked out all my issues with it…sorta. It was like I forgot every episode of A Different World. #ForShame

One of my first days alone in my triple in Hedrick Hall, I sat around confused. I did not know where to go or what to do. Eventually, I got thirsty, so I took my pitcher to the lounge kitchen and made some kool-aid – red kool-aid. Got some ice out the kitchen and carried it back to my room with the door propped open still. I sat at my desk, sipping my red kool-aid, looking out the window. Minutes later a Black girl, on her way to her room at the end of the hall, knocked on my open door.

          Um, is that kool-aid?

          Yea, I just made it…

     Would you uh, mind if I had some?

          Yea, sure… My name is…

And just like that, I made my first Black friend in my Residence Hall. One pitcher of kool-aid turned into spades and dominoes at least three times a week. Life Science study sessions in our elevator lobby – note cards posted on the wall. Fried chicken, cabbage, and cornbread during Spring Break because the dining hall is closed. Our numbers grew. What other reason could there be for Black kids living in Sunset Village (nicer residence halls) to make their way on a regular basis to the top of the Hill to hang out on my floor? We all looked like each other. Oh, and because I braided hair. If you needed your hair done, I was the person to see.

Eventually we all grew to take classes together. Plan trips into Westwood and Los Angeles as a group. Mended each other’s broken hearts. And plotted on the jerks who did it. Became RAs together. Let our off campus friends use our extra meals on campus. Spent summers working on campus and taking extra classes. And graduating together.

That community of Blackness is the reason I survived. Not graduated. I would have gotten a degree without them. I would not mentally survived that experience without them. You have no idea of the extreme deterioration of the psyche of a Black Woman at a PWI. Every day there is something passive aggressively said and/or with harmful ignorance done that eats away at everything you love about yourself. We were the real weapons of mass destruction, ticking time bombs living a history silently instructed in those classrooms. It drove me to a silent rage that if not released properly, would have had me in someone’s office explaining myself. Like when my group of (Black) friends and I were a little too loud studying outside of the RAs door. Having to explain California Law to white students who were certain that my being at that school was a byproduct of affirmative action. Seeing the shock in their faces when they learned that I wasn’t a student-athlete #IFitTheDescriptionTho. That I was actually a student, just like them. The Black Bruin Struggle is never ending…

High School did not prepare me for that. I had no idea what that felt like. And it hurt. When it hurt, we had a ritual. We would go eat in the dining hall, usually Covel Commons, and head back to my suite and play House of the Dead II on Dreamcast. I had the gun controllers. If it got really bad, we’d order Jose bowls from Jose Berstien’s. That’s when you knew ish was real. That was when the white noise was too loud. We needed Latinos and Zombies to help us drown it out. The relief felt in those moments, moments in which we did not say much at all. The nearness… That song has different meaning as I look back on this time.

I would have needed some of these safeguards at a HBCU. There is no doubt, being in a community full of your peers does not mean there will be instant relationships and connections. I mean, they didn’t always get along with each other. However, the probability of being able to create those things would have been higher, and much easier with a critical mass of people who already understood why I needed to wrap my hair at night, got concerned when we were out and the street lights came on, or how I look back so fondly on that one time my Mama almost whooped me blind – because losing my sight was her greatest act of love. People who would never bring me a pumpkin pie as a substitute for sweet potato, know that the penalty is death for cutting your partner at spades, and that red is in fact a kool-aid flavor. And it’s delicious.

Of all three of my graduations, I remember African Grad the most. The university graduation in Pauley Pavilion was an optical illusion at best and the department graduation was for show. African Grad was it. It was the one I wanted them to see. My parents could have been a Disneyland that Friday and Saturday – it would have not bothered me. But that Sunday night? I wanted them there to see. To see all the people part of MY UCLA. To meet all the friends, all the folks that watched me go from a boop you’re hella moded precocious first year student to a Boop, you’re hella moded and here is where I’ve cited my sources… #FACTS Alum. They felt all the love from the past five years in Westwood that day.

