Next Stop: Boston
photography // KIAH MCBRIDE
location // BOSTON
I travel because I thirst for experiences. A certified nomad I don’t know how to sit still, I just know how to get up and go--no fear, nothing holding me back. In fact, I’m the most free when I’m not being confined to one city. I like going places I don’t normally go. No bucket list, I want to see it all. I don’t believe in limitations, you never know what you’ll get from traveling to the unexpected and exploring the unknown. A life mantra.
I touched down in Boston on an early afternoon. After a three-hour plane ride to the melody of a screaming baby I was more than ready to hit the ground running. I didn’t exactly grow up watching baseball, so the Red Sox was of minor interest to me. And the Celtics weren’t my chosen team, but thanks to grandpa I knew the names of Bill Russell, Larry Bird and Kevin Garnett.
Boston wasn’t on my top destinations list either, but one thing I’ve learned about life is that every place has something to show you—either about its history, its culture, or simply yourself. It’s rare that I ever leave a city less knowledgeable than I arrived, and conversations with locals rarely fail to be interesting.
Especially ones with rideshare drivers. As an UberEats driver myself (don’t judge me), I know that the average driver isn’t simply there just for shits and giggles. They’re either seeking something, running towards something, or running away from something--and the entrepreneur-esque lifestyle is the perfect vehicle to get wherever they’re going.
My first driver, Sami, shared his story of transition from LA to colder territories. He hated the lack of diversity of the city (“too white,” he said while pushing a pale hand through dark hair), and felt guilty about not wanting to get out of bed at 6AM to hit the running trails that is characteristic of Bostonians.
“I hate waking up early.” Me too.
I pointed out that at least he’s near the water. Something that I truly miss about my time in LA. Despite my couple of years of being a 30-minute drive away I didn’t hit the beach for Instagram-worthy thirst trap shots as much as I said I would, or visit the coastal cities that sprinkled the western coast—a reminder that we often take the smallest things for granted. Instead I traded in salt water for hot and sticky summers where sweat trickled down my spine before 9AM. Being in the south has its perks, but relaxing summers isn’t one of them.
A short ride later we pulled up to the Boston Park Plaza.
“Oh you’re in a good area. You’ll love it,” Sami said, plopping my suitcase on the sidewalk.
The hotel has this grandeur about it. An elegance that appeals to my inner bourgeois. And though the lobby is more spectacular than the room I had, there was a softness about it. Besides, just a few months ago I was unemployed and unable to afford my own room, nor was I actually paying for this trip (perks of my job). I was Issa, not Molly. I wasn’t in a position to be picky.
Plus my brick wall and across-the-street-office-building view made stripteasing and twerking to trap music in front of open blinds more enticing. I have a thing for natural light. Hopefully, a Kim Kardashian photo of my naturally light-skinned breasts won’t end up somewhere on the Internet. (But if you see them, pass them my way. They way my bank account is set up I need to collect a royalty check, please and thank you.)
I wanted to nap, but my grumbling stomach said otherwise. Legal Sea Foods seemed to be the best option a short walking distance away. Ironically I would end up at the same restaurant, three times in three different locations throughout my trip. It’s funny how we’re creatures of habit, comfortable in our cycles, even when we don’t intend to be.
“It’s funny how we’re creatures of habit, comfortable in our cycles.”
The daytime hours of my three-night stay were primarily spent attending a conference. At night I joined my newly-made acquaintances of ranging brown hues. Even in a strange land we formed a community (waddup #BlackAtInbound!)--clinking sangria, margarita and glasses of Hennessey as if we were old friends, discussing our shock over Janet Jackson and Bobby (the two-part BET Bobby Brown series came on during our stay) and diving deeper into other cultural discussions over warm bread and, you guessed it, food.
I did duck off for a few hours at one point. I didn’t come to New England just to travel back and forth to a convention center. I craved exploration. And while I didn’t get a chance to take a river cruise or find me a sugar daddy in Martha’s Vineyard, I did get yelled at by an older white man as I attempted to snap photos in the famed cobblestone Acorn Street (so much for the sugar daddy). I skimmed past brick brownstones typically characteristic of New York boroughs as I quickly navigated my way out of the obviously-expensive neighborhood. A black girl with locs and a DSLR camera slung over her shoulder didn’t belong there.
But I did belong in the library, which is where I was eagerly headed when a voice begging for money called out, grinding me to a halt. Okay so I did speed-walk past said voice the first time, pretending not to hear his cries for food. I, too, was hungry--and not exactly in a financial position to give. But then again, when you have more than the next you’re always the person of abundance. And if I got it, I’ll give it. So I backtracked to the grungy character, who at six-feet towered above me with straggly gray strands, pale skin and tattered clothes.
“You got any money? I’d like to eat and nobody will stop.”
“How about Panera Bread? I can get you some food. I don’t think I have any cash.” I was ready to whip out my debit card. I prefer to feed someone knowing that the money is going to a good place as opposed to feeding a bad habit.
He shifted on the balls of his feet. “I can’t really eat real meals, only snacks. Whenever I eat a meal it makes my stomach hurt.”
“Maybe you just need something healthier,” I said, starting down my usual path of preaching nourishing cuisine, then stopped myself. This man didn’t need a lecture; he needed someone who cared.
I stopped glancing around for a place to get snacks and pulled out my purse, not quite sure of what I had, if anything since money seems to leave my wallet quicker than Sallie Mae comes after her loans. But I did have something. A handful of dollar bills that I had pulled out earlier that week, thinking that I would be able to wash my car before leaving town. Luxury.
I started to pull out a couple of singles, but glanced at the man again and pulled out the whole stack ($6), folding it into his hands.
“Don’t do nothing bad with it, okay?” I said, looking him adamantly in the eye.
“Oh no, I won’t, I promise,” he said with a toothy smile. He thanked me, and as I started to walk away shouted, “I love your hair. You girls do so much cool stuff with your hair nowadays. I wish I could do that.”
I smiled and waved goodbye, silently happy that I was able to help, even if only a little bit.
Air-conditioner blasting, the library was cool and a nice break from the heat, its centuries-old books smelling like rich history and must--a welcoming scent. I quietly captured the iconic Bates Hall with its seemingly endless row of green lamps, and slipped into the Abbey Room before stepping out into the warm afternoon air. I walked back to my hotel to change (in front of open window) before catching a ride to meet up with my newfound conference crew.
This time I climbed in the car with Sabir--a young Brazilian immigrant who came to the country eight months prior after finding out his fiancé cheated on him with his best friend. Shit. America was his escape from a drug addiction that he picked up in the midst of his emotional downward spiral. And now he was picking people for a living as a part of his recovery process.
“I didn’t speak any English when I first came here,” he said in a thick accent. “I went to Las Vegas first and couldn’t get any work, then came here and started driving Lyft. I still didn’t know much English. I would have my riders teach me little words here and there like door and mirror, and learned along the way.”
“I didn’t even know who the Patriots were. I had a scarf that someone had given me laying across here,” he gestured his hand across the dashboard. “I just liked the colors, but people kept asking me about the Patriots, and so finally I said who are these Patriots?!” We both laughed, me more so because I hardly knew myself.
