The Peace in Not Knowing

Recently, I lost my wallet at dinner and was completely worry-free about it for an entire evening...because I had no idea it was gone. As I've done more times than I care to admit, I take my debit card out of my wallet, sit the wallet in my lap while I wait for the waiter to return my card, place the card back in my wallet, and then continue conversing with my dinner guest. I stand to leave...and, well, you see where this is going.

Luckily, my last time making this faux pax, I was at a business dinner and left slightly before everyone else. A board member saw it on the floor as she was leaving and picked it up to return to me. You can only imagine my surprise when she handed it to me at the meeting the next morning. Upon reflection, it frightened me to think that I slept peacefully through the night, without a care in the world, while the "gateway" to all of my finances were out of my hands and out of my control. However, what tickled me most is that in not knowing, I was completely at peace.

The incident also made me reflect on other ways we lose our peace (and opportunities) by worrying about how others might perceive us. I've often heard the mantra recited: "What other people think about you is none of your business." My wallet incident could not have provided a more true example of that sentiment, and it made me wonder how many times we're halted in reaching our full potential because we're worried about the thoughts of "others." Do we not pursue dreams because we're afraid of being seen as "wistful"? Do we not seek certain adventures because we're worried of being labeled as "different"? Do we put goals on the back burner for fear of being lauded as "self centered" or "delusional"? Whatever keeps us stuck, rest assured there are little voices in our heads, made up of an audience of our perceived worst critics, helping us stay put.

As renowned psychologist Dr. Kelly Neff states,"The root of the problem with caring about what people think about you is that you're attaching yourself to an outcome that you have absolutely no control over. [W]e must now give ourselves permission to release, [which] frees up an immense amount of time and energy to live in the NOW...."

Release. Freedom. Positivity. It all begins with loving and honoring ourselves first, and knowing that when we authentically do, those who truly love us will do the same. And for those who don't, it truly is none of our business. As comedian Tina Fey simply puts it, "Do your thing and don't care if they like it." Much like the freedom in not knowing my wallet was lost, may we all find joy in not knowing--or giving life to--the naysayers and negative thoughts that keep us in our holding patterns. Here's to flying free!

Photo credits: N/A

A Reflection in Purple

It's been exactly one week--and maybe even to the hour--that a part of my childhood forever died. To say the untimely death of one of the best to ever do it left me in an amount of shock, hurt, pain, and devastation normally reserved for the loss of a family member is to put it mildly. No amount of classic songs, repeat watching of Purple Rain, tribute parties, or countless conversations with family and friends, have yet helped me--or any of those in my circle--fully accept the "purple permanence" of what is now our reality--a world without the genius we were blessed to experience being forever silenced. A mic literally dropped. A guitar rift reverberating off of the empty walls of our hearts. An iconic voice drifting into the eternal. Prince Rogers Nelson transitioned from living art to a monumental memory in the blink of an eye. And accepting that bitter truth is proving to so far be an insurmountable challenge.

With life's demands reducing me to one blog post per month, I certainly had no idea--or desire--to write one on yet another musical mastermind called away, after barely piecing myself back together at the news of the passing of A Tribe Called Quest's Malik "Phife Dawg" Taylor in March. The acceptance of losing one fourth of one of hip hops most iconic groups--and, yet, another part of my youth--was barely taking root in my conscious when the blow of Prince's passing arrived with the force of a wrecking ball. To say the first part of 2016, with the losses of so many of our musical treasures--Natalie Cole, Maurice White, David Bowie, and, ironically, Prince protege Vanity, to name a few--has been unfairly heavy, is an understatement, and finding a way to pay tribute to them all is indeed daunting. But Prince proved worth the challenge.

So much has been written about his Royal Badness in the span of a week--speculations on his life and death, think pieces, reflections from friends in and out of the business--that much like the man himself, who lived life on his own terms, own time, and in his own fantastical state, yet in unquestionable privacy but with unabashed freedom, there isn't much left to say. As I mustered up the energy--and courage--to even lend my reflections to his commemoration, I struggled with how to best do so.