Knowing then what I know now, I may have made the same decision. However, it would have been more informed. I would have done my due diligence in research institutions of higher education. I would have considered the importance of being in a place with people like me the same way I considered the academic fields of study. I took for granted what it meant to be around people that looked like me. I gave very little consideration to that decision on my mental health because I had no concept of the consequences. Of which there were many.

And no concept of how much of that would be with me this very day. More than a decade later.

Accountability Buddies

#2015kIn2015 #1253MilesIn2015…Um, about that….

Okay, so let me just start by saying and am lazy as hell. And I had the never to talk about Ernie not running with me when were in the Virgin Islands at our baby’s wedding! Lawd, why’d you take my baby boy from my Jessus! He’on need me no more! What is I’m gon’do?

Wait…that’s not what we were talking about…

Oh yea, running. I was running then. I ain’t now.

But it wasn’t my fault. See, these #YAMPS got an awesome camouflage onesie which really doesn’t want me to be great. And I don’t mind it. I mean, it’s everything! It’s blessings and overflow. It’s life, more abundantly. It’s the goodness and mercy that’s not just following me all these days of my life, it’s covering my body with a hood and pockets. #2WeeksOfJanuaryRunningGone

Then there is training. Now yall know the struggle be real during training. Late nights, early mornings, and it gets hella dark outside really fast. #AnotherWeekGone

But this year, we did something a little different during training. See, I’ve been talking about running and medals so much, that all the people around me talk about them too. Especially at work. So we planned 5K Friday as part of the training activities. The entire staff team ran/walked the 3.1 miles…their pace, their race. I got to volun-cheer them on, passing out water, yelling their names from across the street, and hanging medals around their necks.

One of the graduate students asked me why I wasn’t running. There was an actual answer (click here) which I shared. But it felt like she wasn’t asking why I was not out there with them that day. It was more like, why aren’t you running your #1253MilesIn2015? To which I had no intelligible answer.

Just like that, I found my way back. My #YAMPS and I did an Adventure 5K trolling the lightrail and streets of San Jose. It felt so good to be out on the streets, running shoes laced up, starting and finishing.

There are so many secret desires in my heart. Things I want, things I am striving for, things I am going after, that I have yet to tell a soul. It feels like they aren’t supposed to know how bad I want these things #LikeLove. #1253Milesin2015 #2015kIn2015 is kind of the same way. But I told all of you about it. Like literally, all of you, everywhere.

Thanks for reminding me. It’s like the world is my Accountability Buddy! You’re all here to keep me on track. To keep my honest. To keep me focused. That like super exci…oh, wait. You ALL are here… ALL keeping me on track. All of you…

Maybe I shouldn’t talk so much?

I should maybe go run now, hunh?

Okay, okay. I’m going… Dang.

Communications Hill: Where Bad Ideas Go To Die

So yea…yall got me back running. Got a couple of lunch runs in, after work runs, opting for lightrail as opposed to driving…like I am putting in work son…

So my friend invites me to do the stairs at Communications Hill. It’s not too far from where I live, and like I really plan anything besides college football #seasonover on a Saturday morning. Okay, I’m in. It’s just some damn stairs.

On a hill, dummy. Stairs on a gottdamn hill. I promise I got to be the stupidest person with multiple degrees you know. And what has my smart arse done? I decide I am going to take the lightrail TO the hill, because then I can get a warm up one-mile run in TO the hill BEFORE we do the stairs.

And I was rubbing my hands together, starting a campfire like, this is the smartest thing you’ve ever come up with…

You dummy.

But I haven’t realized just how dumb this was, because that warm up mile was everything! Like I really felt like I was gonna be somebody and go somewhere… #areyoupayingattention?

My friends are en route, so I decide I am going to jog up the hill to see how high it goes. Because, like, I have all the time in the world, right? Well, the jog quickly turned into a brisk walk because it’s a hill, and remember dummy, you actually avoid running inclines.

