Who’s Coming With Me? Thank You, Jan!*

Its almost March and time for me to report about my juice challenge, as well as introduce my next 30 day reset that I’m challenging you to join.

Though I don’t have quantitative results about my juicing success (haven’t weighed myself yet), I know I have accomplished so much of what I was hoping for. I eat so many more veggies and fruit, and I don’t feel “right” if I’ve had too many carbs, especially wheat. In fact, I’ve learned that bread and wheat products in general make me feel bloated and sometimes crampy. Additionally, I haven’t had a Pepsin or desire for one in some weeks. When I have the option of choosing a sugary beverage in a corner store, I pass that case right up. I don’t choose water 100% of the time, but when I’m at home I do drink seltzer almost exclusively.

More than breaking poor food habits, I’m starting to appreciate my body more. I see it as resilient and perfectly tuned to what it needs and also to what’s harmful to it. I plan to continue making fresh juice and smoothies my daytime meals, and I hope my March challenge will deepen my positive relationship with my body.

So alas, the March challenge reveal. I’ve been stalling because I cant believe I am committing to this.

For the next 30 days I am going to work out for 30 minutes a day.

I know this build up may have been anti-climatic for some, but trust me when I say that I loathe exercise. I do a lot of walking and stairs when I’m out at school sites, but I do have to take breaks while visiting my co-located** schools on the 5th floor. I do manage to stick to working out if I have a workout buddy or specific goal like an upcoming race. I’ve had neither since 2003. Nowadays, unless a dog is chasing me, I’m not running for anything.

So that’s where I’m at. I have 2 days to come up with an exercise plan and for you to take this challenge with me. Join by replying below, or leave any of your thoughts (and prayers).

* The title is a reference to Jerry Mcguire/Half-Baked.

** charter schools in nyc share space with district (traditional public) schools. They often get the least desirable space, like the very top floors or random classrooms on hallways.

the winks and whispers

You know how I was writing a while back about how God gives us winks and whispers to let us know when we’re on the right path? Well, I’ve been getting a ton and I’m afraid.

See, I’m of that new-fangled generation where I am not content with a 9-5, and have recently acknowledged my dream of being a writer, though I’ve been composing words since I was 4 years old. At first I thought it was just teaching that was monotonous, though I love working with/for kids. I prayed for YEARS to have a job where I could stay in education, but work from home, have a flexible schedule, and all the bells and whistles with a great salary.

Well, I have that now, yet I still dread Monday mornings, even if all it means is turning on the laptop. I rarely talk about work outside of work hours, and get irritable when my wife talks about her job. Though I love my job and impacting educational change, I am learning that this path isn’t my passion either. I realize that I got in education because I believe(d) it to be a liberating force, yet I don’t feel like this is the way.

But I’m afraid of complaining to God and the universe because, frankly, I’m too scared to burn the ship. I grew up in poverty and the thought of not having enough money or resources cripples me. It’s gotten so bad at points, that I was afraid to bills THOUGH I HAD THE MONEY because I was afraid of seeing so little left in my bank account. My mind perpetually lived in the land of “what if”- what if an emergency happened and all my money was spent? What if something happened with my job and that was the last of the money? What if, what if, what if. It’s taken me a LONG time to be okay (not completely healed) with spending money and having debt (damn school loans!), so the thought of launching out on my own path frightens me.

But God keeps winking at me. First in the sermon about being where you’re supposed to be. In Glamazini’s post Burn the Ships. In the increasing, pervasive restlessness. In the pure joy I get in writing. In the burgeoning writing opportunities.

I feel my what if’s shifting to consider being a full time, PAID, writer that sparks others to live for liberation. For now, I’m putting my big toe in the water and trying to shake the fear.

On shame and “The Help”

As the Academy gets ready to award movies, artists, and technicians the prestigious Oscars, heated feelings have been surfacing about “The Help.” While some of the commentary has to do with the lack of Black presence in Hollywood unless it’s to depict us in servitude, I suspect that much of the strong feelings comes from deep rooted shame, shame about Blacks in service, as if to be in a service job is something to be embarrassed about, as the play Stick-Fly explores.

This shame is nothing new to us, and it manifests itself in many ways. At the turn of the 19th century, straightened hair and lighter skinned were valued as ways to separate ourselves from the “shame” of slavery. I remember my grandmother being disgusted about the idea of reparations. “I am NOT a slave and don’t need to be paid off,” she responded when I asked her opinion on the subject.

This shame continues today when those of us who have “made it” cringe at the “creative” names that some of us bequeath to our children. That shame continues when we hear about the latest crime spree on the news and pray that the offender isn’t black.

We attempt to mask the shame and call it race uplifting when we are the first to call out blacks and browns for standing in line for the newest Jordans (though we do the same for the newest Apple gadget), and when we lambast Lil Wayne for wearing a t-shirt to the Grammys (though the singer from Coldplay had on a ripped, bleached up tee as well).

We cringe at Blue Ivy and Puma but expect nothing less than Apple Martin or Pilot Inspektor because their parents are artists and white, and that’s just what “they” do.

Underneath the shame is fear and desire to prove that we’re the good kind of Blacks. Not the same as the “ghetto” ones, the n*ggas (don’t pretend you don’t differentiate behind closed doors or screennames.) We may never admit that fear is the driving force, but I wonder what might you feel if you were to simply accept that 1) someone’s values, jobs, and choices aren’t the same as yours or reflective of you and that 2) those who would judge you because of what they see on the news or the name on their student roster will STILL judge you even if your name is Elizabeth, not Keisha and even if you graduated from Harvard, not for-profit-nursing university.