“Anyway, English is a beautiful language, but I still struggle with it. I’m going to school to learn so I can talk better with my customers.”
I told him he spoke wonderfully and that I wished I could learn his language instead. And I meant it. I always feel a bit ashamed of not being multilingual (I do speak some Spanish), as if I think I’m too good to humble myself and learn a language beyond my own, especially when in another country, or shoot when in America, another neighborhood.
We pulled up to my destination, and as I got out I wished him luck with finding the right woman. He smiled hopefully. We all need someone who genuinely loves us.
“We all share this desire for love, for acceptance, and for community. ”
That’s one thing I love about traveling. With every conversation--no matter the destination or differences in racial ethnicities or environmental backgrounds--I’m reminded that we all desire the same basic human necessities--not just physically, but emotionally. We all share this desire for love, for acceptance, and for community. We’re all wanting to be seen or heard, to know that we matter. And despite language and cultural barriers, we’re all divinely connected. And that’s something not to be taken for granted.
Masters of Destruction
Confession.
There was a time when I wanted let go, but didn’t. To trust, to get lost in his love. But a part of me feared the part of him that wouldn’t choose me daily like I chose him. So before I allowed him the space to show me what’s good, I had already mentally planted a seed of the bad.
I fussed.
I nagged.
I questioned.
The type of crazy shit that had him second guessing if he made the right decision, or if I was just another average chick looking for attention.
Subconsciously I pushed him away. Insecurities had me seeking his validation. Addicted to his compliments, I went through withdrawal whenever it seemed he was short on them. And as a consequence we lost so much time getting stuck in the shallow end of our relationship instead of diving deeper into one another. Dysfunctional lovers.
Mistakes of irrelevant persons from the past disrupted future possibilities. Stillbirth—the love was dead upon arrival. Drowned in a sea of doubt, there was little chance for its survival.
Broken women break things before they’re built.
Masters of destruction, we’ll create problems and place blame when significant others don’t produce a solution. Self-sabotage at its finest, we’re our own worst enemies. Putting unfair expectations on our partners as if they’re supposed to be our healers, when they just want to love the depths of you. To taste and embrace the parts of you that have yet to be touched. And if they really dig you, they want to do more than just dig into you. They’ll weed out the possibility that another will come in and grab your attention.
It wasn’t up to him to be my physician. He wasn’t responsible for making me whole. And while his actions could’ve helped to bring ease, I had to realize that when you’re a woman of substance, there’s no seat at the table for competition, and rest easy knowing that even if he chose another, the essence of who I am is irreplaceable.
Evolution
photography // Coco Dandridge
creative direction // Kiah McBride
IN HIGH SCHOOL THEY CALLED ME A HOE.
My body count wasn’t high, my self-esteem was just low. I sacrificed position for temporary pleasure, my reputation tarnished as my heart got colder, and my light grew dimmer.
I was looking for something to satisfy parts of me that were awakened too soon to understand, and too immature to protect. New girl, new city. I fell for pretty smiles, cool demeanors and intellect, and as boys tend to do they took advantage of that shit. Many shouted lies in public then whispered sweet words in private. They begged for a taste of what they thought others would get, and wanted to appear cool at my expense. Silly rabbits, I never could respect little boys who lied on their dicks.
Chatty patties that never stood a chance played their position between friends. Mask off, mask on—they smiled in my face then wondered why I covered up when they came around. I knew they would go back and slander my name for their own gain; I’ve never respected boys who were thirsty for fame.
I sipped a little too much, and moved a little too reckless, leaving a path of self-destruction then attempted to pick up the pieces when another didn’t master discretion. Zane books taught me the art of sex, but failed to educate me on the consequences.
Had I waited until college I would’ve been deemed free—sexually liberated. Instead, I found myself gasping for air, the weight of poor decisions crushing me. My lungs collapsed, I could hardly breathe. So many nights were spent drowning in my own tears.
I needed a change.
And being one who never showed weakness, I picked myself up, and strutted out of there with my held my head high. To where? I didn’t know. But I knew I had to move towards something greater than who I would become if I were to settle for less than who I was destined to be.
IN COLLEGE THEY CALLED ME A BITCH.
I never thought that I was better than the next, I just looked in the mirror and didn’t like who I was, so I began to transform into the woman I would one day be. I skipped spending the night in random dorm rooms and found fulfillment in focusing on my career and diving deeper into my inner being. Still, there was a part of me I couldn’t completely suppress. I still craved the attention of another. So I teased a little. I knew what they liked.
But something changed in me. In their eyes I read what they wanted. Our tongues danced over L-words but I quickly realized we weren’t speaking the same language. So I left many blue, or better yet, I ignored them altogether. I wanted something deeper, something more. Not something that would fade from memory over time. And the more I recognized my worth, the more they began feeling some type of way. Bitch.
And then I found love. First in him, then in Him. He would be the last one to penetrate the depths of me, and HE would remind me who I really was. That bitch.
NOW THEY CALL ME A QUEEN.
The road to redemption began with accountability. A lot of people talk about wanting to be the best—to master self-love—but few are willing to work for it. But I scratched, I clawed, I dug deep and found the roots of my pain. I stopped pointing fingers and started to ask myself the hard questions. The ones that were just a little too uncomfortable; the ones that most avoid. To become who I am I had to let go of the fantasy of who I wanted to be. I embraced the dark parts and in the shadows I transformed—so quietly, so subtly, every piece of me challenged, shifted, molded. Shaped.
Handcrafted by the Creator, I began to take note of every crack and crevice. Perfection.
Every blemish, every flaw. Perfection.
Every slick word and raw emotion. Perfection.
The mastery of them all? Elevation.
I tucked away naïveté and self-doubt. Doubled up my portion of self worth. Insecurities were no longer security blankets, nor were they shackles chaining me to the former me.
I set aside promiscuity and temporary pleasures. Becoming a woman taught me that you can be saved and sexually free, but timing is key and discipline is everything. For now I’m savoring myself, because I’d rather save the best for whoever is last. Mature palette’s only, I know my taste is acquired, not fit for everybody. I’m no longer a box to check or a prize to be won. I am beyond the confinement of labels.
And the journey has allowed me to be unapologetically me. I’m able to walk in my truth without taking away from any part of me. I still sensually whine my hips. I’m all rhythm, no blues. I’m the melody, an unforgettable lyric. A story waiting to be told. Purpose personified. Prophesy fulfilled. Yet the chapters are still being written. I’m still unfolding. I’m still becoming. The divine feminine.
Or simply, divine.
Being Unemployed Made Me Better
As I write this, the Marta whooshes by my bedroom, so close that if I leaned over my balcony, I’m sure that I could touch it. Cars slosh through the rain, the sound echoing loudly against my window, and the steady rumble of cargo containers being stacked on top of one another in the adjacent train yard have become a soundtrack of sorts, playing a harsh melody outside my window all hours into the night. A year ago, I would’ve complained.
