One Week in September

I just received a very public shout out from one of my line sisters on Facebook that has me blushing. She thanked me for some remarks I gave at a high school retreat, based her recommendation to her sister to invite me. And my very broad smile isn't just over what she said (which was truly overwhelming), but it is based on what it meant to me in the context of everything that has been going on of late.

Remember how I spent time this summer contemplating the meaning of life and trying to write my way towards the 42? How I had been rambling on to myself about fear and doubt and whether the choices I had been making with respect to my business were making any difference? How I declared that I am writing a book (something akin to an opus)?

Well, that brings me to this random week in September that began with my participation in a video and ended with the speech I gave to those high school students. At least that is one set of doubts that have been silenced.

I have unconsciously begun to say yes to things that take me outside of my comfort zone. Earlier this year it was accepting an invitation to take a whirlwind solo trip to New York City. This summer it was deciding to rent a bike while on vacation with a baby seat attached. It has also meant stepping up to take on responsibilities other than caregiving and mothering, such as fundraising and jumping back into community work. It has meant taking risks with uncertain outcomes, and accepting in advance that everything will work out in the end.

I volunteered to participate in this video on maternal health. I am certain that I didn't truly think through all of the consequences of sharing such personal details of my life, and after the fact, I have been rather gun shy about broadcasting it. Yet, I am proud to have offered my perspective and hope that someone will be inspired by my experience.

I attended my first Congressional Black Caucus Annual Legislative Conference in years, which was notable for just allowing me an opportunity to leave the house for "work". Then came the big invitation to be a high school retreat speaker, which was quite a big deal. I responded to a Facebook message from my line sister that asked me for assistance. I naturally assumed that I was being asked for legal advice, so when I received her sister's call, I was completely caught off guard by her request to offer a message of hope to her students. While she was explaining the idea to me, my mind vacillated between why me and how do I politely decline...not for any particular reason, but just because. I asked her why and she offered up her reasons, and I ignored my doubts and said yes.

The choice to say yes was surprising because I wouldn't have imagined that I had anything of value or consequence to say to high school students. I thought about experiences that might relate to where they are and wrote those thoughts down. I worried about over-thinking, about talking too long, and about boring them, and I included all of that in my presentation. Since I am not a natural public speaker, I figured that it would be better to be honest and to use what I would think of as deficits as my strengths. And apparently, it worked.

That is the same philosophy I am bringing to writing this book--just putting what I have to offer on the page. I am already over-thinking, rambling on for too long, and not as exciting or riveting as I would like, but I am writing anyway. I have grand ideas and hope that maybe a few of those come together, but I am also going to ground myself by just doing my best. I am going to keep stepping out on faith alone because staying safe and dry in the boat has kept me safe and dry...and adrift. It's okay to get wet every now and then.

Just Go With It

I've done some crazy out-of-my-comfort-zone stuff lately, and I'm about to keep it going with even more outrageousness. Because dreams aren't always built with blueprints.

I have been restless since the last full week of July when I felt a sense of uneasiness and agitation about my future. I can't say whether these are symptoms of a mid-life crisis, or if I am really taking stock of my life and trying something new, but I had an epiphany of sorts after I wrote about my fear of success. It feels kind of corny to suggest that the stars aligned for me in that moment, but yeah, maybe that is exactly what happened.

That week I decided to stage a photo shoot to promote the new tees for my Busy Black Woman Vote Campaign. I believe my inspiration began with the election results in the Alabama Senate race because all of the post-election analysis suggested that it was the organizing and turnout of black women in the state that helped to elect Doug Jones over the pedophile (and I will never understand why that was even a close contest). Then it was a series of stories about how more women were becoming involved in the political process in response to what happened in 2016, so I designed a new shirt. I ordered a prototype of the shirt and wore it to a rally in February. Then I left it to hang in my bathroom for several weeks to collect dust.

Fast forward to May when I hosted a voter engagement panel at my church. It was poorly attended and I was discouraged by the amount of work I put into planning that went unacknowledged (another issue for another time). But somehow that motivated me to proceed with the shirt, so I placed a limited order. After I wore that shirt to my local primary, I decided to place another order for the full range of sizes, of which there are 18 unsold shirts...

I forgot to mention that I want to donate a portion of the sales to the National Voter Registration Day effort. And I made that donation last week even though I still have 18 unsold shirts.

