Day One

Starting a new blog is an interesting process. My first blog was/is dedicated to my random thoughts, to sharing some of myself with the world and to learning about this method of communication. I began to think about creating a new space when I could not correctly insert a music player with another host. I began to think it might be nice to have a focus, though I didn't know what I wanted that focus to be.

I'm not sure what brought me here, today. What made today the day the I would really start this blog? I don't even completely know why I am starting it. I'm feeling my way through, trying to be an earnest observer of my Life so that my reflections have meaning. Trying to understand what I want to have happen and how much say I have in what actually does happen in my Life.

I'm going to be 50 in less than 6 months, That's the one thing of which I am sure; the one thing about which I have clarity. Oddly enough, after all this time in my skin, I don't feel like myself. I don't feel powerful or confident. I feel grossly overweight, slow. A woman with creaky knees and chin stubble.

I am going to be 50 in less than 6 months and I feel as if I don't have endless chances. As if there was a lesson I was supposed to learn that I missed because I was distracted by petty emotional desires. I feel apologetic for wasting time. A woman with graying hair and middle aged paunch.

50 in less than 6 months and I wonder what happened to all that potential I possessed. What did I do with it? I know I had it, once. Maybe I have it still, but I'm not sure.

I am going to be 50 and I have decided to do a few things differently, to change some things about the way I operate.

I suppose I could use this blog to list them and keep track of how well I do them and beat myself up when I fall off the path I have chosen. But, I don't want to do that. That's what I always do.

I want to do a new, but largely unknown thing. Walk some path that I don't know the way of and can't see the end to (oooh, a sentence with two hanging prepositions). I want to speak in a new way, swing my hips to a secret rhythm of my own making, smile at Life's jokes without the cloud of disappointment that I see swirling through my Life.

I want to walk in grace and care for myself, as a forethought. Do the small things that signify that I care for myself, Love this brown-skinned Life of mine, appreciate breath and laughter and even stumbling. I want to honor these things in everyday actions like brushing my teeth for 3 minutes or eating well, exercising, learning something new and interesting.

I want to fall in Love with myself and I guess that is why I am writing this blog. To somehow capture in words this process of my heart. To hold to this path of Love, simple Love that doesn't need grand gestures or rhetoric, sweeping changes or half-truths. A Love that only needs to be real - that's what I want the next 6 months to be about.

My name is Gayle, I turn 50 in six months and I want to learn what it feels like to Love myself.

Mermaids and My Womanchild

Spent a day hanging out with my pre-teen and her friends. We went to see a screening of "Aqua Marine", Hollywood's "Little Mermaid" for the slightly older crowd. Suffice it to say, it was a very longggg day.

Being with young, pert "we know everything and you're old" girls was nothing if not mind bending. And it made me think about how Madison Ave. sells to these little ones. The not so subtle way beauty (as defined by those who sell it) is glorified - every young girl wants to be beautiful, but not every young girl wants to be capable and smart and gloriously living out the power of her person.

I struggle with this because I want the womanchild I am raising to Love herself unconditionally and to expect everything from Life. I want her to cultivate her mind and her body, but I want her to be intimate with her Spirit.

I am a woman who has rejected the importance of the beauty of the physical form. It's a carry over from childhood and it's a liability. I suffered from being told I was unattractive and flawed and overweight for all of my young Life. So, that when I finally looked into a mirror, I could not see the swan staring back at me - she looked always like a duck. To compensate I decided that beauty, my beauty especially, didn't matter.

Now, it truly is the inside of a person that counts, but what draws many to that light is what they see on the outside. I get it, I'm just not buying it. I still think it's a waste of time and money to pay others to do my hair, and paint my nails and sand the dead skin off the soles of my feet. All the rituals of feminine beauty (which more and more men now partake of) seem smoke and mirrors to me; a slight of hand and suddenly I have much less money in the bank, lots more little containers filled with color of all types and a sense that all this will somehow make me more attractive.

More attractive than my self, prettier than I am, sexier and more appealing to those men I am trying to ensnare. After about two weeks, the thrill is always gone and I begin to wonder why the uneven skin tone, the pinkish brown tones of my lips, and every other bit of me is not beautiful to the world around me. When I look at myself through the eyes of others I am disheartened. Not that I think others are repulsed by me, but they are not drawn in by my physical form. No, that would take a little make believe and pretend out of a bottle. It's ironic that I just want to be seen and Loved and viewed as beautiful by the world around me, but the world requires I do a little enhancement first. And, except for plucking those chin hairs which I just can't abide and coloring the grey which seems to make me feel old, I simply won't take the time or energy to do.