I would’ve found a way to move out abruptly in hopes of finding a bit more peace and quiet—I would’ve desperately sought comfort. But today, I’m just thankful to be able to afford a place of my own to live. Today, I’m reminded just how blessed I am to be able to say that.
But you didn’t come here to hear about my apartment. You came here to hear my rags to riches story, though I’d say the riches are in the knowledge that I’ve gained, not in the paycheck that I’ve acquired. Perhaps, like me, you were once unemployed and desperately seeking respite from your daily struggle, and have lived to tell the tale. Maybe you just started on that journey, maybe you’re still on it, and there’s a deep feeling of loneliness as you fight through your situation quietly in hopes that nobody knows just how real life has gotten for you. To you, I say, there would be no testimony if there wasn’t a test.
“The riches are in the knowledge that I’ve gained, not in the paycheck that I’ve acquired.”
And while our level of struggle and sacrifice may differ, the commonality is that it’s a mental, emotional and spiritual battle that will challenge every part of your being. But if you get your mind right, it will transform you in a way that you would never imagine.
WHY I LEFT LA
I’ve previously talked about my move to Los Angeles, so I’ll hit the fast forward button and press pause at where I was just five months ago—curled up on my bed in a rented room in Granada Hills. I shared a house with six other men and women, majority of which were 20 – 30 years my senior. At $600, it was the cheapest thing I could find.
Ironically, December 2017 was the month that I made the most money since my move to LA, but only because I picked up as many catering shifts as possible. I traded in Christmas Eve, Christmas Day and New Year’s Eve with my family just to earn double my normal pay rate. The reality of the situation hit me hard when I realized that I wasn’t serving wealthy people because I wanted the extra money, I was doing it because although that month was a feast, I knew famine was just around the corner.
Despite having multiple clients ranging from corporate contracts to individual projects, my freelance gigs were unreliable—I often went weeks without being paid on time, which resulted in deep anxiety whenever another bill notification hit my inbox. I was juggling five catering companies, freelance gigs, dog sitting and background acting in hopes that if one failed the other would cover me. Meanwhile I was applying for full-time jobs, but as far as I know my resume never made it past the inbox and into a recruiter’s hands.
This situation had gone on for months, and I did my best to keep my head up and a smile on my face—not because I was being fake, but because I knew that there were people in worst situations; I didn’t feel I even had a right to complain. I couldn’t blame my situation on anybody but myself, poor decisions that I’d made, and the miscalculated risks that I decided to take. But that day I had finally reached a point where I was tired of being strong. I finally stopped fighting back the tears and allowed myself to cry.
In all honesty it wasn’t the circumstances that was the final blow, it was the realization that I wasn’t even doing work that I was passionate about. My dreams had been pushed aside while trying to survive, and with the exception of one or two projects, I was taking on work just to earn a paycheck. The death of a dream is worse than the struggle to achieve it. I constantly ran into and worked with people who moved to the city with a dream in their heart and light in their eyes just for it to become extinguished once they stepped on the hamster wheel. LA was La La Land. Despite what Instagram showed, people were surviving, not living, and I could see myself slowly following in their footsteps as I gasped for air in attempt to stay afloat.
“The death of a dream is worse than the struggle to achieve it.”
I knew I wasn’t going to drown, but I also didn’t see sense in swimming against the current when there was a better path to take. After speaking with a couple of friends I knew what I had to do. But it required me to swallow my pride, to be willing to look as if I’d given up, pack my bags and return back to the east coast to get my shit together. With little hesitation, I sold everything that didn’t fit in my car to help cover my relocation costs, and journeyed back home.
BACK TO ATLANTA
I hit the road in January. Before I left I had a plan to move to Atlanta and hit the ground running with my job search. However, my housing situation fell through a week prior when someone backed out on renting me a room. I arrived in Atlanta just a couple hours into my birthday, but I wasn’t there to stay. I didn't have the money to lease an apartment, and this time I refused to move without a job, so instead I drove to North Carolina to live with my grandparents in Hertford—a small town outside of Elizabeth City.
I arrived with just a couple hundred dollars to my name. I was still freelancing, but payments weren't coming in on time. Bills were getting paid late, and late fees were being tacked on. I wasn't paying rent, but I was (and still am) five-figures in debt, just to pay the bare minimum I needed at least a rack coming in every month, but with the exception of the clothes I was selling on Poshmark, I was bringing in zero.
I had already been applying for jobs since December, but I kept getting rejection emails. I shrugged it off because I've had to hustle before. I was used to putting in a ton of applications before getting a positive response. What I wasn’t used to was not getting any positive responses. For two months, to be exact.
I continued to apply for jobs. Any job. I signed up for temp agencies. I put in applications at Planet Fitness, Applebees, wherever. Minimum wage in North Carolina is only $7.25, certainly not enough to cover bills even working full-time, but I was desperate. Yet nobody was hiring, and because I wasn’t in Atlanta it was hard for me to even be considered for jobs with temp agencies. I kept getting rejection emails, despite my resume being pretty stacked. If there was any little bit of ego left in me, it died every time I pressed the send button.
By this point I was stressed as hell. I wasn’t sleeping well, partly due to waking up in the middle of the night with large, unexplainable bites covering my body. Even at home I wasn’t comfortable. I was trying to keep my head up, but it was a struggle, and there were days when I didn’t even want to get out of bed. I would watch everybody live their best life on the 'gram, and eventually decided to remove social media off my phone so that I could focus on my own life and not on people's false realities.
One day, after deep reflection, instead of moping about I went into prayer, praise and worship. I chose to find positivity in my situation and thanked God for things not being worse. I let Him know that I trusted Him, and that despite the circumstances I knew he’d never leave me nor forsake me. I needed to depend on Him and not on the world.
I put work behind my faith and revamped my resume and cover letter three times until they were fleeky. I only applied for jobs in Atlanta that I really wanted—I didn't want to repeat the past by taking jobs just for a paycheck only to end up in a toxic work environment. My situation hadn't changed, but my mindset did. I no longer questioned my worth with every rejection, for my value didn’t lie in my degree or my experiences. The no’s weren’t daggers of defeat, but confirmation that there was a greater victory on the other side of my persistence.
By the end of February I received an email that I'd been selected for an interview with my current employer. Ironically, I had applied for a different position with them back in December and got rejected. So this was definitely starting to feel like a God thing. I interviewed, got moved to the next round, but it took three more weeks before I would get the final in-person interview. I drove eight hours to Atlanta on a Friday and came back to North Carolina the next day with nothing more than a prayer on my lips—not that I would simply get the job, but that I only got it if it aligned with my purpose and His plan for me.
I did have one other job offer waiting back home—Applebees. I was scheduled to start training as a server the following week, but they were patient as I had already told them I was in final rounds for a job. I had reached a place where I was thankful that I just had potential income. If I didn't get my current job, I would've been at peace knowing that God knew what was best for me.
On March 13 I got the call saying that I not only got the job, but they were offering me way more than I expected to make, plus fully covered benefits. As someone who went without benefits on and off for over two years, I was scared to even sneeze in fear I'd have to pay hundreds of dollars to see a doctor. Now I would no longer have to stress about affording one.