I also have unsold coffee/tea mugs, shoe bags, and the remainders from the original order of shirts I made several years ago when I had the bright idea to design a shirt to accompany the Busy Black Woman blog. So far this year, I have sold a few, including the one I sold last week.

It was a random decision on a Thursday morning that resulted in this:

(Oh, and by the way, that is another shirt prototype in the photo.) There was also this unexpected turn of events on Twitter the following day. And now I've decided to write a book.

I used to think that the great book I would write would be a work of fiction, but I don't write fiction. I read fiction. And I am such a snob about the types of fiction that I prefer that I believe I would be an even worse perfectionist about any attempt and never get the damn thing written. Because I actually started to write a fictional story several years ago about a well-to-do church family in a southern city and I swear Greenleaf is probably what it could have been if I had just kept at it. (Yes, I believe that).

So I am going to write a book about my life that is not really a memoir or autobiography, but one that maybe folks will read. And I decided to write this declaration out so that I can have it bug me whenever I don't spend enough time working on it. I probably won't be telling too many people about it, but it is my hope that once the effort is complete, I will be in a space where I am no longer afraid of success. Which means for now, I only have to succeed at finishing the manuscript.

Talking to Myself

I haven't written in this space in quite a while, but that's because I've been "building" over at Busy Black Woman. And I can't say for sure what that means.

I have 128 followers on the FB page. I get on average 20 reads of anything I write on that blog. I'm up to 18 followers on Instagram. Every now and then, I post something that reaches more than 25 people on Facebook (today I reached more than 120 people by posting an article about Pat McGrath). Little by little; bird by bird.

I am still very restless and anxious and unsure about the future. I know that this is the precise moment when someone should send me one of those memes about a person just about to have a breakthrough, but they quit and so it never happens. But since that hasn't happened (I checked), I will share that Ann Taylor Loft is having a sale and so is Nordstrom.

But then I found this:

But I have several dilemmas. I don't have a clue what my breakthrough is supposed to be. Do I want to sell some tee shirts? Yes. I have a few good reasons: (1) I don't want to monetize my blog with third party ads; (2) I think I have something clever to say; and (3) I'm making an investment in my work and I can't afford to give everything away. Do I want to be a tee shirt vendor? Not really, because I am a writer. But, I am trying to build a following, and I heard a voice that told me to do this. And I am not kidding. I listened to a voice that told me to invest in myself in this way.

Of course, in writing this, I am admitting that I have doubts. I am beginning to think that I was just telling myself to try something different and bold. And maybe this will be a disaster that finds me giving away free tee shirts to my handful of followers at some point in the future.

I needed to write that out--to admit that I am having big time anxiety because I am too proud to tell anyone. I don't have any safe havens for sharing my feelings anymore. This has been true for a long time, which is how and why I write as much as I do, because in any given 24 hour period, the only other person in my orbit is a three year old who doesn't really talk to me either. And while I am convinced she understands me very well, her unwillingness to express herself is just another example of how lonely and pathetic I feel.

Despite my doubts and anxieties, I am serious about investing in myself. I will keep the faith, even though it is smaller than a mustard seed right now because what choice do I have? What do I have to lose other than what I already don't have? And I could gain something...

Because I am a writer. And that is why I am still writing even if I haven't sold anything. I may not be a tee shirt/mug/shoe bag vendor, but I have a message that I want people to receive, even if I have to give some of it away for free. You might get blessed with a tee or a mug, or you might be blessed by something you read. And maybe that will spur you to buy a tee that you might remember to wear to some event where someone sees you. And that person might inquire about the shirt and you will tell them about the blog and it happens to be a day that I have been particularly poignant about some random topic. And maybe that person can change my life. Or maybe you might take your free mug to work and leave it unwashed in the common area where someone comes along and wonders who left behind this cool mug. And maybe that coworker swipes it, so you have to order another one (or you threaten to issue an inter-office beat-down). Either way, another new person discovers the blog.

And so on, and so on...

Do It Anyway

I started this post at the BBW blog, but quickly had to conquer my anxiety to post based on a personal deadline I had set. I am re-launching the #HBCUJustGive campaign and got some new promotional ideas to assist in that effort. The big plunge was recording and then posting a companion video.

I am standing at the water's edge with a toe skimming the foam of the crashing waves. I sometimes venture in to the point where the water reaches my calves, but most of the time I am content to walk along the shore line. But tomorrow I plan to dive in.

(I am not sure flowery writing is my thing...)

