Priorities and Back Burners

It recently occurred to me that the last four years of my life resembled a swinging pendulum vacillating between a series of things that were priorities for a few months and then swinging on to others. There was never a time where I just rested right in the middle balancing life, work, and love.
I think it's important for the most part to realize -- chances are that's never going to happen. 
Hate to be Debbie Downer here, but some things take priority in your life and require your full focus for a few months and then something else that's been on the back burner catches flame and then you have to focus on that. Kind of runs parallel with the whole theory no one has it all at the same time.
It's hard for people to accept, myself included, but sometimes we can't do everything.

So I've devised a plan. I decided whenever I feel overwhelmed or feel like everything I'm trying to do is getting 80% of my energy; I'll focus on one and give it 100%.
I was telling a friend of mine the other day (when she as well was struggling with this idea that we can't have it all -- at the same time) and sometimes you have to put things on the back burner that you don't want to like your relationships. In her case it was her friendships - I told her listen, you have friends for a reason we're always going to be there and yes we need nurturing and attention as well so we can grow together and not apart, but maybe right now isn't the time you're meant to focus on that aspect in your life. I'm learning you have to appreciate the graces that life gives you - like the really good friends that will speak to you like they miss you, but also talk to you like the time missed didn't change a thing. Or if your job is going really well, let it be! Focus that energy elsewhere. Now I'm not saying don't be a rockstar at your job, I'm saying you can always sense when you can breathe for a minute and take a look at something in your life that isn't going that well.

Take for example, when I first moved to the city my priority was survival - no joke. I had just been scammed trying to sell my bed on craigslist (so I was in the red) and I was moving to a city to start my first job where I didn't know anyone, and was also attempting to foster a new relationship. So yes, it was one of those times where everything was up for grabs and I was praying nothing would fall through. At the top of everything I just wanted to survive, eat and have a place to call home - and that's what I did. I put everything into understanding my new job so I could excel and I tried hard to keep my cat from running around the tiny apartment chasing the bugs... There were things that fell. I ran a marathon that year and didn't train as hard - ran my worst time so far and almost got picked up by the slow truck.
And that was then. But what I have now out of that 'season: priority just make it to tomorrow,' is the ability to know what it's like to be comfortable. Comfortable is the feeling you get when you can relax in a moment, you can be yourself and not that scared, anxious person; and that my friend is the goal.
I know when I write things like this it makes it seem like it's so easy or that I have it figured out, but let's be honest 1.) I don't and 2.) This kind of acceptance will be hard and it also might not always work. Life isn't a rhythm it's more of an undefined span of time with highs, lows, moments of acceleration and pause. But at least if you appreciate and accept, that you have a lot of things that matter to you and that you are only one person; then this small token of advice might help you ride the wave, pick your moment, focus, get comfortable then move on to the next thing.
Don't hate on priorities and don't stress when you have too many that need attention all at once. You have priorities to make you choose what will make you feel balanced if you attend to it in that moment. And when you feel like you're coasting take a look at something you might have set on the back burner a long time ago, maybe it's time that became a priority.

The Strength to Endure: Boston

News is breaking about the suspects in the Boston Marathon bombing. I can't even imagine what that day was like for those runners. I've run four marathons and preparing for my fifth this summer. Let me tell you running 26.2 miles is tough, like really hard - not to mention at Boston when you have to keep a certain pace to finish within your qualifying time. I'm not saying that to brag (ps haven't run Boston), I'm giving you some perspective. These people are probably sprinting 26.2 miles. People say the stress of running a marathon is equivalent to the stress of giving birth. People talk about endurance - withstanding hardship - a marathon is that and you're tired. It's like you get to mile 20 and you think "I'm almost there," but your legs feel like cement and your body is in this constant motion begging yo
u to stop and keep going at the same time. After mile 22 if you pause at all your body doesn't want to start back up. You start to think irrational things like your arm might fall off or you'll fall over a crack in the road because you're not lifting your knees as high. Then you see the finish line - the end in sight...
And for some that moment was stolen. For more than 30,000 people running will never be the same. The relief of finishing an exhilarating race such as the Boston marathon is forever marred by a selfish act. You take a race that makes you feel invincible and tarnish it with destruction.
After Monday's news broke, I had friends and family members asking me if I was okay -- me -- I wasn't even there, I was thought to myself. Their sentiment was "well you're a runner..." and that was it. My family and friends revealed a small piece of evidence that has now permanently connected me to possibly millions of people in this world. And I did feel sad, devastated even for them, but I still can't imagine what that was like. As runners, we can only fathom the level of heartbreak something like this could create. It's kind of like when people say, "I feel you." I could literally feel the hurt of all those runners and people there to support them, but I can't know what that actually feels like.
As a runner I understand the physical exhaustion that probably set in as those runners neared the finish line and they were so tired they probably couldn't even cry; or more so I know there were some that cried hours later once there bodies finally slowed to a resting rhythm and their breath evened. I know that for some running will be a triumph shouldering the adversity of those that can't run anymore. Then there will be others who will fear running because on that day the spirit of endurance was stolen from them.
Running has always been the showcase of strength and character paired with determination and will power. This combination of features created by the heart propels you forward and ignores rules of impossibility and weakness. While, what running means might be similar for most, the reason to run will be different for everyone. But isn't it something to think that for one day, April 15th, everyone who runs will be running for the same reason? It's hard to see it now, but maybe this day in the future will create something that brings us closer together - as runners, a stereotypical steadfast community in practice who push forward through adversity and hurt and pain and we will make it out to run that day. If for nothing else to show you how good we are at enduring a challenge and to keep a promise that we will run again.