I said I would never go back to a 9 to 5, but I’m beyond blessed to be employed at a company that not only aligns with my goals, but values work-life balance. I can now work on the writing I really want to do without stressing over my next paycheck, and when it’s time for me to go, this time I will be prepared for the move.
I'm still in recovery mode—I have a lot of debt to clean up—but the experience showed me who I really was and molded me into who I needed to be. I’ve been broken and sifted, many negative thought patterns and mindsets were left behind, and what remains are the very characteristics necessary to move on to the next leg of my journey.
The experience showed me who I really was and molded me into who I needed to be.
As I’ve said, the riches of my testimony aren’t in my paycheck, but in who I became when I didn’t have one. There were many things that I took for granted, and when those things were taken from me, there were many nights I cried out because I no longer had it. Now I find gratitude in the grittiness of it all.
The dream doesn’t have to die; but sometimes it needs to be re-strategized. It’s attainable, but it’s also a test of how bad you really want it. What are you willing to give up now in order to have better later? What habits and mindsets do you need to break before you can truly walk in your purpose? For me, it was a lot of shedding of things that I never recognized as being a privilege to have, and accepting that at the end of the day, I made a choice so there was no room for excuses or complaints.
This walk isn’t for the faint of heart, but in the end, it will leave your heart full. Keep your head up, your mind right, your lips positive, and your pride absent.
Sacrifices
It doesn’t escape me that I’m writing from my third place of residence within the last year. I’ve gone from a 400 square foot studio with no A/C in Hollywood, where I was humbled by my daily walks past the homeless, to a one-bedroom guest house in the Valley that had all the luxuries (e.g. air conditioning and my own washer/dryer) to a 200 square foot bedroom in a house that I share with six other people, mostly over the age of 50. And yet—despite all of the transition and lack of stability, I’m the happiest that I’ve been in a long time.
The sacrifices required to achieve your dream are often blurred in the age where we only show what’s been altered to perfection. I’ve watched a small handful of peers go before me on their own individual roads, but didn’t quite understand the magnitude of leaping without a parachute until I jumped off my own cliff. L.A. was that ledge for me—I had a gig, but nothing too stable. I had savings—just enough to get me into my first apartment. And I had a drive to succeed by any means necessary.
When my steady writing gig started to become only an occasional one, I picked up side jobs just to pay the bills. The problem was that I still was barely making enough to break even. I relied heavily on credit cards, and there were many months spent giving myself pep talks that things could be worse as I battled with not sinking into a state of depression.
During a month of desperation where all of my income became obsolete, I dived back into corporate life, convincing myself that I could still do both jobs while having a stable income. But somehow with increasing bills and low hourly pay, I found myself digging a deeper hole into debt, and getting further away from my dream in attempt to climb out.
Last May I decided to take the leap back into writing full time again. The first couple of months were rocky, I found myself repeating similar mistakes as I did when I initially pursued this path, but after a couple of wake-up calls realized that many of mistakes stemmed from a lack of humility. I thought I had sacrificed enough when I drove nearly 3,000 miles across country to move here, but I knew there was more that I could forgo temporarily knowing that better was one knee-bend away. I made the decision to leave my beloved guest home, pick up jobs in catering, dog sitting and background acting in addition to my freelance work, and accept that I may lose the “friends” I had gained along the way once they realized I could no longer afford to turn up or hang out on the regular.
The dream is attainable, but it’s also a test of how bad you really want it. What are you willing to give up now in order to have better later? What habits and mindsets do you need to break before you can truly walk in your purpose? For me, it was a lot of shedding of things that I never recognized as being a privilege to have, and accepting that at the end of the day, I made a choice so there was no room for excuses or complaints.
This walk isn’t for the faint of heart, but in the end it will leave your heart full.
You'll Self-Sabotage Love Until You Find It In Yourself
She was going to lose him. She felt it in their last conversation—a two-hour, too long discourse that threw her off course of the dialogue that she intended it to be.
He treated her good. Great even. There was no doubt about that. But the broken part of her always found a way to self-sabotage. A deeper part of her, admittedly, didn’t believe that she deserved his love. She feared it even, despite knowing that love and fear can’t coexist.
In the midst of tearing down her walls she tore at his heart. She latched on a little too hard. With every inhale she drew from his soul hoping to fill her own. With every exhale she released her doubts, insecurities, and fears, and, for dear life, gulped down his compliments, praises, and words of wisdom. It was an uneven exchange.
He told her to look into the mirror. To find love within herself. To let go of her hurt. And she did. She stared intently into her dark eyes, but when the tears began to well up she had to turn away. She couldn’t quite face the dark parts of her that had been hidden behind cute selfies, funny Snapchat filters, and witty Twitter remarks. She couldn’t admit to herself that her yearning for love came from a part of her that was starving for acceptance, validation and confirmation that she was good enough, more than enough.
She couldn’t admit to herself that her yearning for love came from a part of her that was starving for acceptance.
She did her best to avoid conflict, but then, that too was the problem. She was always avoiding reality, choosing to live in the fallacy that she was okay, that she was ready, that she was whole. That’s what got her here in the first place, in a relationship that she wasn’t ready for. She was thirsty, and he was Fiji—deep, refreshing, supreme.
She thought it was love only to learn that it was lack, for love of herself and of him would’ve resulted in a different outcome. She would’ve waited, she would’ve respected. She realized that when she picked up The Mastery of Love and began to see parts of herself in each chapter—“The Wounded Mind,” “The Loss of Innocence,” they all spoke to parts that were damaged before she even had the opportunity to understand who she was, and accept who she wasn’t. She let the world become her mirror. She let the absence of positive relationships harden her heart and outside voices whisper her failures. She allowed pain to mask her beauty.
She was sleeping on her truth, and she was ashamed that it took the possibility of loss to wake her up. She had gotten so comfortable in her own dysfunction that she couldn’t even see herself clearly.
Yet, surprisingly, a feeling of hope began to stir inside of her. She knew she couldn’t take back the past, but she could change the future. As long as breath was in her body there was still time to repair what was broken. An excavation, her friend called it. A revival, she declared.
But it was her choice. Not his. Not the world’s. Hers, and hers only to make. And she decided. And she let go of the fear of love and being loved. She chose to be real with herself and do the work, and become the very thing that she lacked.
Start your journey on becoming love by getting your copy of The Mastery of Love.
You're Not Ready to Be Your Own Boss
I typed up my resignation letter for what would be the third time in the last five years. I was a mix of emotions—on one hand, I felt a little crazy for once again leaving the secure for the unknown. It was different than before when I lived in a city where the cost of living was low, and this time I didn’t have the option to just break my lease and move back home. No, quitting a job in L.A. was a little different, a little more risqué.
I was barely covering my bills as is, and yet I was leaving a steady paycheck behind to go back to the work that had me desperately scratching at the door of temp agencies just months before.