It's a stand I have taken in Life that has proven to be like spitting in the wind. It doesn't help to be so out of touch/step with the rest of the world. It gets you discounted.

But, back to my womanchild. She hasn't yet started experimenting with make-up in earnest. She is just beginning to be conscious of her body and what she wears. I watch her stare at her image in the mornings and hope she like what she sees. I hope she Loves what she sees. I do, when I look at her, but my opinion means less (or appears to anyway) these days.

As long as she knows that her full lips, hips and her broad nose are beautiful and that the milk choclate skin that covers them is exquisite. I want her to feel in her soul that her brown and golden touched hair is perfect in its kinky and locked state - gorgeous just the way it grows from her beautiful head. Because what I learned (maybe too late in Life) is that if you know your beauty and believe it to be so, others will be enamored with you. They can't help it, confidence is beautiful.

For all the little girls, no matter their color or shape or size I wish a sense of peace and wholeness with their physical form. That they reject the notion that there is some standard of beauty against which they fall short. That they shine from the inside out, always and forever...

post script: a few of you over these past months have mistaken me for the beautiful brown woman holding my great neice. That's my sis-in-law, Ethel, the dove from Harlem. I'm the lady in the pink turtleneck with her handsome nephews. I considered flying incognito for a bit longer, but the layers peeled back and there it is...Later Gators...

F*ck the Muck

This week has been a funky ride. I've been immersed in the muck of me. I thought my little experiment "What if..." would free me from my self criticism. As it turns out, the years have allowed me to hoard a heap of negativity related to my self image. So, I find myself asking "What if..." thousands of time a day - or so it seems.

And that, my friends, makes me think "What is wrong with me?" and that sends me right back to my never ending line of questioning. So, for the past few days I have been in a pouty, menstrual and basically foul mood. I tend to isolate when I get like that - it never occurs to me to just bitch out loud in my blog. However, Lynn (dearheart, who is taking her blog underground or out of bounds) suggested in her last blog that that's the whole point. We can get as plain and funky as we like.

So, sitting on my family room futon, watching American Idol with the wonder-child, ignoring the pangs of cramps and the river of red that pours forth from my womb, I've decided to write.

This week has seen my dear friend and neighbor laid low by depression. She's been diagnosed with a small tumor in her brain, on the pituitary. Tonight she told me the shrinks think she may also be bipolar. She and I worked together a few years ago (when I had my consulting thing going) and I love and care for her deeply. I spent a couple of evenings this week sitting in her presence making her laugh, and when I couldn't do that, settling for a smile and when I couldn't get that, just filling the silence with my voice because I thought she needed that and when that wasn't right, I just listened. Listened to the pain that fills her body and how tired she is of bearig it, to the stress and tension and fear behind every one of her words. And, I listened to her hope and I shared it.

At work I discovered that my new boss, who is also a work friend, is (as most people are) running her own agenda and actively working to draw me into it. Now, I am just not cut out for the intrigue and politics of American worklife. It's stupid, or maybe I'm stupid, but I just find the whole game lacking in integrity. My aim is to remain balanced, true to the work and committed to finding the adaptive, higher order solutions to the issues and changes that we're facing.

But, I realize that others may attempt to force me into choosing sides (because there is always another side in these matters) and engaging in their lower order war games.

I just hope they don't force my hand on a day when I have my period.

There you have it my blogland friends. F*ck the muck - right now life sucks. (Typing that felt really good, in the most juvenile way!)

Take it light...

Chocolate City

When I started this blog a few months back, I thought I would stay far away from all things politic. But, as is the frequent case in my Life, I was telling the set-up for a joke and just didn't realize it.

So, what's a barely awake black woman to do when, at 5:30 am, she's confronted with Mayor Ray Nagin, telling all who would listen that God (not Redd Foxx or Groucho Marx, but God) spoke to him and told him that New Orleans was meant to be a chocolate city and that the hurricanes represented The Divine's displeasure with the US?