Turning to the Decision Makers

Courtesy of Glamour.com

I used to think my bf was being silly when he would say this, but girls really do give bad advice to their friends. It's like a weird version of peer pressure that can mess up your relationships, kill dreams, or make you miss opportunities. There's something about this age where we think we know just enough to advise our friends, yet we forget to encourage them, or we encourage them too much and don't let them make their own choices. Take for example one story I heard about a girl who kind of liked this guy. He made her laugh, they had fun together, there wasn't much to complain about, except one thing. The guy was a little more shall we say "alternative" than what she's use to dating (on paper) or what she imagined she'd date. So basically, he didn't check off the boxes of these arbitrary qualifications of pedigree. But in her mind because he was so off paper, dating this guy would've been a risk. On one hand it could turn out great, on another she could permanently decide to never date guys that fall in that alternative category and go back to her list. When she asked her friends about giving this guy a chance, they shot him down. They presented her with a myriad of differences, painting the uphill battle as something that would definitely happen versus a possibility.
So the girl never dates him. And of course, he turns out to actually be exactly the kind of guy she'd want to date - even possibly marry. But, she'll never know... stupid peer pressure.
Now in retrospect, is taking a risk and seeing it fail in a minor category like dating such a bad idea? I'm going with no, unless this guy was a criminal, dangerous, had bad hygiene -- why not take a chance?
 I have a theory that when girls turn to their friends for advice on these risky (but not that big of a risk) type of life's questions, they look for validation for the small voice in her head saying "don't do it." The girl is looking for her friends to say "listen, it's not worth it, go with what you know." Once the co-sign is there she never takes the risk. And chances are the girls will console her and spare the heart, but spoil the girl. I don't think this has anything to do with being a bad friend. It's a weird way girls process situations and field questions to their friends for support in the fall out or praise in the success. But when you never take that chance ... you just keep a peanut gallery of friends feeding you negative Nancy lines.
Taking a chance on whatever it might be allows you to grow; it allows you to find out what's right for you and what's not. And sometimes you are the only person that can really make that decision. I'm also learning my Dad is a good sounding board because he's known me ... oh my whole life. So when there's something on the line, and you worry that you might fail the only way to definitively know what will happen next is to try. And I know it's easier said than done, but even if you fail there's always something that can be learned from it.
Let's face it none of us are fortunetellers, but maybe encouraging people to follow their hearts is the best answer -- versus picking one way over another.

Naturally creative?

Ugh, I can't even believe I've neglected my blog for three + weeks. Well people, I'm back full force. Promise. This week's topic: Hair.
I rarely can pass a black girl on the street without asking her if her hair is natural, what her regime entails and if she has any idea how I can get hair down my back (without weave). I'm recently so obsessed with my hair because I'm noticing it's not 'retaining length' (that could be a whole other blog). Also I had a stunning revelation at a networking event the other week.
Picture it (yes I've been watching too much golden girls): two weeks ago yours truly was at an ad agency meeting new people. I was introduced to someone else in the creative department who was stunned that I was a copywriter because ... wait for it... I had straight hair and it was relaxed. Apparently the curl in one's tendrils also harbors creative juices. This person mentioned and I quote "well you know, most people that are black copywriters or art directors are natural and show off their curly hair."
Could it be that as diverse talent we've also become typecast into a natural curly hair-loving silhouette? Does my straight hair say straight-laced? Not crazy enough for creativity?
I find it interesting that before anyone even asks me about my experience I'm handed over for a litmus test to determine when I had my last relaxer.

Guess my faux-beach hair doesn't count either... huh?