But on the other hand, I felt abnormally calm. I had a plan, but not a solid one. I had what I would hope would be a source of income before next month’s rent was due, but no guarantee that I would get paid on time. I had debt piling up and no savings, but the decision to leave my 9 to 5 and pursue my purpose and utilize my gift of writing became a daily battle. I knew what I had to do, and despite the circumstances, I was at peace—I knew I’d be okay.
“God got me,” I said repeatedly during my 45-minute commute to work.
The truth is that I needed to go back to a full-time job because I wasn’t ready for what it would take to be my own boss. I’m amused at the many who want to up and quit their jobs just because they don’t like working for another. That reason alone shows that you’re not ready.
It’s easy to get caught up in the fallacy of working for yourself. It looks something like waking up late, no alarm clock, no snooze button.
It’s ice cream for breakfast as you prance around in your pajamas all day.
It’s daytime trips to the beach or to the park, or maybe even working from a whole new city altogether, if you so desire.
Your schedule is your own; your life is your own. But what they don’t tell you is that life comes at a price. Freedom is never quite free, and once you realize that, then perhaps you’re ready for the plunge, or perhaps you’ll appreciate the steady nine-to-five just a little bit more.
Where I went wrong wasn’t my inability to produce, pitch and get paid. I failed in my perspective before I failed in securing the bag. I relied on one source of income, despite its volatility, because I fought against the idea of being a “journalist.” I undervalued myself, taking on additional assignments that didn’t pay my worth because when you’re desperate you take whatever you can get. I managed my time poorly, I spent more time stressing and worrying about the next payment than I did ensuring that I was doing the work to get paid. I spent money unnecessarily, went out without reason, and then cried out to God in frustration that He wasn’t providing what I needed to give me the peace of mind. Backwards as fuck.
I went to a temp agency thinking I was only going to get something to hold me to the next month, and landed a one-year contract. Over the next few months I took the time to slow down, evaluate, and rid myself of false perceptions about what my life was supposed to be. I wasn’t in a position to save up money, so instead I spent my time on reprogramming my mind so that when I took the leap again, it would be without doubt or questions.
I get the idea of wanting to escape the cubicle to build a life that you love. I understand not wanting to settle or feel like you’re living a life of mediocrity, but I also know that true success first starts in the mind. I know that everything that glitters ain’t gold, and if you don’t have your mind right, you’ll be chasing iron pyrite instead.
Timing is everything, and there’s often a reason why we’re not where we want to be. Maybe it’s fear of now knowing the outcome if you take a leap. Maybe it’s circumstances that make it difficult to move without impacting the life of another. Or maybe you’re just not ready, as I once was, and you need the kind of wake-up call that will shift your perspective and change your attitude.
Staycation
photography // KIAH MCBRIDE
location // TOPANGA, CALIFORNIA
It started out with one simple thought: I need a vacation.
Which may sound weird considering I live in sunny L.A. I’m less than an hour from beautiful beaches, a drive through the mountains towards Vegas, a couple of hours from a desert oasis, and yet still I felt this need to escape, to go somewhere different.
But despite not having the funds, I knew I that if I didn’t at least get one day where I wasn’t surrounded by the temptation of work and play that I was going to lose it. But despite not having the funds, I knew I that if I didn’t at least get one day where I wasn’t surrounded by the temptation of work and play that I was going to lose it. But despite not having the funds, I knew I that if I didn’t at least get one day where I wasn’t surrounded by the temptation of work and play that I was going to lose it.
But despite not having the funds, I knew I that if I didn’t at least get one day where I wasn’t surrounded by the temptation of work and play that I was going to lose it. But despite not having the funds, I knew I that if I didn’t at least get one day where I wasn’t surrounded by the temptation of work and play that I was going to lose it.But despite not having the funds, I knew I that if I didn’t at least get one day where I wasn’t surrounded by the temptation of work and play that I was going to lose it.
But I could see my bank account flashing red at the thought of me spending another dime on something more extravagant like Hawaii or the Caribbean. My splurges are occasional these days, because when you’re chasing a life filled with purpose, it often comes at the sacrifice of comfortable living, big paychecks, and the certainty that comes from settling—at least at first.
But despite not having the funds, I knew I that if I didn’t at least get one day where I wasn’t surrounded by the temptation of work and play that I was going to lose it.
I needed to be somewhere quiet. I needed to get away from the world. But I needed to do so on a budget, which meant staying close to home.
Remembering the credit that I had accumulated I logged into my Airbnb account and began searching for a spot close by that fit the vibe I was going for—relaxed, peaceful, a beautifully designed fuck-you to the real world that continuously pulled me into its daily shenanigans of the passionless and the pseudo-political. I had a small credit that I had accumulated on my cross-country jaunt to L.A just the year prior, so with a strict budget in mind I began my search, and I found the perfect spot.
It was only 20 minutes away, nestled in the hills of Topanga Canyon. The reviews were raving, the vibe said “come chill out,” and the promise of having my chakras taken care of made me a tad bit curious. Not to mention that my muscles had already started relaxing at the thought of soaking in the deep tub that has become such a luxury after living in a place with no A/C that forced me to leave windows open, allowing a constant layer of dirt to settle around the tub of my own place. So I booked the spot and packed my bags just a week later.
To do a staycation right—if not in your home, you have to make it feel like home. I slipped my favorite candle into to my bag along with bath salts, bubble bath, and a loofah. My slippers couldn’t be left behind, nor could my essential oils.
I arrived at what the owner deemed the “White Rose House” in the early afternoon when the sun was on its descent to the other side of the earth. She wasn’t home at first, but the gate was cracked so I let myself in to the little guest room that was just off of the main house. I silently exclaimed a “hell yeah” as I opened the door to the bright white room—it was just as describe—serene, peaceful, and begging for someone to partake into me-time.
The owner arrived shortly thereafter, offering cookies and informing me that I was open to the backyard and her home at any time. I thanked her and ducked back into my temporary oasis, eager for some time away from people.
I quickly made the spot my home, pulling out my laptop, journal, and book that I would be diving into for the first time in months, because, distractions. When night time came, I ran the bath water, lit my candles, and turned on my Staycation playlist to set the mood.
I relaxed.
I indulged.
I released everything that wasn’t contributing to my progression—doubtful thoughts, draining people, and energies that were keeping me off my path of purpose. Before I left in the morning the owner offered me an Angelic cleanse, it was different, but added to the uniqueness of the experience.
My staycation was brief, but it was just enough to get me back focused. That’s the great thing about getting away, even just for a moment, you realign yourself with what truly matters and disconnect from what doesn’t. You find that peace comes from within, it’s the outside influences that you allow into your life that push you into a chaotic place. Sometimes you just need to dip off for a minute and clear your head in order to get back in the game.
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How I Stopped Talking About My Goals and Started Accomplishing Them
It starts off the same every new year.
Resolutions are made and then resolutions fade as the months quickly give way to the next year when the cycle repeats. On many occasions I have gotten caught in the pattern of promising myself that this year would be different: I would get the body that I wanted; I would make the money that I desired; I would travel to places that I pinned to my Pinterest board, only to look back in December and realize that many of my goals fell by the wayside as life took over and reminded me that change is inevitable and flexibility is necessary.