What to do indeed! Well, write about it of course - no other realistic choice. (And don't forget that earlier this month Pat Robertson knew that Israeli Prime Minister Sharon was being struck by God for keeping the holy land divided)

I had to write about the insanity that seems to creep up on each of us. True, it leaks boldly from the mouths of the prominent and the outrageously famous (Tom Cruise's pronouncements about post partum depression and anti-depressants); while we think we are holding it together and feel free to guffaw at their expense. We think we see the world through a real and rational lens, but all along our view is distorted and we're the only ones who don't know it. The joke's on us.

Remember when many among us thought that it made sense to invade Iraq (I wasn't in this group, but so many seemingly rational people were)? Decisions were made out of fear and a need to feel safe, when we felt anything but. So, we decided to strike first, and if what the experts say is true, we are less safe now than we were before we rolled in. So many lives lost and broken.

Now, please don't get your patriotic feathers ruffled. We're all in this boat together. Because we all succumb to fear and stress. Some of us may fall harder and with more people watching, but none of us is immune.

I can remember when the sight of a past boss could make me want to commit violence (and I've taught peaceful conflict resolution for years). I just, with a little unconscious trick of my mind, turned all her shortcomings into monumental failings. I managed to see her as the key to my losses, the reason for my stress, the symbol of everything that brought me discomfort. You see, in the end, we've all had the desire to strike out, to end the wrongs that we think are being done or prevent the horrors that we think might be done to us. I am not much different than my fellow US inhabitants who called for the invasion of Iraq. (Some might argue degree, but it's a slippery slope, my friend)

We try to find a reason for our distress and without fail we point our fingers outward. It's always someone else's (person, family, company, country) fault. They are always the problem. But, how do you tell the difference between them and us? At the heart of things, or even in the DNA of things, there isn't much difference between us. The difference is primarily in our heads, a matter of perception.

We're all swimming in the insanity of this world we have created. Some of us feed on it greedily, while most of us are numbly unaware of its affect on our lives and our thoughts.

As for me, I'm vigilantly trying to figure out when I'm acting out of my insanity (or the insanity around me) and make myself breathe a little slower, act with peaceful, powerful and creative intention, judge those I see caught up in it with a light heart while lending an ear and a hand. I have a t-shirt that sums it up:
Humankind - be both.

I guess when all is said and done, what could be better at 5:30 am than a little chocolate and a big laugh?

Love, Strippers and Reflection

My friend and neighbor had her 52 birthday celebration on Friday. A gaggle of us girls (about 15 women aged 23 - 52) celebrated at a wonderful Cajun restaurant here in Atlanta and then came back to my house for drinks, cake and a male stripper. The stripper was the idea of my friend's daughter, who organized the whole celebration and did a really great job.

Now, when I was in my twenties, whenever a friend got engaged or had a big birthday (25 or 30) a group of us would take them to a club that featured male strippers and free drinks, and we made sure to bring lots of dollar bills. The first time I went I did so because it was a birthday celebration for a workmate that I liked alot. I was however, morally and intellectually opposed to what I saw as the complete objectification and degradation of the men who would be stripping. I hated the idea of women stripping and felt equally opposed to it for men.

Because going to strip clubs was primarily a male activity in those days, I thought I would be immune to whatever reaction they experienced. Imagine my surprise when, after two drinks, I was waving my dollar bill and hollering with the most enthusiastic of the crowd "Take it off, baby!" (You gotta laugh at yourself or you're doomed to a Life of regret.) It was my first real awareness of the how basic and primal human Life really is. We are all subject to the power of the crowd, which is emotional, but also operates on other levels, as well. From the pheromones we emit causing a biochemical reaction to the co-mingling of the electrmagnetic fields that surround each of us, we impact one another. I realized that being female (and thoughtful) does not exclude you from the human expereince. Not to mention the fact that I enjoyed the feelings of freedom and arousal quite a bit.

When the first glimpses of the horrible mistreatment and degradation of the prisoners at the Abu Ghraib detention facility were shown, a number of people I knew were surprised that women were involved. I wasn't. I remembered the club experiences I had way back when (though I suspect the miltary personnel were driven by feelings of control, power and rage) and I knew women were not immune to that kind of behavior.