As I make it to the top of the hill, my friends call. I scurry down the stairs to meet them. They are beginning their trek up the stairs, and I realize that I woke up at 8:00am on a Saturday, to walk up and down stairs. I actually have stairs in my home, but I’ve taken the lightrail, to walk up somebody else’s stairs, when I pay monthly for a set of my own.

Intelligent, right? Right.

Yo, that was a fleeting thought because somebody hit the nitro button. It was like that time I had too much caffeine. I. Could. Not. Be. Stopped.

So, I would walk/jog up the stairs, and run the declining path down to the bas of the stairs, adjust my sports bras, and do it again. And again. And again. As I made it to the cut off for the path, I saw my friends taking the route in the other direction. So, I did what any friend would do…made my approach ever so slightly and quietly. Waited until the moment they thought they were gonna give up and scared the crap out of them. I’m like Major Payne, homey…nobody gives up on my watch.

But I’m not tired yet #RunninForJesus… I decide that I am going to keep jogging upward and onward, and making bigger loops around this place because there are more stairs, more inclines, more declines, more paths, and apparently, I have all the time in the world.

Two hours later, I’ve decided that I’m done. I can go home now. I mean, it’s a short drive from here to my house, and I kinda need a shower, and I got plans with my friends later. And, if I do any more, I won’t be able to wear heels.

I think to myself, wait? Did I park at the top of the hill or the bottom? Well I must have driven to the top because I’m at the bottom and I don’t see my car. Let me pull out my keys and double check before I go up these stairs again.

Okay, just get your keys off the dresser because you left them there. Because you took lightrail.

Yes dummy. You took the lightrail. Because you thought it would be an awesome thing to have a warm up run AND a cool down jog.

I walked back to the lightrail defeated, hanging on to the smidgen of satisfaction that I conquered Communications Hill. And that smidgen was left on the lightrail because I almost missed my stop. And by the time I got off, I realized the smidgen was still in the seat, on its way to Winchester. Because not only did I take the lightrail that morning,

…I walked to it.

And what did I learn from all of this?

Nothing.

You already knew that I’d go back. 

A Motivational Experiment

It’s like a new age chain letter. Remember when email first came out? You always got those email that you had to send to 10 people in the next 9 minutes or else 8 other people you knew would die from the 7 deadly sins? Yea, those…but evolved some. I got an email from Merc entitled “Motivational Experiment”…

Instructions: Please send an encouraging quote or verse to the person whose name is in position 1 below (even if you don't know him or her). It should be a favorite text verse/motivational poem/prayer/meditation that has lifted you when you were experiencing challenging times. Don't agonize over it--it is one you reach for when you need it or the one that you always turn to. After you've sent the short poem/verse/meditation/quote/etc. to the person in position 1, and only that person, copy this letter into a new email, move my name to position 1. and put your name in position 2. Only my name and your name should show when you email. Send to 20 friends BCC (blind copy). If you cannot do this in five days, let us know so it will be fair to those participating. It's fun to see where they come from. Seldom does anyone drop out because we all need new ideas and inspiration. The turnaround is fast, as there are only two names on the list, and you only have to do it once.

And because you know I don’t conform, I read the directions, and then did my own thing. Which was what I was supposed to do. Because the words found someone “in the midst of a transition” in life. I’m just glad I had them around to find me again.

…………………………

I hope this email finds you doing well. Un/Fortunately, I’m a writer in the making, so there is nothing brief about what you have in your inbox. However, I hope there is something hidden in it that proves motivational – at such a time you need…

I’m an avid reader, which is probably why I am genetically disposed to writing. A novel that has truly found me in the best and worst places, and moved me forward into greater things from both starting points, has been The Alchemist, by Paulo Coelho. Here are a few selections from the novel that resonate with me. I reread passages all the time!

…………………………

I tend to fret over my heavy heart. All kinds of life circumstances get me to this point. Worry. Fear. Doubt. Disappointment. Heartbreak. Loss. You name it. In those moments, I find it hard to hear all the good that used to speak to me from the inside. Then I remember:

“Why do we have to listen to our hearts?” the boy asked, when they had made camp that day.