I have been planning to do something big, but I have been stymied by the familiar doubts that always seem to erect a barrier between my visions and reality. The same thing happened the other night when I spent half the day stressing about whether to wear my new BBW tee prototype (I wore it). The same thing happened back in November after I ordered a box full of mugs that I was reluctant to advertise. The same thing happened a few years ago when I debuted the initial BBW tee and got dissatisfied with the printing on a few of the shirts. Let's not even address my writing process...

I always get in my own way. Perfection is the enemy of the good.

I even designed a shirt for this specific issue, which says to go for it, to do it anyway, to take the plunge, go the extra mile, put your best foot forward, and whatever other maxims are supposed to be encouraging in moments like this. DO IT (with no infringement on Nike's trademark, I might add).

Because you only live once. Because someone else will do it. Because that other person's effort won't even come close to your vision. Because you will always wonder what if. Because if not you, then who and if not now, then when?

A friend asked me to articulate an objective for what I am doing and to be honest with her and myself, I have no idea. I believe I just want to feel like I am doing something other than just watching life go by. After nearly ten years of being a caregiver, and then more than 15 years of working but never making any real professional progress (or enough money), I know that it is time for me to take the extreme risk of speaking for myself and walking on my own. I have had this dream of being a writer for a long time, probably much longer than I even realized but laboring in obscurity or as a ghost writer isn't enough. For all intents and purposes, I am a writer. I write all of the time. And I am a recognized writer. I am just not acknowledged as such in any formal fashion.

So instead of trying to stumble into recognition by random twists of fate, I am trying to build a brand, which is something that I would not have said back in 2005 when I first formally began to blog. Yet, I hope that I can build a following and create some recognition for my voice. I look around and I see that there are plenty of people in the world who can do what I do for better or for worse. I am not in competition with them though, because I am simply looking for my tribe. Looking for others who can relate to my struggles, my ideas, and who are willing to support my dreams.

As I have been on this journey, I have learned to adjust my expectations, which is why after recording several takes and then encountering computer issues that made it difficult for me get the perfect take, I did something that I am learning to become more comfortable doing. I went in with the best take I had and even if only a few people see it, I posted it. But I plan to try again, so perhaps I have other opportunities to hit my own very high bar.

My final point is that by taking this risk (which is not nearly as great as it felt in the build up), I am investing in myself. That is something I haven't really done in a LONG time. I have often taken small sure steps towards a particular goal, but rarely have I ever just jumped without knowing what would happen next. Even when I had my daughter, I feel like the risks were manageable (because until recently, I thought my greater challenge had been in caring for my Mom). And that is exactly why this was such a big deal--I usually have an eagle eye for the road ahead. I have NO IDEA what will become of this, but for the first time, I am okay with not knowing.

So here I go!

We're Chumped...but Not Out

If the past few months (weeks, days, hours) have anything to teach us, we can expect that the guy in the White House will do something outrageous and offensive before the end of the month. My guess is that it will either happen by Saturday, Aug. 26 (Women's Equality Day), but definitely no later than Monday, Aug. 28 (which is the March on Washington commemoration). It is his nature to be offensive, especially if we expect him to be otherwise.

Quick pause: I began writing this earlier in the day, BEFORE the pardon (mentioned in the next paragraph) was issued. This guy trolls us even in the midst of a natural disaster bearing down in the form of a Category 4 Hurricane! SMH

So it's way past time for us to collectively adjust our expectations so that we can stop acting alarmed when he baits an overreaction by his ridiculous behavior. Of course he looked up at the eclipse without those special glasses. Of course he went forward with an ill-timed rally in Arizona and flirted with the possibility that he will pardon the racist sheriff. Of course he defended the white nationalists, neo-Nazis, and the Confederacy. Of course he is feuding with Congress. Of course he has bankrupted the Secret Service. Of course he thinks it will be perfectly fine to shut down the government over a stupid wall.

And this was all the nonsense of just this week!!!

It will never stop. Because some of our fellow Americans thought he would be their man in Washington who would drain the swamp, or just stick it to the man (who was Obama, I think), there is no stopping this guy from making a giant ass of himself every chance he gets. So all of our FB haranguing about all of the damage he has done to our country, all of the defriending and blocking of your high school classmates, all of the counter-trolling, etc...I mean, keep doing it if it makes you happy. However, just know that it will make not an iota of difference.