Fast forward to 2006 and here I am, in my home, hosting a stripping experience. I found myself in a very different place this time around. It maybe that I'm 49 and my hormone levels have receded (although that didn't seem to be effecting the rest of the over 45 crowd), but while I completely appreciated the physical beauty of the gentleman who put on the show, I found myself an observer of the experience and not a participant. As I watched the excitement of the other women and the very erotic (though legally covered) body of the dancer, I realized I was not engaged and I found myself wondering why.

Up until a couple of months ago, I had been celibate for 8 years. (The end of that period may be the topic of a later blog) My celibacy started out as an intentional journey. After a particularily disappointing relationship I realized that I was not very good at selecting mates. I have this open-hearted way of approaching the world and when I was feeling good about someone I tended to focus only on what was good about them without seeing all the other shades, colors, signs and giant road markers. So, I thought it was best to take some time and figure out those things that were a mystery to me about my process of realtionship. I also felt that I didn't want to set an insane example for my daughter (who was 3 years old) of what realtionships were about.

However, I did not plan to be alone for 8 years. Somewhere around year two I decided I had figured some things out and was now ready to step into the world of dating. My travel schedule, single Mom responsibilities and commitment to taking things slow made dating an every-now-and-then activity. Many of the men I met were not really available (single, but not interested in a relationship) or, we just didn't match; though I have made a couple of friends/acquaintances over these years.

I did begin to understand that my desire and need for sex was completely separate from my desire and need for a Loving relationship. I had always linked the two in the past, which I think is why I made a number of poor choices along the way. I also became clear about the fact that what I desire is a realtionship where those two elements are definitely present; sexual desire expressed within the context of Love.

So, here I am, in my living room with an admittedly handsome, Michelangelo's David-like, half-naked man putting on a show and I realize this is soooo far from the kind of sexual expression in which I have an interest. I wasn't so much against what was happening as completely out of step with it. It was an odd feeling because the primal human reaction was still present, I just chose not to go with it. Once I made that choice I found I was fully present but not participating.

A few of the other ladies asked me if I was okay, thinking my lack of participation signaled that something was wrong. I assured them I was fine, that I just wasn't into it and that they should have fun. Once they realized I wasn't judging them I think they all relaxed and had a good time. I know the Birthday Girl did!

As for me, I'm hoping 2006 is the year I begin to create that intimate relationship I desire, while I stick to my resolution to see people for who they really are (see January 2, "Eyes Open, Walking On) and relate to them honestly and with care about what I see and what I want.

Whatever your realtionship status and desires I wish you much Love and fulfillment in this year too!

Musings and Ramblings...Why I Love Sudoku

Yes, I admit to being in an addictive love affair with sudoku. I tried to stop, telling myself "Not today, girl. It takes up too much of your time. Gotta work on that project you have due in two weeks". But, I couldn't stay away. I looked longingly upon my cherished puzzle book. It's pages dog-earred and smudged, holding bits of eraser sheddings in their binding.

I couldn't ignore it and opened to my latest puzzle. I spent a precious 40 minutes working through it. Time I needed to spend on other tasks. But, it's been like this everyday since receiving that spellbinding puzzle book in November. "Why, oh why can't I stop?"

I'm not entirely sure, but I do have some thoughts. There's the deep and individual part of this that Doc made me think about on his blog. But, I'll save that for another day. All the reasons why I stop myself from creating what I desire will take a little more therapy and way more space than this one blog can handle. So, back to sudoku.

Here are the reasons for my love of the game:

1. Order - in this seemingly chaotic world (yes I know the Universe is orderly and what we percieve as the chaos and randomness of nature is the system functioning perfectly) it is nice to only have to focus on the numbers 1 through 9 and figure out where they go. I don't have to solve the seemingly unsolveable puzzle of how to afford the education my daughter deserves and desires. I just have to put the numbers 1 - 9 in the right order on a 9 x9 grid.

2. Predictability - It is guaranteed that I can get to the answer if I go one step at a time. I know going into to it that every puzzle is solveable. This is so unlike my Life which I have been unable to sort out for lo' these many years. Not that I have that much to complain about, I just can't predict that happy ending at the far side of the rainbow. That I still desire it may show an incredible lack of maturity on my part, but hey, I am who I am. Like I said, I can predict a happy (at least a satisfied) ending with each sudoku puzzle.