But this past year I decided to stop making empty promises to myself and started creating actionable plans in all areas of my life from career to love and relationships to actually see my dreams and desires come to fruition. I moved across country to Los Angeles with just a few dollars in my pocket and a vision for my life. I shed the few pounds that I gained on the journey over. I started checking off goals and ideas that I posted on my vision board two years prior, and I started getting my confidence back as I discovered my own strength and power as a woman who can speak things into existence.
It’s not only changed how I perceive life, but my perception of myself and what I’m able to accomplish when I’m focused and committed to me. And in 2017 I look to take that to another level.
Here are 5 things that helped me to back up the things that I constantly talked about and that made me a winner in 2016.
1. I Wrote Down My Vision and Actionable Steps To Make It A Reality
There’s nothing wrong with having a grand vision for your life. In fact, if your vision is something that you can easily accomplish on your own, it’s not big enough. But one thing that I realized that I did years prior was write down lofty dreams without a real plan of how to make it really happen. I love a vision board as much as the next person, but as pretty as pictures are they don’t show you all the pieces that require assembly in order to get to that ultimate image. So this past year I switched it up and instead of pasting photos to a board I penned my vision on paper—and then penned all the steps leading up to the end goal.
I purchased a Passion Planner, which was perfect because as a writer my life revolves around deadlines and the planner kept me on point. But what I loved most about it was that at the beginning it asked you to write down a wish list of the different goals you had for yourself three months out, a year out, and three years out. You would define what your game changer was—the goal that had the most positive impact on your life at the moment. That goal would go in the middle of the page and surrounding the goal would be things you would do to make it happen. At the end of the month you would assess your progress and write down ways to improve the next month. It was like an accountability partner on paper, and it helped me to get close to my goals of being debt-free, moving to L.A., and creating multiple streams of income using my natural gifts and talents.
While you don’t necessarily have to have a planner to make this happen, the key is to write down smaller, realistic steps that help you to reach your end goal. That way it doesn’t feel overwhelming or unobtainable, and keeps you in check every step of the way.
2. I Stopped Watching Other People Live Their Lives
I’m guilty of aimlessly scrolling through Instagram and double-tapping pictures of people who are living their lives to the fullest. On one hand it’s motivating to see my peers accomplishing their dreams, but as much as I love celebrating their successes, it can sometimes distract me from focusing on my own goals. Those minutes turn into hours that could’ve been spent more wisely, and looking to them for motivation prevented me from diving within myself and tapping into the genius that lies within.
I decided to start making a change by fasting from social media for two weeks and deleted all apps from my phone because temptation is real. It honestly was the most productive—and peaceful—weeks that I’d had in months. Afterward, instead of pretending that I was going to stay off of social media all day everyday, I put boundaries around it. I set certain times of the day where I could go on and browse and catch up with people. I reserved the hours that I’m most productive for zoning in on my goals. I even put myself on a schedule. It sounds simple but it does wonders for helping to accomplish those dreams that we often speak about but have little to show for.
3. I Didn’t Turn A Temporary Setback Into Defeat
Okay, so I may have overslept one day. I had to push back a launch because my photographer rescheduled on me. Or to keep it real, I just didn’t “feel like it” and I chose to kick back and watch an episode of Queen Sugar instead of working on my own bestselling novel. Life happens, and so does procrastination. But missing a personal deadline isn’t the end all be all—it’s an opportunity to embrace what is, and adjust to make happen what you want to be. If I got caught up on every perceived failure then I’d live in a constant state of self-pity and never get anything accomplished. There are always going to be hurdles on the road to success. How you handle it not only speaks volumes about your character, but also about how badly you want it. Besides, it’s a marathon, not a race. The goal is to keep moving forward.
4. I Celebrated My Progress Along the Way
I admit that I haven’t always been too good at this. You know, patting myself on the back for that small goal that I can now check off my list. I’m always looking forward to the next thing; I don’t dwell too much on the past. But sometimes you need to pause for a second to celebrate how far you’ve come to appreciate where you’re going. It’s easy to get into the habit of complaining or worrying, but when you stop to see what has been accomplished it shifts your perspective and gives you a different drive and a new energy.
I used to do a blessings jar and throughout the course of the year I would write down good things that happened on slips of paper and close to New Year’s Eve I would pull them out one by one and reflect on the wide range of wins. Now I have a space in my planner for weekly reflections that I fill in every week. It’s made me realize that the small wins are just as significant as the big ones, even if they’re not things that seem worthy of bragging about on social media. It helps you not to rely on the praise and approval of others because you learn how to be your own cheerleader in life. You learn to find positivity in everything, and that even setbacks aren’t without a greater purpose.
5. I Made New Goals
So you made an actionable plan, put social media pause, stopped crying over spilled milk and found a reason to celebrate your baby steps. Now you’re checking things off your list left and right because you have a new attitude and your changed mindset is bringing good energy into your life. Now what?
You keep going. You make new goals. You reached 5,000 followers for your brand? Cool, now it’s time to reach 10,000. You built six months worth of savings in your bank account? Fabulous. Now start saving for the down payment on that dream home. You stopped looking for love in hopeless places and started loving you—all of you? It’s about time. Now let that good energy attract the right partner who you can continue to build and grow with. The point is not to always dream bigger, always strive for more. The top of the mountain is just an illusion to the heights that you can climb—the sky is the limit.
What steps are you taking to make your New Year’s resolution a New Year’s reality?
I Let Go of My Fear and Moved to L.A.
The last three years have been preparation for this one moment--cruising down I-10 towards LA, car packed, money low but faith high. My ride or die next to me as we move towards fulfilling our individual purposes. It all seems so surreal. This time last year I was working a job that I hated, making excuses as to why I should hang around just a bit longer. The money was good, the benefits on point, the city affordable, but my passion depleted. I've talked about moving to LA for the longest, but the truth is a part of me was scared to take such a huge leap, to move over 2,400 miles away from family, friends, and comfort. To chase the unknown with little more than a dollar and a dream. Repeating my mantra of "God's got me" and really believing that shit. I battled doubts, fears, and insecurities just to get here, and I can honestly say that I'm stronger than I've ever been. I spent the last few months at home letting Him work on me and shedding all of the things that has kept me from prospering. Winning the battle over my mind has been the biggest fight thus far, and one that forced me to strip down naked and bare all of my flaws so that I could see the reflection of my imperfections clearly.
Fix this.
Rid of that.
Build this.
Scrap that.
I looked myself in the mirror and for once didn't turn away from the ugliness I saw. Instead I stared back at it like "what bish?!" And when I finally got real, like really real, I began my path to mental and emotional freedom. And I feel damn good right now.
321 miles.
That's how far away I am from a new beginning and 2,100 miles away from the last chapter that ended. I didn't just leave behind family and friends, I left behind the part of me that had to die in order for me to live. And on this journey I realize that too many of us hold onto dead things that bear no fruit: excuses, poor mentalities, unfulfilling relationships and friendships--all for the sake of fear disguised as comfort. Fear of failure, fear of there being nothing better, fear of having to struggle as if we don't struggle with our own mediocrity everyday. Maybe it's just me, but at some point you get tired of settling for good when you can have best.