Here's my theory -- creative people are judged by their ability to exude organized chaos. This goes hand in hand with the idea that creative people are also bad organizers (guess I'm 0-2). And not just black women -- you're supposed to dress down, sacrifice personal composition to fit in and appear as if you're living for the work - style optional. Odd, isn't? But back to black women and the need to declare natural on their resume, do you know why this amazes me so much? Because, natural hair is the second most calculated appearance altering tactic next to makeup. For those of you who do not know the definition of natural hair is un-relaxed (non-chemically processed) hair. It's the original state of your hair, the one you were born with unscathed and ideally undamaged. Now, to get to this original state of your hair there's a journey you must take, which brings me to the conclusion that this natural look is actually completely contrived. I mean it takes me an hour to watch hair tutorials on YouTube and people speed those up! 
The process takes time and the styles are adorable (on most) and because it's so "different" automatically gives you a check on the creative checklist. So, I'm being typecast for having straight hair (SMH). So I'm thinking about having an anti-journey and maybe starting a group for people like me ... if there are any more out there?

Personally, half baked

Ha! Bet you were hoping there's a chocolate chip cookie recipe here. Well ...

I know I tend to write about "figuring it out" and giving sometimes half-baked advice, but that's what's going on right now in my life. I'm 26 for goodness sakes; I'm allowed to be fickle. I think of it this way, life at 26 is like eating partially baked cookies, enjoying the gooey-ness, but worried about the salmonella.
It's like a constant worry that you should've done something differently, but can't worry about it until something bad actually happens.

Lately, on several unrelated accounts, I've been getting a lot of questions about identity - things like who are you? Summarize your life experience. So I thought, if some people are asking me to help figure out who they are and I'm doing the same, why not post about it!
I've read personal statements and profiles and as a writer I'm slightly embarrassed to say it's so hard to write mine!
How do you eloquently and succinctly say:  Listen, I want to make people laugh when I write, but I'm not super funny - witty sometimes, silly even, I like to think I'm the right amount of funny that can be taken seriously, later. I want to be the relief in a tense room, not the source of anxiety. I want to make people understand through my writing, like really get it, you know lump in your throat like your swallowing back pride understand. I want to make people appreciate my ideas and say things like "I wish I thought of that" or "whoever came up with that idea was creative!" But then I get nervous when I have to write something interesting/meaningful/etc. in a birthday card, ugh. I'm the type of person that picks a slow song for their love song then realizes it's about breaking up (circa 2005). I'm also scared of failure, and I hate disappointing people. I like traditions and I'm awful at picking a restaurant.
Some people are just good at those things. Some people are just built that way. So the way I was built, the way you were built when do you get to know what that means?
You know, I spend my day thinking, reading, learning and creating brands and I get home and have no idea what historical elements have shaped and established me! Perpetually figuring it out. Oh, how ironically not funny life can be.
I guess I can appreciate that I learned the things I am not. I am not a math person, I will absolutely give you an incorrect answer if you ask me to do math in my head. I'm not someone who will have a natural hair journey because I'm determined to rally together my relaxed strains into an interesting coiffe (the fight rages on).
So I know a few things about who I am and even more about who I am not, but am I done, fully cooked? Crisp and ready to be paired with a glass of milk? Doubtful. See, it's not about figuring it out right now, it's about believing there's more out there for you, and being (borderline) selfishly-determined. It's like at 26 you know you can bake these cookies all the way and they will be good, or you might burn them -- who knows. But maybe it's best to enjoy them in their gooey-semi-raw stage. A transition that can feel close to the real thing, but definitely not finished. Perhaps, there's something awesomely delicious about half-baked.
Maybe, that's just what we need (minus the salmonella of course)!

Apt 45 Part 2: The reality of Washington Heights

As the much needed fail of the MTV Washington Heights reality show moves into its next week of pointless drama, I give you part 2 of Apt 45.

