It’s Hard out Here for a Chick: The Dating Scene
“If you want to get married, you might want to leave DC.”
When a reader recently took me up on my solicitation for blog requests, I recalled that advice from some single black women a few years my senior. The reader said she and her friends felt DC men were different than those in other cities, making the District a hard place to date – and wondered if I had an opinion.
My first response was a loud sigh. I didn’t want to go there because 1) I might unintentionally male bash and 2) I knew I’d have to consider my dating drought and which environment was to blame: the external (DC) or internal (Sheryl-land) one.
Additionally, as I mulled it over, I realized that I’ve spent my entire adulthood in DC and don’t know first-hand what it’s like to date elsewhere. When travelling, I’ve met men and conversed with them long distance, but not dated them.
Still, I think the reader has a point. There are characteristics of the DC dating scene (specifically the African-American one) that make it hard for this chick.
Issue #1: Girls, girls, girls, girls…
Ladies, I love us. But sometimes I get tired of us. I’ve walked into many a District event and spied dozens of women and a handful of men. Some don’t believe there are more black women here than men. Oh, ok. Maybe I’m running in the wrong circles or frequenting the wrong places, but women outnumber men just about everywhere I go.
I think this produces…
Issue #2: Aggressive ladies, passive men.
On several occasions I have been out in DC and noticed a cutie’s stares. Next thing I know, a woman walks up to him and chats him up. And that’s that. I don’t know if that’s due to convenience or these men just not being that into me. However, it’s interesting that on TV it’s the guy who twiddles his thumbs and watches as another man swoops in and steals the girl; in real life when women outnumber men, the reverse happens.
Compare that to other locations I’ve travelled, where men are more direct. There’s less staring and more approaching, little hesitation and plenty of action.
Yes, this refers to approach, but that leads to dating. So my point is this: initial interaction could speak to how things ultimately play out. That female aggression (I’m old school so it is to me) and male passivity can persist into the dating stage in which many women consistently complain about the lack of effort put forth by men. In men’s defense, when opportunity regularly falls into your lap, you begin to expect it. Yet this frustrates women who eventually tire of vying for attention, or simply refuse to do so in the first place.
Issue #3: Eenie, meenie, minie, moe.
A guy once told me: “I like so many girls, I just don’t know.” (No, he wasn’t interested in me lol!) He’s also what I consider a “good guy.” It’s wonderful to have options; however, is there such a thing as too many?
For example, Charming Charlie’s is fashion jewelry heaven. It has accessories in countless styles and colors. A friend was recently overwhelmed by her first visit. I laughed because lately I’ve left the store empty handed despite liking several items. Many pieces caught my eye. All would be nice to have. All were in the same price range. But there was no obvious choice. I just didn’t feel like making a decision about which to commit to in purchase.
My friend also couldn’t commit but said she would return in the future when she needed a certain color for a specific outfit. I wonder if some DMV men date like we shopped – postponing a decision until reaching an occasion/period in life in which a specific need better informs the choice.
Which leads me to…
Issue #4: Different Timetables
I once attended an event down South in which almost every man my age was wearing a wedding ring. I noticed because it was a foreign concept for me coming from DC. Southern social norms have men looking to settle down sooner than they would here. There are also considerable career opportunities here, which makes the area attract very driven people who want to climb a little more of the corporate ladder before exchanging vows with that special someone. Neither regional timetable is right or wrong, just different.
So it’s hard out here.
These seem like valid reasons for a mass exodus. Hey, if some other area has great career opportunities, why not venture out to see if romantic opportunities await you there as well? Or you might just want something different. Last summer I stood on U Street and shook my head. There’s less incentive to frequent places conducive to mingling when you feel like you’ve already hit up all of an area’s hot spots.
Or… you might want to stay put out of a love for the city itself, a great job, or God hijacking your plans to leave (*raises hand*). Still, rest assured that while it’s hard out here, it’s not impossible. I know couples who met and fell in love in DC. Many of them are happy. They give me hope.
In either case, you’ll be the same you anywhere. Therefore, also examine your internal environment. I’ve got some Sheryl-isms that are unnecessarily complicating my life. Is there anything about you that makes DC dating harder than it has to be?
It may be hard here, but it’s not easy anywhere. So fret not. You can find love – or it can find you – here, there, and everywhere. Do you. Because when it’s meant to be, no matter where you might be, it will be.
I went back and forth on this list, then decided to keep it high-level. What makes dating hard for you? Noticed any regional differences? Men, are ladies making this up?