His supporters love him and will continue to love him. They will send their teenage daughters out into the world to defend him like these young ladies here:

Or they will arm their sons and nephews with tiki torches and pretend that their outrage is really about old forgotten statues that no one cared about in communities where they don't live (and most of them don't even know why they're still standing):

Or they will send out their religious hacks to condemn your faith/patriotism/humanity:

Or they will huddle up in their posh owner's box to hatch a plan to discredit a modern-day John the Baptist for taking a knee during the anthem (you know, since football is like a religion for some of you, I thought I would analogize):

I could keep going, but I don't wish to post a picture of him on my blog, especially not the most recent one from the rally this week that prominently featured a legitimately unhinged black supporter. In a classic product placement move worthy of a Clio, "Mike" was intended to dispel the notion the Trumpets are racist/sexist/stupid. Or whatever.

I'm just putting it all out here to illustrate the point that he is here to stay. Remember when he said that he could shoot someone in Times Square and not lose any support? Well...??? Sure, he hasn't done that yet, but give him time.

Nothing will rid us of this troublesome honey badger. He don't care and we are definitely stuck with him until January 21, 2021. Now that is not a statement of resignation, but it is the truth because there won't be an impeachment. Believe me. There is no infrastructure in place to make that happen. This Russian probe is totally going to be the Iran-Contra hearings all over again. The fall guy might be someone expendable, like Don Jr., but that's why his Dad floated out the prospect of pardons. His congressional opposition consists of disorganized Democrats and Paul Ryan supporters. Mitch McConnell is his bitch. He's surrounded himself with military generals. He's been making friends with every authoritarian on the planet. And he has the nuclear codes.

I am not arguing that we give up, but I am just suggesting that we face the facts. Our energy is better spent counting down the 1,245 days until he boards that helicopter for the last time on our dime. Which means we do EVERYTHING to remind him of our disdain and odium. We use the same grassroots organizing tactics that have resulted in every other major social advancement in our country. We organize. We march. We rally. We keep making cool protest signs. We light candles for the Notorious RBG. We educate ourselves and our children. We protect our prophets (like Kaepernick); we mourn our martyrs (like Heather Heyer).  We raise our voices. We VOTE in 2018, and again in 2020, and every subsequent election. We find the folks who erected this chicken on the ellipse and mass produce miniature inflatable duplicates to pass around at his rallies like beach balls. We RESIST!

The Politics of Disrespectability

The other day a lot of us imagined that the late Dr. Mary McLeod Bethune rose up from her grave in utter shock and horror during the commencement exercises at the school she founded. The reason for that imagined resurrection is up for debate.

On the one hand, I think she was insulted that her name and legacy had been invoked to justify an invitation extended to Secretary of Education Betsy DeVos, a woman whose credentials for the job of being the nation's school superintendent are, ahem, questionable. On the other hand, it could be argued that her anger was at the students for breaking with decorum. If I had another hand, I would say that she was irate about all of that and then some.

I started tweeting my own rant last week and urged students to walk out of the ceremony. Of course, I have no real followers so that was just my opinion. The official Twitter hashtag urged students to turn their backs on DeVos during the speech, and I guess that could have worked too. But then someone began booing and then the chanting and then things broke down from there. It was a spectacle and an unfortunate avoidable mess.

Part of my outrage over this sparked the campaign I am currently promoting through Busy Black Woman, Just Give. I believe more alumni giving can make our voices heard, even in a room full of tone deaf leaders. For all of the complaining and the anger we express on social media, it will mean nothing if donations to Bethune-Cookman University dry up or remain static. HBCUs should not have to curry favor with every million dollar donor when we have an adequate built-in base of untapped alumni support.

BCUs President and Board probably assumed that by inviting DeVos to speak, they could avail themselves of some federal funding, perhaps in the form of some special pilot grant program or that infrastructure spending that the Trumpet questioned. And I'm thinking that when the invitation was extended, DeVos saw it as an opportunity to reintroduce herself to the HBCU community after her earlier misguided statements and assumed that the students wouldn't really care...after all, aren't most students are drunk at graduation anyway?

Not at an HBCU Graduation! Because Mama and 'nem are there and they got dressed up and they waited 4, 5, 6 or so years for that moment. Folks took off from work to make the trip. Somebody went without so that balance was paid and you were cleared to walk at the last minute. Grandma endured the trip, even though you told her it would be ok if she didn't come, but she insisted because you are her oldest grandchild. Or the youngest. Or somewhere in the middle (no matter). And because HBCUs tend to hold graduations close to Mother's Day, Mama and Grandma and Aunties and that older cousin who is like a sister to you who brought her kids so that they can see you as a role model, they are in that audience beaming with pride, so this is not some corny formality. This is a BIG deal.