One thing about this year is that the resolution gym rush occurred in February. All the people who promised to be gym rats starting January 1 are delivering on that promise in February; delayed start, but can't hate the intention. In the spirit of embodying the New Year Spirit in February, I'd like to tell you about the best of the worst New Year's Eve/Day stories ever experienced by this here writer -- in apt 45.
Remember 2009? It was a big one for me. It was the year I finished college, moved to New York and moved in with a crazy person. For almost four months I had to play a challenging game of let the hood rat run around until she evicts herself. The game goes something like this: hood rat does something crazy, Ohio girl attempts to let it go and documents the occurrence -- and repeat. My goal was to gather enough altercations (unprovoked) to convince the remaining tenants that life would really be much better without her. Well, this proved to be so much easier once I discovered the rat was a squatting one -- she wasn't paying rent. Determined with the lack of work ethic to not settle for a job and therefore not have any money for rent, my roommate squatted, but like a sitting duck she had to be nice to me and she had to be smart about her actions; the latter was something I certainly had an upper hand on. So as a self-declared master of passive aggressive activity, I began to sting small arguments with the venom of, "well I'm paying rent so ..." The veracity of my statement and the amazing teeter of the power structure let me sleep better at night (even with the ridiculous radio playing).
Now that you have a sense of the tension that broached the apartment, picture: December 31, 2009 a joyous night that celebrates the past and designates positivity for the future. My sane roommate and my bf are getting ready for a night out together. The crazy one comes by to let us know that she's having a party tonight and that it should be over by like 2. Annoyed of the idea that the apartment might be infected with her hood rat friends, we reside to agreeing that being back by 3am will give people plenty of time to leave and we'll be back without having to experience it ...

Boy were we wrong.

Enter 3:15am New Year's Day 2010.
As I walk out the elevator towards our apartment I hear music blaring, but an empty apartment! I'm thinking great we missed them, now off to bed. As I was quickly corrected, her party wasn't starting until 3:30. The level of anger cannot be explained in this post, but just think about narrowing escaping a really bad situation only to find out that you were still in the wrong place at the wrong time, in fact it was your living quarters. Seething, I return to bed hoping for the party to be over as soon as humanely possible.
7:30am ... Party is still going, music, drunk people, running up and down the hallway, knocking on doors while we pretend to sleep, and the kicker: my roommate was nowhere to be found...  I hadn't slept, the cat was hungry and I was beyond done. I go outside to feed him and am accosted by someone I could only describe as a misdirected Tim Burton character.

That I believe is what they call the straw that broke the camel's back, I succumbed to calling the police on my own apartment.

I mean, who has to disguise their voice as a scared neighbor to get the police to come to their apartment and break up the party ...? This lady. In apt 45.


Don't worry it can't get worse than this, right?
Stay tuned for more ...

Apt 45: The reality of Washington Heights

When I heard there was a reality show about Washington Heights, I began to search my papers to make sure I hadn't agreed to be filmed and was secretly recorded the two years I lived there -- because that would explain the level of drama I was forced to live with. I mean really, this living situation was devoid of producers and unpaid talent - MTV's dream production I would think.
So, when we examine the former against the rules of a reality show, this post will serve as a convincing proposal to either my house was bugged and an audition tape for the Washington Heights reality show, or I was lucky craigslist responder number 439 to reply to a cheap room in Manhattan's upper living quarters. Either way, I'm going to publish a series here -- a literary rival of reality show vs. real life. Now, the essential principle to create a successful reality show rests in the ability to create a situation that is bound to bring out the worst in others: Apt 45 on Saint Nicholas is a contender. And now, what will be the first episode:

Part 1: Real Life Hot Mess
It started out with a reply to an ideal craigslist post (if there is one):

Friendly girls looking for young professional female roommate -- own room, cheap rent, clean roommates!

It was summer in the city, I spent the last three months living off raviolis and take home meals in an apartment that was robbing me blind, sucks being naive and from Ohio. So, I'm at the end of my rope living in a summer sublet, I reply to this post and tell the girl I can come by with a check if all is as it turns out to be. As I walk in to visit this shotgun apartment one early summer morning ready and happy to meet my roommates, one is sleeping and one answers the door half naked, exclaiming how comfortable everyone is with each other! I peek into the kitchen to confirm the "clean" part of the posting ... it's borderline rotting with dirty dishes and scum (no really, actual scum). My host and tour guide tells me "and this is the kitchen, oh we were cooking last night no worries it's normally really clean."
The room is small, but what room isn't in NYC. It had a closet and would be my own. I continue to rationalize each red flag thinking: well even if no one seems to be going to work except for me surely they are doing something to pay rent here; and the kitchen can't always be like that I mean no one would want to live like that. In desperation and with hope for change I tell her I'll take it and will move in next week...
When I showed up tired from moving all day and a little nervous about what this next chapter would bring, I finally sit down after I finish unpacking at about 1 in the morning on a Thursday night. As I'm getting ready for bed my roommate comes home (the one that was sleeping when I initially stopped by)...
Without pleasantries she looks at me and says abhorrently, "ummm, you have a cat..??" You would have thought my cat marked his territory across her door, when instead he sat there per usual like a bump on a log. Hatred towards my cat was a strike... her attitude was a strike, her faint scent of hot mess was a strike ... within moments my dreams are crushed of a blossoming friendship with my roommate and instead it's replaced by a nightmare punctured with misplaced piercings a noticeable weave and a muffin top.
And so the drama began ...
We exchanged angry words as I declared she must turn down her music as some people needed to get up and work in the morning. I mean when my walls are shaking ... really ... really ... ?
She wanted me to keep my cat in my room, when I threw back at her that I was paying rent and he was part of the package she stood down ever so slightly (little did I know how poignant my sticking point was).
The mediating roommate and resident owner of the apartment finally comes home and attempts to make a deal between the two of us. I'll just say it was a short-lived truce.
Like any typical reality show, we've established the conflict at the beginning: a clash of two worlds with an infinite possibility of aggression, arguments and situations that could be scripted but in reality, are not. A girl from Ohio learning her way in the city sharing a space with a girl who's future will consist of living off the money she made agreeing to marry an illegal immigrant.