3. Logic and Reason - I live, for the most part in a world of emotion. I think, more than most folk I come in contact with, that I have a keen awareness of emotions (mine and theirs). It probably has to do with growing up in a household of functioning alcoholic parents who could scare the crap out of me with their rages against one another. That they Loved me (and I them) is one of the things I know for sure, but baby, they messed up my head too. Still trying to unwind it all. So, sudoku brings me to a space where only my logic and reason can help me. Guessing, intuiting, feeling my way through it can lead to mistakes/errors which may require that I start again. Sudoku is where my analytical side can shine and be appreciated (by me) all on its own.

4. Clarity - I can't tell you how comforting it is to know that there is one right answer. Not your answer or my answer. Not I Love you, but not in that way; or I Love you, but I'm not ready for a relationship; or I'm not sure how I feel, I mean, I think I Love you. None of that bullsh**. Not shades of grey or the lesser of 50 evils, but ONE RIGHT ANSWER! I say thank ya!

So, there you have it. The reasons why I sudoku everyday. What do you do to counter balance the craziness in your world?

Meet Me In Heaven

Anyone remember the Clapton song "Tears in Heaven"? I'm not sure what planet I've been living on, but I was only recently introduced to it, though I understand it is a classic.

This morning I'm wondering how we would be different if we met in heaven. Would the 'things' that seem so important to us, that tell us so much about one another - our homes, cars, spouses, the way we look - be important then? Would we be so quick to decide who is worthy and who is not, and what yardstick would we use to measure worthiness?

Many, many moons ago I went to one of the top high schools in the US, located in New York City, where I grew up. It was a public school that required you to test into it. I tested and was accepted. The year before, to ensure an unprecedented level of fairness, the school system allotted a certain number of spaces for children who missed gaining entrance by a small margin and who were members of a 'minority'group' (basically black or hispanic). These children went to a summer school program and recieved remediation that prepared them for the rigorous curriculum of the school. This probably sounds standard to most folk now, but in the 1970's (I told you it was many, many moons ago) it was a novel and controversial concept.

Interestingly enough, during my tenure there I was asked at one time or another by teachers, counselors and almost every other adult in the building about the summer school program. A program I knew nothing about, but being black, it was assumed I attended. Those high school days were my initiation into a world where I would be seen, but not fully seen. My story written by others based upon a physical attribute that I possessed and their perception (often automatic and without conscious thought) of people with that attribute. After the 2nd or 3rd time it happened I started to ask 'what makes you think I was in the summer school program?' That question usually made the adult I was speaking to angry and my Life a little harder, but it did give me a sense of satisfaction to ask it.

Now that I've Lived/survived on the planet for a while, I recognize the many ways we do this to one another. We are all subject to making generalizations and making assumptions about one another that can hinder our relationships. We do it all the time. I remember when I first moved to the south I carried all the stereotypes about southerners with me. One day, lost as I usually am when I move to a new city, I was attempting to merge into another lane that would gain me access to the highway. The vehicle to my right was a pick-up truck driven by a white male with a white male passenger. They were in their 40's, longish hair and the driver was wearing overalls. My instant thought, as I hit my turn signal, was "they'll never let me in". Because, in my mind, they were racist southerners. They looked just like the ones I had seen on tv during the civil rights era.

Need I say that the driver waved me in front of them and I went on my merry way? You see, the truth of that encounter was that I made up a story about those men in that truck, a story for which I had no evidence except the way they looked. I attributed to them a particular attitude and set of beliefs based upon my own history, the history of my people and the history of the country within which I was born. Then, I assumed that they would behave in a certain way because of those attributes. The real truth is that I knew nothing about those men and they behaved with a small kindness toward me. That is really all I can say with any certainty.

How many times a day do we ascribe motives, beliefs, values to others without any evidence or knowledge of what's really going on with them? I think it's more often than we'd probably be comfortable with, if we look at ourselves honestly. And we do it because we are human and we try to make sense of our world. It's not a "bad" habit. In fact, with all the information that comes flying at us every second, we'd be lost and confused if we didn't engage in this automatic way. But, given that almost all of us want to be seen and loved for who we are, as completely as possible, we need to be more conscious of this behavior in our interactions with one another. We need to ask ourselves when judging someone else 'what do I really know is true about this situation and / or this person, and what have I made up, based upon my own beliefs/history/experience?' Then explore the gap.

We've all been unfairly judged, juried and hung by someone at sometime. Let's create less and less of that going forward. Let's imagine we're meeting in heaven. I'll see you there.