And so, despite the fact that Dr. Bethune left us these eloquent words in her famous Last Will and Testament, apparently the powers that be forgot that she had plenty more to say. So on Wednesday morning she rose up from her grave, knowing all of that commotion was about to take place, and she inspired a few of those meme savvy students to release some of her other important words to let the rest of us know why that fuckery was intolerable.

To those of you with your years of service still ahead, the challenge is yours. Stop doubting yourselves. Have the courage to make up your minds and hold your decisions. Refuse to be BOUGH for a nickel, or a million dollars, or a job!

If we accept and acquiesce in the face of discrimination, we accept the responsibility ourselves. We should, therefore, protest openly everything...that smacks of discrimination or slander.

To Miss Betsy, let's be clear that you had a right to speak at the invitation of the University President, Dr. Edison O. Jackson. But he had no right to invite you to be the commencement speaker, and then wait until the 11th hour to announce your selection when it would be too late for the graduates to oppose it. He claimed that he wanted to expose the students to opposing points of view, which might be appropriate when the attendees are current students who are still subject to the school's authority. Commencement is an audience of faculty, alumni, graduates, and families, which means these were not the young impressionable minds that should be compelled to sit through whatever Secretary DeVos had to say. This was not a campus convocation.

And that is why so many HBCU alumni were upset. We have legitimate issues with this Administration and while we can appreciate the assumption that there is a benefit to being exposed to alternative viewpoints, it is not a requirement. Every pronouncement from Trumpelthinskin and Company has been an egregious repudiation of the ideals many of us hold, so why should anyone assume good intentions from Mrs. DeVos' appearance? And why raise the specter of federal funding when we know that is a red herring? Because if she did come in peace, then there would have been no need to shroud her appearance with such mystery.

Thus, the prophetic nature of Dr. Bethune's words and why we must not sell our principles for any price. Bethune-Cookman is a private HBCU, so while it certainly depends on federal funding through student loans and other programs, perhaps it should be made public that DeVos' appearance would ensure the preservation of XYZ so at least folks would know why they were a captive audience at that circus. And knowing that the decision to walk out or turn their backs to the speech would be met with criticism anyway, why not "protest openly" against the slander that somehow we are expected to acquiesce to patronizing contempt and disrespect.

Continue to rise BCU Wildcats and continue to make Dr. Bethune proud!

Week One

I have been inspired to write a lot lately. I have been posting a lot to the BBW blog, and this piece started there, but I am posting it here as I try to figure out a few things about my direction these next few years.

I feel like I am just spinning my wheels here--both on this blogging effort and at life. I wonder about life generally because the older I get, things just seem to get more complex. There is a lot of shit swirling around me and I feel utterly powerless in its midst. There is a lot of change going on in the world and you already know how I feel about much of that nonsense and fuckery (yeah, I am back to cursing). And as writing is my refuge in times like these, I am placing a lot of pressure on myself to increase my output even though it is not entirely clear that it matters...

So let me address that issue first. I started blogging more than 10 years ago just to have a means of expressing myself, but I have been writing like this for years. Before it was called blogging, I wrote pieces in a spiral bound notebook with a black Bic ballpoint pen. When I wrote out some of my thoughts on the computer, I called it computer journaling.

When I began this effort, my intention was to be discovered as a writer. I had written a few things that had generated some interest, and after having two jobs where I wrote to convey the positions of others, I thought I was ready for the next level. I think back in 2005 when this blog began, I had hoped that I would end up writing a column for some online ezine or maybe I would have written a book or two by now.

Well, I am still at it, writing in obscurity. I am a decent writer, but not a very good promoter of my writing. In fact, I am not good at all when it comes to self-promotion or taking credit for things. I am like those artists that only focuses on making art, but needs lots of help managing everything else in their lives because the art becomes all-consuming. Or perhaps I am a writer afraid of both success and failure because I have found failure is way too easy. It takes the same amount of effort as trying to achieve success; however, success requires more sustained effort. Failure can happen any number of times but success seems to be a one-time shot.You get plenty of opportunities to make the shot, but you only get that one chance to make that shot.

After blogging all these years, I believe that I want more, but I am afraid of what more means. Does it mean that I need to dedicate real time to writing and not just make the most of stolen moments? Does it mean that I need to prioritize my craft above the needs of everyone else, and at what cost?