“Because, wherever your heart is, that is where you’ll find your treasure.”

“But my heart is agitated,” the boy said. “It has its dreams, it gets emotional, and it’s become passionate over a woman of the dessert. It asks things of me, and it keeps me from sleeping many nights when I’m thinking about her.”

“Well, that’s good. Your heart is alive. Keep listening to what it has to say.”

Success is a silly fear. I finally accepted that one day, on a plane, speaking to a stranger about a dream. About becoming a writer. Having written a “book” and even with starting a blog the dream feels ever the more distant. Today even, I war with the thought that I am a writer. Even in this email to you. Because it’s a dream. A really big dream:  

What you still need to know is this: before a dream is realized, the Soul of the World tests everything that was learned along the way. It does this not because it is evil, but so that we can, in addition to realizing our dreams, master the lessons we've learned as we've moved toward that dream. That's the point at which most people give up.

I work in crisis management. And although that isn’t the only frame for this next thought, the reality is, I see sadness. I see young people daily who have such powerfully potent potential locked inside of them. They are life changers. They are world changers. They make everything about me better. And then, something bad happens. And I weep for them. But, in my weeping, I feel the worst guilt. Because in acknowledging their losses, I have a desperate gratitude for all that I have. For it not being me. And I sometimes feel bad about that. Feel bad that I have achieved some great things, great things that others will never realize.

The mere possibility of getting what we want fills the soul of the ordinary person with guilt. We look around at all those who have failed to get what they want and feel that we do not deserve to get what we want either. We forget about all the obstacles we overcame, all the suffering we endured, all the things we had to give up in order to get this far...

I can remember back in undergrad as a Physiological Sciences major. Everything about that work was hard. Tough. Difficult. I had to study all the time. Whether it was calculus, or physics or cadavers, I always had my nose in a book. On the outside to others, it seemed like the concepts just came to me. Like it was magic. Most people did not know how I struggled to perform in those classes. I, many times, wondered if I was “cut out” for it. I felt like it should be more natural. Things should just make sense. But they never did, not until I accepted the fact that I had to commit. I had to work hard. I had to put all of me in it. Because on the other side of it, there was something bigger than I could imagine.

“Why do they make things so complicated?"

“So that those who have the responsibility for understanding can understand,” he said. “Imagine if everyone went around transforming lead into gold. Gold would lose its value.”

“It's those who are persistent, and willing to study things deeply, who achieve the Master Work.”

I’m Christian. I only make that statement to inform this next thought. My absolute favorite, most inspirational verse in the Bible to date is Romans, 13:8… Owe no man any thing, but to love one another: for he that loveth another hath fulfilled the law. His description of what happens when we love (aside from fulfilling God’s law) continues to inspire me.

Love is the force that transforms and improves the Soul of the World. When I first reached through to it, I thought the Soul of the World was perfect. But later I could see that it was like other aspects of creation, and had its own passions and wars. It is we who nourish the Soul of the World, and the world we live in will be either better or worse, depending on whether we become better or worse. And that's where the power of love comes in. Because when we love, we always strive to become better than we are.

And there are times when I wonder the meaning of life. And I realize that I will never know. And knowing that I will never know, or be able to comprehend that sometimes sadness me. It makes each minute feel less meaningful. What is the purpose for the search, if I know now that I will never really know? Then I remember that:

“Every second of the search is an encounter with God.”

Gratitude. I have much to be grateful for. And because I know myself, I know that I didn’t deserve many of the things I have, like the daily grace I get from God. Knowing that, I often times find myself actively refusing the vessels He uses to bless me. The people He uses to give me more than what I’m due. I wish I didn’t feel that feeling, that I’m not deserving, or that I have to accept exactly what I’ve given. I almost always respond as the Monk did. So as I’ve journeyed this life, I have learned to be gracious in my giving and even more so in my receiving.