Did I begin with my memories of sitting mere rows behind him during sound check in an employee-only filled Capital Center arena in November of 1984 (God bless my sister for taking me to work with her that day) or of countless hours playing "air piano" on my ivory dresser top, while daydreaming (read: scheming) of ways to leave home and rock out beside Lisa & Wendy or of reading every Right On and Black Beat magazine article I could find to try and catch an inside glimpse of my "boyfriend and future husband"

or of pouring over the one unauthorized biography of him floating around during the 80s to learn everything I could from his family tree to his prowess on the basketball court before mainstream media knew (or cared) or of the butterflies I got in learning my mother was finally relenting in letting me see Purple Rain or of the countless times I watched it when it finally dropped on VHS or to learning every song and video dance move of his and his proteges from Vanity 6 to Apollonia 6 to Sheila E. to the Time to the Family to making sure to try and tune into his performance on every award show and TV interview (though rare) to catching him in concert on a decade-by-decade basis--which seemed to always mark a major transformation in the essence that was Prince--to the recent discovery that I share my baptismal date with his birthday (I promise you that wasn't planned) to the recent solace I found in friends as well as strangers as we traded stories and memories similar to my own, that I'm sure are also the memories of countless, immeasurable fans around the world.

So as I struggle with how to best remember the Artist, the Symbol, the Icon, the Legend; how to start a blog post worthy of all that he was and a legacy that now begins; how to find some way to put on paper the impact that both his being and departing made on me, I realize I just did. And for that, I simply say thank you, Prince, for the memories, for the music, and for the magic that was and always will be you...

...Til the dawn.






Photo credits: N/A

Ode to A Quest That Ended Too Soon

While most folks start their day with morning coffee, boisterous kids, or rambunctious pets, mine started with a loaded, single, text message: "RIP PHIFE!!!" And just like that, I wanted to go back to bed, pull the covers over my head, and travel through that "path of rhythm" to a place where it was impossible that the larger-than-life, though proudly self-proclaimed "5 footer" lyrical virtuoso Malik Taylor, better known as Phife Dawg, of one of hip hop's most conscious contributors to the genre--A Tribe Called Quest--was still on this earth with us. But he was not. And my heart skipped a beat in the acceptance of that.

Let me be clear: I didn't know Phife personally, but the impact that he, Q-Tip, Jarobi, and Ali Shaheed had on that space and time between many of our late teen years and the ushering in of our young adult years was tangible and real, especially for those like me who attended an HBCU, where doing so already gave many of us permission to be "smart, conscious, and cool," something that ATCQ mastered while also providing a "soundtrack to life" for both new and seasoned hip hop voyagers to party to, to build to, and to be conscious to while, at the same time, giving musicians and lyricists permission to "push it along" and try something new. Although having found a sanctum among its Native Tongues brothers, De La Soul and the Jungle Brothers--both groups who added bold strokes to hip hop's growing collective canvas--something about ATCQ felt different; daring; transforming; and lasting. Fortunately, they were all of that; all of that except the latter. 

In the plethora of recent conversations I held by phone, e-mail, and text--all had in my own quest to make sense of the dimming light of another (hip hop) star--one truth I expressed was being more grateful now than ever for Michael Rapaport's directed 2011 documentary "Beats, Rhymes & Life: The Travels of a Tribe Called Quest." Until that point, no one had sought to explore and capture the magic of ATCQ in their most vulnerable state and "bottle it" in that time-capsule called film. Upon its debut, it instantly became a "keeper" for me, not knowing the the even heavier weight of its existence now. Say what you want about Rapaport, he single-handly provided the only side-seat conversation we've had and now will ever be able to have with the funky four--a masterpiece, now easily deemed a timeless piece of art.

Suspicions and speculations aside, it laid bare the good, bad, and, sometimes ugly of our beloved Statesmen of Hip Hop, but it made the music--and the many years in between where there was silence--painfully understandable, yet even more desired. In fact, the most poignant scene from the documentary is not found in Q-tips aloofness of indifference toward him or Ali Shaheed's unique way of "outer-twining" himself from the group's discourse or Jarobi's impassioned breakdown in discussing Phife's illness and, ironically, not imagining life without him, or even witnessing Phife's struggle to regain love (though we know it was never really lost) for the one he traded some of the dopest lyrics to ever cross our ears, on point, and all the time, over five albums and almost 30 years. 