And I don't have it all figured out. In fact, Every time I told someone I was making this move I was met with questions of how I was going to make it. And I didn't know what to say that didn't make me sound crazy and like I had no fucking clue. I mean, how do you tell people who prefer to wait for the perfect moment that that moment will never come if you don't start moving towards it? That jumping doesn't guarantee you'll land on your feet, it just means you're no longer stagnant. How can I convey that despite the darkness I can see the light and that's the one thing that keeps me going? I gave a general response and decided that I can't tell people how I'm going to win but I can show them. As much as I like to be in the know, I'm at peace with not knowing. It's a much different feeling than the chaos of trying to figure it all out.
Though I'm not naive to the difficulty of the climb, I'm excited about going to the next level. I’m ready to get back out there, to be challenged, to grow, to stumble—maybe even fall, get back up, and keep pressing onwards towards my destiny. If nothing else, I can at least say that I tried. And that I didn’t allow myself to hold me back.
There’s Nothing Wrong With Being A Woman
There’s nothing wrong with being a woman. There’s nothing wrong with wanting to cook him a good meal after he walks through the door with weary eyes and a tired soul--the weight of the world sliding off his slumped shoulders as you rush to greet him with a warm smile, soft kisses and hugs.
He needs that.
There’s nothing wrong with wanting to comfort and care for him, to give him deep massages, allowing your fingertips to gently tickle the spine that curves under the pressure of having to go out and be a man in a world where he’s undervalued and unappreciated—taking orders, being told that his intellect doesn’t match those of other ethnicities, reminded everyday that he’s replaceable.
After a day like that, he needs your love.
There’s nothing wrong with being a nurturer. It’s what we’ve been created to do from birthing babies suckling on our breasts to allowing your man to lay against your chest not speaking, just breathing. Embracing the quiet moments when two can become one without any exchange of bodily fluids, just an exchange of thoughts that are whispered once he let’s down his guard because you’ve built up his confidence.
He knows he can trust you, listen to you, learn from you, and that’s why he cherishes you.
There’s nothing wrong with investing in his dreams. Because for decades he’s been sold fantasies of white picket fences and expensive college degrees. He’s been told that if he goes the easier corporate route he’s guaranteed financial success and happiness, and that if he just sets aside his innate passions it’ll all be worth it for the wife, family, and kids that he’ll be able to care for without the stress of not having enough. But he’s seen what a dream deferred does to a man. He’s seen how it’s led to fragmented families, how jumping in too soon later led to broken homes, and he doesn’t want that. He wants fulfillment, and he wants a woman who understands that the road may not be easy, but it’s necessary for long-term happiness. He’s a visionary.
And he wants your support.
There’s nothing wrong with giving. For if you are blessed to have more than enough even small sacrifices don’t compare to the value that you will hold in his heart. He recognizes your royalty even if he doesn’t always say it.
There’s nothing wrong with being a woman, but there is something wrong when we allow the hurt and pain from past relationships (with boys who had yet to grow into men) to take away our womanhood. There’s something wrong when we have to question whether we’re doing too much because what we expected to be our return on investment didn’t match what we deposited. We forget that some things are priceless and can’t compare to another. Those late night conversations he had encouraging, building and uplifting you. The small, but meaningful gestures that required him to step out of his comfort zone just to put a smile on your face. They may not be grand to you, but for him they meant the world.
We’re afraid to be women because we’ve given so much to the wrong man that we no longer want to give to the right ones, just in case we have to deal with that heartbreak again. We build walls that tear down relationships and refuse to let in what’s not guaranteed. We’re afraid to take risks and wonder why we’re not rewarded.
But I say there’s nothing wrong with being a woman. Because even if the wrong guy doesn’t appreciate you, you could be the reason why he appreciates the next woman—breaking a vicious cycle through your sincerity and authenticity. And once you let him go you’ll make room for the one who is right, and if you remain open, if you continue to embrace your womanhood instead of holding back, you can give your all.
And this time, yeah this time, it’ll all work out just fine.
You Can't Plan Your Purpose
I didn’t plan to be at the place that I’m at today. Matter-of-fact, had you asked me two months ago I would’ve told you that I had no plans at all. I left the life I attempted to plan behind after realizing that everything I had tried to make happen on my own wasn’t what I really wanted for myself. I wanted more. And I knew that if I had stayed, I would’ve continued getting lost in the cycle of just working a 9 to 5 to stay alive instead of chasing what I really wanted out of life. So I had to let go all of my imperfectly plotted points and just go.
A few days ago I found myself standing beside someone whom I’ve admired for years, whose story I followed both on her personal blog and in magazine features, and who I had the pleasure of interviewing just two years prior. I was in New York at an exclusive launch party, not as a media rep or a fan, but as someone who shares a spot on the masthead. Even the journey getting there wasn’t easy. I didn’t really have the funds, but I made it happen anyway because I had set in mind that I wasn’t going to keep making excuses to not go after the things that aligned with my goals.
Thinking about it now it all feels so surreal, because two months ago I didn’t imagine that was where I was going to be. Two months ago I was brushing off questions as to what I was going to do, how long I would be displaced, and how I would bring in money. I didn’t know the answer to any of those questions, but I knew that God had it all figured it out; I just had to be patient and not move out of frustration.
Thinking back over my life, specifically the last three years, I made a lot of decisions out of fear. Fear of not having enough money to pay bills, fear of missing out on “opportunities” if I didn’t immediately jump at them, fear of not being as successful as I see myself becoming. I allowed my thoughts and my mentality to block me from my true purpose, and I paid for it in the form of failed relationships, periods of depression, and constant confusion. Those three years were such a dark period in my life. I did my best to keep smiling and to be social, but when you’re living a life far below your capabilities, the feeling of mediocrity turns into a nagging reminder that you can do better—that there’s more to life than what you’ve settled for.
I knew it.
I felt it.
I fought against it.
And thankfully, I lost.
I broke down one night, fell to my knees, and just prayed. I submitted my feelings of doubt and in return was given ones of determination. I knew at the moment I was going to have to take a leap of faith, so I set a firm date to quit my job and handed in my two-week notice so that I couldn’t back out.
And here I am, not exactly where I planned to be or necessarily in the position that I want to be, but where I need to be.
I tell this story because I hear from so many people who know that there’s more for them in life, and they’re just afraid to take that leap. I see so many fall into a routine of regret, and I can relate because I’ve been in that place, too. But one thing I’ve learned, even in this short period, is that you’ll never get all that life has to offer if you’re only half-living. Finding and moving in your purpose isn’t always about planning; it’s about living. Taking risks is the exciting part of the journey; the reward is the peace of mind of knowing that you gave it your all.