Stay tuned for more posts as you get to relive with me the best of the worst of my two years in Washington Heights.

Attainable Ideals

Alright, so maybe I've said it before -- but really, what's with all the TV shows that are horribly realistic? I mean I can't be the only one that looks to Hollywood and says, "thank goodness they get paid to be perfect, otherwise where would all my pinspiration (and the traditional kind) come from?" Listen, I like my tv idols just as well as the next girl: skinny, a dose of scripted wit and the ability to never over or under dress. Last night as I succumbed to the group decision to watch Girls, admittedly, there were some parts where I chuckled, but overwhelmingly the awkward dialogue and unfortunate style choices were distracting! If entertainment is suppose to suggest a vicarious life, or an escape route with aspiration, then what's with this new genre? On one hand I get it -- people are looking for a novel in a television show and shows like Girls offer multidimensional characters that people can relate to and give a voice to the "common girl," oh and we also don't have to read and comprehend, just watch and listen. On the other hand, you don't need a television show to remind you how nondescript and vulnerable you actually are, at least I don't. I'd much prefer to watch a show that keeps me thinking and dreaming versus "oh man someone out there really gets me, unfortunately she's making all the dough, and the only thing more I have is a girl that can't be described as pretty acting out scenes that could easily be from my weekend." I mean really.
Another thing, I must say to male readers that adore this show: just because there are moments you might have recently experienced with a girl when she offers tangential line of reasoning and you see it again in this show this does not mean the show is a window into the girl psyche, therefore you should not assume she would also agree to get a horrible tattoo or wear a bra in public, or any other egregious attribute that might be assigned should you hold this show as bible when it comes to girls. In fact, all this show really summed up is that life and girls don't make sense - and you can't make even make a show that's going to appeal to all of us. Because we're so complicated and yet oversimplified in our ideals that nothing and everything satisfies us. Makes so much sense, right?

Resolutions That Matter

Happy New Year!! Right in time for 2013 and the shameless appeals to do better next year, I finished the book "Cold Tangerines" by Shauna Niequist. The book is a series of short stories celebrating the everyday-ness of things. So for example, appreciating the way your hand warms up when you grip a hot cup of coffee, or celebrating the rock in your life - the person who always is there to hold you up even if they are the one to make your knees weak. It's one of those books that will make you think with each word, each sentence and each chapter. I'm telling you about this book because it inspired my New Year's resolution. It made me realize that I've been having a hard time the last year being comfortable, you know feeling content and enjoying the every day. Worrying about if I have enough friends, if enough people like my writing, what will my life look like in five years, do I need a bigger couch, etc. I do things like this and I also do things like qualifying the best and worst of things without appreciating the just plain ol' good. And when I initially thought about my resolutions I was thinking I should resolve be less nervous, or be more spontaneous. But, quite frankly, when I was being honest with myself, these are traits of my personality, not a lifestyle change.
I wanted to do something that would help me feel better about the coming year, and then I finished this book and thought "ah ha!" what better way to start the year than by resolving to start appreciating what I have. So, that's what I'm doing today and hopefully the rest of the year and onward- planning and executing a way to appreciate the good.
I know it's going to be challenging -- it's going to take some work to start seeing and celebrating the hidden gems in mundane activity or completely terrible situations. And the catch of the book and this resolution - is that you can't do it retrospectively, you have to let yourself be open to the goodness of something when no one else can see it, in that moment. That's what it's about. Now, how does one do this you might ask?
Well for starters when I stop thinking about something better, something worse, something that's not right now... I can start living and stop waiting for things and hopefully, they will just happen.

So, readers wish me luck. Hope you don't think this is a cop-out, I'll be working just as hard as those trying to swear off cookies (which would be equally challenging for me). I wish you all the best in 2013, and no matter what your resolution is I hope it makes your ever day a little better than it was last year - because that's all that matters, right?