No, despite it all, the most stirring moment in "Beats Rhymes" was the closing five seconds of the documentary where these words appear: "A Tribe Called Quest has not released an album since 1988. They still have one album remaining on their original 1989 contract with Jive Records." Ironically, Jive Records ceased operations the same year the documentary was released. But that didn't diminish the optimism of Tribe fans everywhere, that despite make-ups and break-ups, solo efforts that were less than stellar, late night show teaser reunions, forays into online music and sports arenas, and even entrepreneurial culinary explorations, that the Tribe would rise again, just one more time. That is, until March 23, 2016, when the Funky Diabetic succumbed to the one thing he couldn't out rap: the drumbeat of time.

Impresario of Sound Questlove once said he felt compelled to drive to El Segundo and leave his wallet there in homage to ATCQ, a group he largely credits with awakening his musical calling into the world of hip hop. I suspect there are many of us who'd gladly take that road trip with him; I being one. We'll never know what our ears would have beheld in the years to come if life and death--and that thing called ego--simply didn't get in the way, as it often does. But for those of us who've heard at least one Tribe song, purchased one Tribe album, or saw one Tribe concert, we know we experienced a special moment in time. The lives they touched and the landscape of the music they changed was and continues to be far reaching, and integral to it all was that Five Foot Assassin. 

So, rest in paradise, Phife. You Found a Way to Kick It with your Youthful Expression and left Footprints for us to walk in After Hours. You took us on Award Tours and was a Motivator to help us Find Our Way. You gave us 8 Million Stories in your Lyrics to Go taking us on musical Excursions where Everything Is Fair and God Lives Through. No need for us to be Stressed Out or fall to The Pressure. We'll Get A Hold and Keep it Moving, 'cause you did it all for The Love...and we will forever love you--and the whole Tribe--for it.

Photo credits: N/A

A Reminder of Our "Oscar-Size" Responsibility

As we are in the full swing of awards season, one of the biggest and most acclaimed award shows of them all is upon us--the 88th Academy Awards, airing on Sunday, February 28th. Ironically, my first ever blog post on this site was written about the 84th Academy Awards and its unsurprising "selectivity," in choosing what roles and works of art featuring African-Americans (as shown here) were deemed worth celebrating. Long before hashtags such as #OscarsSoWhite and #OscarsSoWhiteAgain became hot trending topics, we may have been invited to the "big show" but, even then, we were not always celebrated for what we considered to be our best.

Year after year, though several deserving films by and featuring African-Americans hit our big screens bringing with them solid plots, strong writing, and stellar acting, acknowledgment of those movies or performances are cast aside like film strips on a cutting room floor. This year is no exception. Although we were  blessed to witness a wide range of  outstanding performances from Michael B. Jordan in "Creed" to Will Smith in "Concussion" and marvel over explosive films from "Straight out of Compton" to "Beasts of No Nation," we again found ourselves and our works listed nowhere in the list of Academy nominations. The outrage has (again) made headlines; a black actress has called for a boycott in attending; and in less than seven days, we'll see which of ours in the entertainment industry will heed the call to stay home and who will take to the red carpet in unabashed glee.

Fortunately, due in large part to social media-driven discussions, the topic on the need for diversity in Hollywood seems to be gaining better traction, as even the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences first black female president Cheryl Boone Issacs has vowed to see to it that equality both in front of and behind the camera--as well as more recognition for both--is achieved. What impact she'll actually have on the 89-year-old "good ol' boys club" remains to be seen.

In the meantime, however, I encourage us to support the numerous awards shows from the NAACP Image Awards to the Trumpet Awards to the American Black Film Festival Awards, that celebrate the full range of us and our works; to continue to pour into theaters to support all of our movies on opening weekend instead of waiting for the convenience of their cable debut; to use some of the money we spend on designer wear that make our counterparts richer, and instead donate to one of the many GoFundMe campaigns of our independent artists struggling to bring their vision to fruition; and to, simply, always be reminded of our responsibility to uplift each other. We must not wait for opportunity to find us and, in turn, we must not wait for the acknowledgement of others to celebrate our talents. Let's focus less on trying to fit in and instead celebrate standing out. When we do so, we are reminded that we are all we need to be validated.

