Over a YEAR. A full YEAR since I've blogged?? What the what?
I guess that kind of makes sense though. This year has not been my fav and I tend to ignore the bad like a kid ignores vegetables.
Nonetheless..."its been a long time, I shouldn't have left you".
The Good:
I'm alive. That counts, right?
Actually today is a pretty good day. I feel sorta healthy (don't worry still fat), I'm feeling close to and happy about my family, I feel connected spirituality and close to my congregation, I'm working out with some measure of consistency (my trainer is hot and flirty-I'm finally glad to go to my exercise class). My hair is fab.
Let's expound on that last one shall we.
I went to the shop a couple weeks ago after my annual summer attempt at being natural-This time I lasted a whole WEEK! Yay!-for a press and some much needed color. Being its summer and I could use a pick me up, I wanted to go just a LITTLE lighter then my normal copper penny color (think: brand spanking new copper penny and that has been my signature color for the eons that I have been on this earth). My lovely stylist and I have been together for years. She knows that I am vibrant when it comes to hair, when I get a weave I want ALL 8 ounces in my head, the more hair, the more Mufasa/diana ross it is the better I love it. So even though I explicitly said no blonde, I am now blonde. How did I not notice this was happening, you ask. Well my stylist also knows that I don't complain and I don't question. You are the professional I came here to get your services, I intend to allow you to do that with little to no interference from me. So unless the pain is unbearable, or you are completely going off the rails I'm pretty much going to let you do your thing. Letting her do her thing ended up with me being a black girl with a whole crown of blonde hair. Yep, I'm that black girl. The one I swore I would never be, yet here I am. Grey and hazel contacts, have been ordered-I just thought I would complete the look. Ridiculous fake eye color aside, turns out I'm a pretty hot blonde. Who knew.
Also, a blonde white woman made a joke about being forgetful and being blonde and then turns TO ME and says, "but I don't have to tell you about that". Hahaha.Umm.Wait.What.
The other new love of my life is SEWING!! My mom was a seamstress the whole while I was growing up. I took a sewing class when I was young wherein we made a Blossom scrunchie and a drawstring tote bag and the teacher constantly hounded my "lead foot". I knew then that she and that dumb class were beneath me. What was I supposed to do with a scrunchie?? After that class I think I turned a few pairs of jeans into skirts and maybe made a terrible dress. Other than that sewing gave way to electronics not to be heard from again until last month. I decided when my mother visited that I wanted to learn to sew. When I tell you that this woman was happy. Doesn't even begin to explain it, me sewing with her is THEE happiest/proudest moment of her life. Needless to say it was a fun activity to do together I made a dress, shirt, 3 skirts and a dress by myself after she left.
Jennwill Black Label Fall 2013. Get your life.
Despite my crisis of career (more on that later) the amazingness that is my friend(s) have enabled me to take some fantastic trips this year. Spent a week in Puerto Rico in February. Let me tell you, you want to see the perfect mixes of African, Latin, Native, European-go to Puerto Rico. I have never seen that many wildly attractive men in one place. It felt like what being a man in a major city must be like. Also explained Lil Wayne's "I wish I could F every girl in the world"...if the "world" is Puerto Rico and the genders were reversed-I totes get it.
Then last weekend I went with my book club to Napa and Sonoma. Someone described it as Wine Disneyland. That is completely accurate. You just go from building to building drinking, all day. And no one judges you. The only problem is that now that I am home, I still want to start my day with Champagne and drink various white and red varietals throughout. Why is that wrong? Why does society say that each day can't be a wine tasting day? Darn society. According to my dad it starts with mornings of champagne and turns into Boone's Farm and living outdoors.
The
Life has been interesting lately. And not interesting in the good way.
A HUGE part of my life is changing and with it my perception of who I am and what I am about. When life does an about face it calls into question what is success, what makes me happy, who am I, how do I identify myself. I realized that I am a title person. <--- See I LOVE a title to something.
Jennifer the Title Person
Put simply I like to exist in a box. I am a woman. I am black. I am a lawyer. Those are my boxes. I don’t mind if you infer whatever you will from those titles, they are who I am and I’m totes cool living in those boxes. They make me feel safe and responsible. See I’m so responsible that despite the first two boxes, I did good for myself!! Be proud of me!
But what if I’m not a lawyer then what’s my neat little box? Business person? Person with a job? I work at so and so? Those are not well defined boxes. That’s more like a bin, or a tub, or vat. Boo to vats. Boo to my pride. Which was much further grown and rambunctious than I would like to admit. I thought far more of myself than I needed to based upon attaining some sort of ‘accomplishment’ that trust fund kids attain in droves while coked up and barely attending class.
The reality is my title is just a job. It describes the sort of work I can do. It doesn’t even necessarily describe the work that I actually do. And yet I was married to that title. That title kept me warm at night, fulfilled my need to be ‘about something’, let me check the success box, the self assured, the good head on her shoulders expectation of myself and others. That title was better to me than any boyfriend I’ve ever had. And perhaps that is most akin to what breaking up with this title is like. Its like breaking up with the love of my life-the man I wanted more than anything for years. The man I worked so hard to finally get into my clutches. The man who appeared gorgeous and perfect, who just looked like he would treat me like a dream. Then after I got him I realized he wasn’t shit. He was more trouble than he was worth, he didn’t satisfy me in the least…but when we went out and I got to introduce him around town, I could see his reflection back in the eyes of onlookers and it was good. He made one hell of an impression . But after years of living this pretend life wherein I’m happy with him, we’re breaking up. Did I waste those years getting him and being with him? Does breaking up with him make me some sort of failure? Perhaps I was never good enough to be with him anyway? Etc, etc, etc.
That’s been my grieving process over the last 8 months or so. And just like a real break up I’m finally feeling better. I’m coming back around. I’m realizing that he simply wasn’t my passion . And when its time to move on its time to move on. Cut your losses and keep it pushing. That is where I am these days. Keeping it pushing. Figuring out my life and moving in a new direction with it. A direction where I enjoy what I do, where I’m not caught up titles, where my ego is not the motivating force in my life decisions.
Oprah used to talk about how as you age you become less and less concerned with the thoughts and opinions of others and that it was one of the best things about getting older. I can attest to that. I’m 31. I give 50% less fcuks about others opinions about my life then I did when I was 20 or 25. And that is wonderfully liberating. No one else lives, or funds this life of mine. I’m the dictator around these parts.
Welcome back to my kingdom.
