Month: January 2015
A New Day Is A Comin’…and it’s about time.
I am so glad that it’s almost moving day. In fact, I’ve already started moving stuff into my storage space. I am ready to go.
My apartment is imbued with my ex’s energy. I can’t take it anymore. When I go get mail, there’s her name. When I go to the bathroom, I am bombarded with memories. The car? I don’t even want to discuss the car. I don’t think I’ve ever looked forward to moving…but today is a new day and I am ready for some new energy.
But, just like that scene in The Wiz, where the sprinklers go off and the slaves are washed clean and everyone breaks into an Alvin Ailey Dance number, I am ready to celebrate a new day! I want to be free of this place and run off into the sunrise of my new journey. Freedom! I am reachin’ for you.
Also in today’s news, I am due for a work out session. My belly is going Buddha again. lol.
Me…as I see me now.
Blessings of Good Tidings and Joy…and Money.
It’s the first week of the new school year and I feel good. I am blessed with a loving family, a rewarding life and a peaceful outlook.
Funny how the things we believe come true, eh? Do I have all the money I want? Not yet. Do I have the job I want? Not yet…but I’m creating it. Yep. I’m creating money and a career and happiness and joy and everything I want in life with Faith. Faith in myself and The Infinite Creator. Between the two of us, this crab is in it to win it.
I woke up this morning and took my youngest to school, came home and prayed, sat silent for a while and watched Doreen Virtue’s 2015 Oracle Card Reading. I just love her. She is so awesome. Her reading was just what the doctor ordered. Just as I was about to meditate myself to sleep, my son’s school called and needed me to substitute one of their kindergarten classes. Yes! I work today…and kindergarten is so cute. BUt the love doesn’t stop there, one of the Pre-K teachers messaged me that she put me in for her class tomorrow. Even bigger Yay! Mo’ Money! Mo’ Money! Mo’ Money!
Auspicious day indeed.
On another note, I am looking at myself less critically now. This Cancer’s only human…and crab. Perfection is not a goal. It’s an illusion. To quote the poet Sweet Brown, ” Ain’t nobody got time for that!” My body is mine and it’s awesome. I can jump. I can sit. I cook. I sing. I dance, albeit badly, but I do it with a happy heart and it feels good.
So today is a wonderful day. I may even work out. In fact, I have to…promised myself.
I hope this day is amazing for everyone who reads this…and it can be, if you let it. Just look at me!
“I am poor, black…I may even be ugly. But, by God I’m here! I’m here!” Miss Celie, The Color Purple
Everyday, in every way, I get better and better and better.
…And so it is.
Me…as I see me now.
One of my earliest memories is of wanting to be a model. The clothes I would wear! I loved fashion and even though I never had the patience to learn a sewing machine, even though I took Clothing in highschool, I just thought that world was perfectly suited for a girl like me.
I ran the idea past a few people. “I want to be a model!” I declared, not knowing that my plump, childish body was not what designers wanted. I never considered that I couldn’t model. I loved clothes. I loved fashion. I loved to be in front of the camera. A beloved family finally broke it down to me, “You’re not made for modeling. You’re smart. You could be a doctor or lawyer. Your sister can be a model. She’s tall and slim. That’s what models look like.”
What? I suddenly felt ugly and fat. What good is being smart without being beautiful? I hadn’t realized that I wasn’t beautiful or at least pretty until that moment. Why wasn’t I born pretty like my sister? Why wasn’t I slim? Why was I so fat?
Looking back, I wasn’t even a fat kid. By today’s standards, I would be pretty normal. But in the early 80’s, if you weren’t smaller than a size 8, you were positively obese. At twelve years old, I slit my wrist.
Being a coward, I used ice and a somewhat dull knife. Fortunately, my mom found me sitting in the hallway in front of my bedroom cutting myself. A cry for help and a tad dramatic…but, my mom was so afraid. After that, it was her mission to make me feel better about myself. My body. My face. Even my mind.
That feeling still creeps on me. Why can’t my body be less round? Why can’t I look like the beautiful women I see everyday? It doesn’t happen all of the time but sometimes, that unhappy little girl sings a song of disappointment and low self esteem in my ear. I really wish she’d find something else to say.
In fact, this blog is a way to change that song. Making that child me learn to look for happy memories of myself. Making time to love her present self which ain’t half bad looking for a 41 year old mother of two.
So, I just wanted to begin with the past but I won’t rest there. This blog is my heartfelt letter to myself.
These are the words I want replayed in my head.\
YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL
Just writing those words makes me feel better. This is day one of my journey.
I love you, Crystal. You are beautiful and worthy of love.
“Everyday, in Every Way, I get Better and Better.”
Ouch! That Hurt!
Not Good Morning. Great Awakening!
Not Good Morning. Great Awakening!
I’m in a self help community. Maybe it’s because in my vanity, I feel that all of this fabulosity can only get better or it could be that I deserve a life well lived. Either way, I mingle with a lot of Esoteric, Afro-Hippies.
We were discussing the word ‘morning’. Why? Because that’s what we do. Turns out that instead of ‘mourning’ the new day, it should be celebrated. Morning & mourning apparently have a common origin…and I can’t even think of what it could be ….but hey, it was a fun discussion.
So, out of all that crazy talk, came my decision to avoid using morning as much as possible. Just because I like saying Happy Rising or Great Awakening.