As Jada Pinkett-Smith so passionately stated, "Begging for acknowledgement diminishes one's dignity." While the rest of the world decides to catch up in acknowledging African-American artists as the multi-talented beings that they are and celebrate their works in their full glory, let us never lose sight of who we already know ourselves to be-- gold statue be damned. 

Resolution #1: Honor Yourself

As the new year unfolds, most of us start it by making lists; lists outlining ways we can be better and do more. Be it volunteering for an organization, giving more time to the church, or spending more time assisting family or friends, we often set off busying ourselves giving to others at the expense of our overall well being. Without even knowing it, setting out to be our best often involves us giving our best to everyone else. However, a recent incident reminded me that the most important resolution that needs to be at the top of our list is to honor ourselves and, if possible, to do so first and foremost.

When a  dear friend recently came into town, she sent out a request for dinner with her closest girlfriends. We were all elated and went about our task of trying to find the best night to meet and the perfect restaurant to do so. As usual, with so many great choices, suggestions abound and we struggled to settle on just one location. At an attempt to simplify matters, the visiting friend asked one of our girlfriends to host us at her home, so we could spend more time catching up without the time restraint of a closing restaurant. Not an earth-shattering request, but what happened next did rock my world. The friend--in a loving and gentle way--declined. Honest and without lamenting, the friend boldly but gracefully shared that she was not in a "head space" to do so and that she simply did not have the energy that hosting required and, with that, we finally did settle on a restaurant, which we gathered at the next day for an awesome dinner and great conversation (we did close the restaurant down), and had just as a delightful evening out as we would have had lounging on our friend's couch with wine glasses in hand. 

However, days later, I realized my friend's bold move was still lingering in my thoughts. So much so, that I reached out to tell her how much I admired her for honoring herself, because I knew how much courage and resolve it took for her to stand by and up for her feelings. In fact, when I told the friend how much I applauded her decision, she admitted sending us that message was like having an out-of-body experience, and I totally understood that. You see, like most women, giving unselfishly to others, is what bonds my sister circle. Yet, it's also often the chief topic of conversation when we get together, i.e. how tired we are, frustrated we are, or disappointed we are as a result of a lot of that "selfless" giving, all because we, more often than not, choose others first over ourselves. 

Seeing my friend love herself enough to honor herself first was even felt in the words she used to decline. There was no disregard or malice in her message; no self-loathing. She simply let us know she was giving herself the love she needed to show up at our gathering as her best self. And in doing so, she reminded me that if we desire to continue being our best for others, we have to start by being "lovingly selfish" with our time, energy, and space. We have to learn to decline the dinner invitation when we're fatigued; to decline the opportunity to sit on another committee when we're struggling to make meetings for the one committee we're already on; to decline chaperoning that one school trip when we're barely keeping up with that week's work; to decline hosting that dinner party when we're simply too exhausted to do so and, in exchange, to accept saying "yes" to whatever it is our mind, body, or souls need more of at any given moment. 

As I once heard an inspirational speaker say, there's a reason flight attendants instruct passengers to put the oxygen masks on themselves first in the case of an emergency before helping others. It's a reminder that unless you care for yourself first, you're of no help to anyone else. Ironically, as I write this blog post, Keeping Up with the Kardashians is playing in the background and this particular episode finds Khloe telling her sisters she's exhausted meeting all of the requests being asked of her. Her sister Kourtney suggested she simply take a day, off to which Khloe responded, "I can't. No one will understand that." Well, no one has to understand that. The only people that need to understand that, and know the value of that, is ourselves. And learning when to say "yes" when we need to and "no" when we need to, is the first ingredient in living our best lives ever. 

So, as we embark on making the next 362 days as great as they can possibly be, let's start our list of resolutions with vowing to honor ourselves first so that we can--with proper peace and renewed energy-- honorably serve others.