While collective responsibility and brotherhood are vital to the health of Black America (and I don’t pretend that there is a monolithic black community), I don’t think we will ever attain out true potential as long as shame is out motivating factor.

Note: At this time, I’m purposely not getting into the historical roots of the shame and other external factors. The purpose of this post is simply to name the elephant.

On Home

This August, I will have been in NYC almost as long as I lived in California, where I grew up. My grandparents drove me to freshman orientation back in 1996, and I haven’t lived in California beyond school breaks since then.

I’ve relocated from this area a total of 3 times in my adult life, and every time, I’ve come back to this place I’ve reluctantly called home. Each time, I was hoping to capture something that I loved from childhood—space, sun, family. But each time, the allure of freedom, the full spectrum of diversity, the chance to make myself over a thousand times over, and a place where being different is the norm, called me back.

This last time, when LA was 3 months, I thought moving back was a mistake. This place doesn’t cater to backyards, changing tables, or affordable daycares. We wondered if there could be a place that will both appeal to our multi-layered selves, as well as meet our desire to provide LA a childhood close to aunts and cousins to give her the true bosom of family. Each time we explore new places, we yearn for the familiarity and complexity of home, of New York.

We found a new apartment yesterday in Brooklyn, and it mirrors the block, the brownstone, the community of my Crooklyn fantasies. My pastor at Unity of New York had a sermon two weeks ago about the magic of New York. Multiple signs point me in a direction of acceptance and Being. They remind me that perhaps I need to be still and enjoy what is, instead of wondering what could be or trying to capture what was.

 ”..whether I come to my own today or in ten thousand or ten million years,
I can cheerfully take it now, or with equal cheerfulness I can wait”– from Song of Myself, Walt Whitman

Think On This

“Don’t ever give others the power to destroy you, little brother, because they’ll take it. hour fear is their invitation.”- King Solomon to his brother Paul/Perfect in Perfect Peace by Daniel Black.

An O Magazine Meme

I got these sentence starters from the beginning of the February edition of O magazine and I’m inspired to reflect on them.

I am most creative when… I am writing, especially out in nature on sunny days amongst the trees or water. I am most creative after a period of meditation or church. I am most creative during early mornings and when I don’t have work looming.

If I were a color.. I’d be he cool knowing of amethyst or tanzanite.

I often imagine myself… as a sage or mother to many. I imagine myself as a spiritual guide or great thinker.

I really wish I knew how to…sing well in public. I’ve also always wanted to learn how to play piano or swim well or be perfectly fluent in another language, though I’m competent enough in Spanish to not need a translator.

I’d love to spend a lazy Sunday… making love listening to jazz. Or sitting in my fantasy meditation room/study welcoming sun and Spirit.

My secret talent is…. I can escape a car with my hands bound using only my toes. Hey, I grew up in the 80s and was paranoid about being kidnapped. And I had to occupy myself with something on the days my mom was convinced I needed to be oustside playing. Running around, getting sweaty and dirty was not my cup of tea so I would get in the car and develop my kidnapping-escape tactics. I was weird.

Vacation!

Obviously I’ve been gone for a few days and I hope y’all will forgive me. I’ve had a very busy 2 weeks at work and am now on vacation in Cali, my home state. I did attempt to blog while I was at the airport a few days ago but I’m not quite used to the Kindle Fire and lost the post

In that post I shared three things that made me happy.

1- My valentine’s day surprise from my wife- She took me to see Alicia Keys’ Broadway play Stickfly, which was amazing. Beyond being excited to see a play about middle class Blacks and the secrets and complexities that are revealed when two brothers bring their gjrlfriends to the family vacation home on Martha’s Vineyard, I felt so special that my wife was thoughtful about creating an experience I would love. She even got her (male) coworker to babysit LA for the day.

2- I had taken a step through fear and applied to be a contributing writer for one of my favorite websites, Elixher.com. I love writing but didn’t quite trust that it was good enough. I bit the bullet and applied before I could talk myself out of it and I’m glad I did. I’ve been accepted as a contributor!!

3- Speaking of writing, the second chapter of Pieces of Heris up here and the third should be up tonight. Check it out and let me know what you think. If you really like it, share it with your friends.

So that’s what I intended to post 3 days ago. Now off to work on the other thoughts that have been baking in my mind.

The greatest of these is love

Ugh, I broke my posting streak and have so many posts I am drafting both in my head and on my phone notebook.

But before I write about my Valentine’s Day weekend, the next installment of Pieces of Her, my thoughts on shame in the Black community, or the blog carnival I’m creating, let me remind us about love

1 Corinthians 13 (NIV)

 ¹ If I speak in the tongues^[a] of men or of angels, but do not have love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. ² If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing. ³ If I give all I possess to the poor and give over my body to hardship that I may boast,^[b] but do not have love, I gain nothing.

 ⁴ Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. ⁵ It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. ⁶ Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. ⁷ It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.

 ⁸ Love never fails. But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away. ⁹ For we know in part and we prophesy in part, ¹⁰ but when completeness comes, what is in part disappears. ¹¹ When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put the ways of childhood behind me. ¹² For now we see only a reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.

 ¹³ And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.

Think on This

“Your thoughts are your prayers.” Rev. Diane Scribner Clevenger

Think On This

A JOB is Just Over Broke. So as long as you keep looking for a job, you’ll be just over broke. But as we rise into purpose and service, …when we serve God, then God’s people will be served. Raise your vibrations to God’s will, don’t be just over broke for money.- Iyanla Vanzant