“This is for you,” he (the Alchemist) said, holding one of the parts (of gold) out to the monk. “It's for your generosity to the pilgrims.”

“But this payment goes well beyond my generosity,” the monk responded.

“Don't say that again. Life might be listening, and give you less the next time.”

I pray you are well.

All the best,

Well Done. Well Done, My Friend #LetThyWillBeDone

My friend revealed to me one of his fears. Getting older. I thought, of all the things in the world, why would that be his fear? He is physically strong, mentally strong, and is always in such a good mood. And honestly, he doesn’t look his age now, so by the time he gets to the age he fears, he’ll look 20 years younger than it.

So, I did what I do best. Gave him all the reasons why he shouldn’t fear getting older. As I spoke to him, I realized, I was trying to convince myself to be unafraid. Because I fear it too. But for far different reasons.

Death. I am afraid, because the older I get, the more I have to face the death. People are leaving me in this life, yo. And since no man knows the time, it’s always going to be a surprise, a shock, a something that’s so unexpected, that I will almost always, not be ready.

And I certainly wasn’t on this day.

Someone I did not spend a ton of time with, went on to see the King. True to my fashion, I bottled it up and went directly to the silence of my mind #hiding #BuildingWallsInside #KeepingTheWorldFromComingIn #InTheShadowsFeelingBlue. You would have thought that one of my cousins passed away. Like one of them, I woke up alongside Christmas morning opening presents in Texas. I felt energy leave my body. Like, I actually felt it leave. I weighed less. And I knew in that moment that I would miss the heaviness for all the rest of my days. I sat in my office, at the computer stunned. Knowing that I should probably grieve but not sure what exactly that meant in the moment.

See, if you knew this man, then you probably felt some of what I felt. Regret for not spending more time with him. Pissed that you didn’t reach out that one time he randomly crossed your mind. Wondering if you were almost as kind to him as he had always been to you – knowing that he was indeed more kind, but hoping you were almost as good in return. And why? Why him? What in the world did he do that required his life?

Then, you realized that you answered your question. Without knowing a single of his flaws (I know that they were there, without knowing a single one of them) you know that he was good anyway. I have literally never witnessed this man in a bad mood, speak a cross word, or take a picture without showing his pearly whites. Literally all of his smiles have an ageless joy in them! Wise. Smart. Happy. Giving. Encouraging. He always knew the right thing to say. Like Hell Naw! when I asked him if he was going to ice skate with us… Loving to a fault. Especially us Black folk. Yessir, he loved his people. Our lives really did matter to him, no matter what we did with them. In the time that I knew him, I never needed his help, yet I am absolutely certain that if I called him in need, he would have been there. How crazy is that? To know that to be true. #That’sFaith #BelievingInTheUnseen

#GodRevealsThingsToMeAsItypeSometimes #There’sABlessingForMeInThisBlogSomewhere

And then to know all of that is gone. That this life is less because he is no longer with us. That because so much was given to us in one man, that much more is required of us. To remember him. To speak of him. To be kind to someone else, because we cannot return the kindness to him. To love others who don’t deserve it, because he cared for us when we were undeserving, and kinda ungrateful. Because much like us children of (great) men, we friends of (great) men have a legacy to continue. We have to be more because they were. Everything about that is hard to do, because they’re not here to encourage us along the way.

We have to do it anyway.

Someone once asked me who I was. And without thinking I replied, I am the sum of all the goodness, all the kindness, all the love that others have bestowed upon me. This started with my parents, creating the vessel and showing me the first acts of love. It continued with family, with friends, and with the amazing people I have met in these 30 some odd years.

And him. Some of who I am is who he was. And so it seems that I horcruxed a little bit of him too, like Daddie's bible.

I gotta believe You know what You’re doing Lord. I just gotta. I’m not sure any of this will make any sense if I don’t believe You know what You’re doing.

Rest well. I just gotta believe that my friend is resting well. Dwell well, Reg. Dwell. #WellDone Absolutely goodness, and mercy, followed him...all the days of his life. 

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.