Stop Asking For A Man That You’re Not Ready For
I go through periods of self-evaluation where I get real and ask myself am I everything that I’m asking for. If I’m asking to be blessed with a new opportunity, I question whether or not I’m also providing opportunities for others. If I’m asking for someone to come and speak into my life, I question whether or not I’m speaking to others on the level that I’m at. And if I’m asking to be positioned around likeminded people, I check my own actions to make sure that I’m the person that I want to be positioned around. I find it necessary because it’s easy to get off track. It’s easy to start wanting more than what you’re giving, and to fall into this “me only” mentality out of emotional greed. Lately, I’ve seen a lot of people openly sharing that they would like to have a partner: someone to go out with, cuddle with, and share their problems with whenever the need arises. Someone to rub their booties, feed their bellies, and make them feel good when they’re not at their best. I don’t know if it’s because cuffing season is around the corner and people are anticipating those cold nights alone while their friends brag about their Netflix and Chill escapades, or if they’re genuinely looking for someone who will fall in love with them, flaws and all. But seeing these cries for love (or maybe lust) made me take another look at myself, and I wondered, why am I not asking for those things, too?
It’s not that I’m heartless or that I’ve sworn off the opposite sex because I’m on my super feminist “don’t want a man, don’t need a man” mantra, but because I’ve identified an imbalance that needs to be checked before I start asking for more deposits. The problem to me is that so many of us claim we want somebody who’s an asset when we’re the ones who are liabilities.
“Many of us claim we want somebody who’s an asset when we’re the ones who are liabilities.”
We want someone to love us, take care of us, compliment us, and strengthen us when we don’t even do those things for ourselves. We ask for a partner with financial stability when we’re still living paycheck-to-paycheck, expecting them to elevate us from broke to boss instead of coming to the table with our own instead. We want someone who will be loving and affectionate but criticize ourselves for not being good enough, so they now have to go above and beyond to give what we should already have. We want someone to pour their half into our empty cups and then wonder why we are still only half full. It’s a backwards mentality, and one that leads to breakups and breakdowns that are sometimes irreparable.
It’s not always that the person wasn’t right for you, maybe it’s that you weren’t right for them. Just maybe you’re alone because you still have some internal work to do, and there’s nothing wrong with that. We all have periods where we have to go back in and fix things. It’s called self-maintenance. During times of maintenance you have to go off-line because you are of no value to anybody until you’re repaired, otherwise you’re putting others at risk of breaking down with you.
“Maybe you’re alone because you still have some internal work to do.”
It’s not fair to ask someone to be your asset when you’re not in a place where you can make a return on their investment. So do yourself a favor and stop asking for someone you’re not ready for. Invest in yourself so that you don’t become a liability to others.
Steps of Faith
The moment I handed in my two-week notice I felt a weight lift off of my shoulders. I had been anticipating this day for over a year. Every new workweek I told myself that next week would be the last, only for another month to go by without change. But a week ago, I was finally brave enough to hand in my carefully typed letter that in a few simple words would change my life.
The first question everyone asks me is where am I going. They want to know which company am I giving up good benefits and good pay for. Who am I going to work for next. What position am I going to take. Because me leaving must mean I have another safety net. But I don't. Truth is I have only a vague idea of where I'm going. I know it involves writing. I know it involves using the marketing degree that sacrifice and scholarships paid for. I know that it doesn't involve working another unfulfilling job where Monday's are dreaded and Fridays can't come soon enough.
I'm scared, though. I don’t fear the risk as much as not knowing how I'm going to get to where I'm trying to go. I'm used to having a clear direction, and I prefer to have a plan mapped out. But for the first time in my life my plan isn’t about how I'm going to make money, it’s about how I'm going to get my life back.
I don't regret the choices I've made or the path that I’ve chosen to take that led me to this point. I believe that every step played a significant role in my journey. Had I not gone this route, I may not be at the point where I have to humble myself and admit that I'm not in control of my life the way I thought I was.
I am tired. I am fed up with living a lie and telling myself that if I work hard for somebody else then I can make my own dreams come to fruition. I'm over living in fear of my past failures or even of the ones I'll possibly make in the future. It's not easy to give up everything you've worked for and start all over. Every item I possess that I don't need in the next stage of my life is being sold or thrown in a grocery bag for Goodwill. It's made me realize how much I was working for material possessions, for comfort, for the "American Dream." How quickly I discarded those things when I realized that my freedom and sanity were of much greater value.
I'm thankful that I didn't get caught up with buying a new car or a new house, things I really wanted but chose to hold off on. I know it would've made this decision harder. I’m thankful that I am strong enough to take this leap, for I know that come this time next week I will have nothing but my faith, my talent, and my work ethic to keep me going.
This time, I’m ready.
Passion and Purpose: Understanding Your Gift
For the longest time I’ve struggled with being a writer because I confused passion with purpose. I always assumed that the things you were most passionate about didn’t require any amount of coaxing in order to do it. A person who’s passionate about music is often scouring blogs looking for the latest release, and are hardly seen without a pair of headphones plastered to their ears. Someone who’s passionate about numbers is surrounded by stacks of Wall Street Journal papers researching the next big investment. For me to say that I’m passionate about writing meant that I had to write everyday, which I don’t always feel compelled to do. After some soul searching I realized that writing isn’t as much of my passion as it is my gift. Your gift is often aligned with your purpose, and is fueled by your passion. For me, writing is the vehicle for which I am able to do what I am truly passionate about, which is giving.
When I think about the things that I do everyday without a second thought, they’re simple but telling. I read think pieces and articles that aide in my personal growth and share them with my friends and followers. I brainstorm ideas and topics that I hope would benefit those around me. I’m always striving to position myself to be in a better place so that I can give back to those around me. The majority of my thoughts and actions are rooted in giving, and writing is the gift in which I am best able to extend my proverbial hand.
Writing has always been something that was natural to me. I didn’t study it, and up until recently, I didn’t make effort to master it. The words that I write, whether for a magazine article or a blog post, are the result of a talent that is beyond my control. Don’t get me wrong. I have a love and great appreciation for the written word and for the ability to piece a sentence together in a way that resonates with my readers. I love getting lost in a good book and can’t help but to shout yessssss when I come across a dope writer who’s making magic with their pen. But ultimately what has and always and will continue to drive me to write is the opportunity to give back to people through my experiences and the experiences of those around me. I write to heal and be healed. I write to inspire and to be inspired. I write to uplift and to teach. It’s the thing that fills me with a purpose beyond myself, and it’s the reason why even on days when I just want to quit I am encouraged to keep going.
For a while I ran away from writing because I didn’t understand that it was aligned with my purpose. I took so many detours along the way, testing out this and that and realizing that none of them brought me fulfillment or allowed me to express myself in a way that I felt understood or influential. I’m not great at speaking, for my thoughts move too fast and my tongue too slow, but I am great at letting the words flow from my fingertips. I’m decent at doing business because I’ve worked and studied it, but I’m better at storytelling because it’s something that’s natural to me.
Now that I have accepted my gift, I am now on a mission to master it. In the process of consistently using my gift I am figuring out who I am and the road I’m meant to take to reach my destiny. I understand that my gift and my passion are both necessary in order to achieve my purpose.