Which is where I question how well I am doing at life beyond my writing. This month has already been a bitch and whenever I think things have calmed down, shit happens. Like yesterday, I was working on this piece when I got a call that fucked the rest of my day, my night and is still causing me agitation. So when I contemplate whether I should become one of those people whose every waking moment is spent honing her craft, it is never a realistic thought. Or in other words, I could never truly tell the rest of the world to go fuck off while I write since a good deal of what fuels my need to write is the shit that happens to me!

My most honest writing comes from the constant questioning and self-doubt: have I been a good enough daughter, am I a decent mother, how can I be a better wife, why don't I feel like I am enough? Why do I take so much to heart? Why do I keep getting in my own way? Who am I to think that my dreams are realistic? Would I have been better off if I had just been content to be a mediocre lawyer? What made me think I had what it took to be any kind of lawyer in the first place (remember how you nearly failed out of law school)? Why don't you just give up and admit that you are a failure?

Because even if I am unexceptional, mediocre, average or just ok, I am not a failure.

So I will continue. The world may never discover me, or it might. I will continue to write when I need to express how the world affects me. I will write when I have a lot to say but no one available to hear any of it. I write to leave a record of my opinions, my thoughts, my anxieties and also my hopes and dreams. I write because I am a writer.

Juggling Knives

I sometimes feel as if I mistreat this blog, but that is not my intent.  I am just really working hard to build an audience for Busy Black Woman.  I have no idea if my goals will ever be realized, but there is this part of me that feels compelled to try.

That is kind of the way it feels with everything in my life lately--just try until it fails (or succeeds).  But success has been elusive for me and I feel that it is starting to show.  It shows on my face for whenever I look at myself in the mirror a defeated old woman is looking back at me.  And that is new and unexpected.

I realize that what I am going through is typical.  It isn't normal in the sense that everyone deals with unemployment, infertility, care-giving and whatever else is on my plate these days...it is normal that people my age begin to feel the pressure of life.  This is the age when pressure turns into chronic disease, bad habits, gray hair and permanent cynicism.  This is when idealistic people become jaded.

I am unsure how I am going to fare these next few years.  Tonight my back tensed up so much that I was wincing.  I almost have to take a drink in order to relax and that has become scary.  How am I supposed to get through the really rough patches of life if I think I need a glass of wine?  What happens when the wine stops working (like now since I am still very tense)?

I feel overwhelmed.  And I often feel as if I brought all this on myself, not as a way to find material for the blog, but because I fear boredom and idleness more than anything else.  I live in fear of dying on a day when my biggest accomplishment would have been checking my Facebook page.  Therefore, I am booked with activities through my parents' anniversary and then I have a week until Thanksgiving.  Then I have my recital and it just keeps going until January when all of the Centennial activities begin.  I don't know how I am supposed to even start thinking about having a personal life in the midst of all that.

I have already written a piece for the other blog on my trips to a social worker...I just need to post it.  And once that happens, I need to face the fact that maybe I stopped going to relieve myself of the guilt of self-indulgence.  Which is a problem for way too many reasons.  Why should I feel guilty about needing professional help?  Why should I, when the husband runs to the doctor for stomach pain every two months?  I am about to cancel a doctor's appointment next week because I need time to do something else.

And therein lies the real problem.  I am getting really good at knife juggling, but not so good at setting them down to take a break.  Why I should feel some kind of way about an hour a week spent talking about myself to a professional (granted, I felt guilty mostly because of the cost) is beyond me.

So I think I am about to make some very different decisions about my life moving forward.  One change that will take place immediately (next week as a matter of fact), I will go back to getting my hair and nails done on a regular basis.  It is funny that I started getting my nails done as a birthday gift to my mother and for at least four months, we kept at it.  Then she changed her mind and I stopped going after a particularly draining episode when she threatened to walk home.  So one of conclusions I had to reach after that episode and many others is that I need space to live a life of my own every now and then. 

And that needs to be okay with everybody, including especially me.

Look Out Below

So I did something today that will either turn out to be very smart or very stupid in a few short weeks.

I took a leap of faith.  And right now, I must still be in the clouds where everything looks fine.  But check me again in a few weeks when the altitude has changed.

Long story short, I made an investment in a business venture to see if this idea I have been nurturing for the past few months can earn me some cash.  Not a whole lot of cash is at stake, but the goal is to see if the concept can grow into something profitable.