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“I’m not suicidal; I just don’t want to be here anymore. Sometimes I feel like I’d rather not be at all.”
I penned those words one emotionally grim night in 2006. Ironically, I discovered them Monday while searching for some old writings. They eventually evolved into a piece of fiction, but those two lines originated in a personal journal.
Reading those words in the present, my mind flooded with memories of what I can only describe as a difficult time. As I wrote, I was not suicidal. I gave no real thought to taking my life, but I uttered a few prayers for God to end it. And remembering in 2012 the thoughts of my 2006 self, I felt ashamed.
Wednesday I learned that NFL great Junior Seau was dead due to an apparent suicide. I had never heard his name before, but given the way the hours unfolded between finding my old words Monday and the reporting of his death Wednesday, I was particularly saddened by the news.
Between these two events, within my everyday life, I listened to a woman recount a moment when she almost took her own life; I heard another woman describe how mentally and emotionally taxing it is for her to simply get out of bed each morning; I listened as another confessed to being fearful that she might harm herself; another shared that she was reaching her breaking point – and that was just within the course of about 36 hours.
If I dissect the last couple of years, I’ve heard similar stories from countless people I care about – but almost always after the fact. Friends regularly tell me about times when they were seriously depressed, considering suicide, or having severe mental and emotional issues. Ironically, I’m even hearing a story as I type this. It hurts to know that people you care about have reached rock bottom emotionally and mentally, and have gone it alone.
This week has been rough for me, primarily just knowing about a considerable amount of turmoil facing friends, associates, and loved ones. Of course a few things in my own life added to my bleh feelings, but I felt guilty for even thinking about my issues when so many people’s entire worlds were falling apart.
I tell you these things not for sympathy. Lord knows I was scared to even print that first line for fear of what people would think and that my loved ones would worry themselves into a tizzy. However, I write this for those who are wearing the same shoes I had on earlier this week, feeling as if they don’t have a right to feel what they feel because their life is not ‘that bad.’ I write this for those who are like I was years ago, not suicidal, but no longer wanting to be, and terribly afraid to admit it. I write this for those who have moved past that point and quietly give serious consideration to ending the roller coaster of pleasure and pain that can be life.
I’m not sure who decided you shouldn’t talk about such things. In particular (simply because this is my reality and not because these issues don’t have a much broader reach), I don’t know who said if you’re black, or Christian, or especially both, that you have to suck it up and put on a happy face. Like anything swept under the rug, emotional and mental issues will be found eventually, and often when it’s too late.
I’m an emotional person. I’m just now getting to the point where I can accept that without shame. I don’t believe in running from emotions because, in time, they catch up with you. I’m blessed to have a couple people that I trust with this very vulnerable part of me and outlets such as writing to get it all out. I’m also blessed to have a relationship with God that has literally calmed me when I felt myself veering off into a dangerous emotional state. I suggest you seek such relationships and outlets, but also lay down your pride long enough to admit when even they are not enough. There are people who are professionally trained in helping people learn to deal with emotional and mental problems. We’ll consult a number of professionals on everything from our finances to our hair to our weight – but shun seeking specialized care for the two most complex and critical parts of us: our minds and hearts.
There are so many people hurting in the world for various reasons. They’re carrying the burden alone and it is killing them – emotionally, mentally, and sometimes physically. I can write this post only a few days after feeling shame over my years-old depressed thoughts because I realize that shame is the root of the problem. There is no shame in feeling bad. There is no shame in sharing those feelings with others. There is no shame in seeking help. Only in doing so can you move from dark times to a brighter future.
I mentioned that I wrote those very sad words in 2006. It also dawned on me that less than a year after that I was at an India Arie concert on the night of my birthday, looking and feeling fabulous, happily singing, “I’m having a private party. Ain’t nobody here but me, my angels, and my guitar, singing baby, look how far we’ve come.” As I sang, I remembered just how bad things had been. Realizing that the sun was so much brighter on that day because I knew what it was like to wake up to consecutive cloudy ones, I thanked God.
Don’t let go when your life is overcast. I can say from experience that the sun will come out on one of your tomorrows. Please do whatever you have to do, seek whomever you need to, to help you not only hold on until the sunshine, but also to find some beauty in the rain.
For those who know and love me in real life, I’M FINE!!! Like, seriously. Skip back a couple paragraphs and re-read how far I’ve come 
I couldn’t even post this otherwise. I’m putting it out there for others because I’m learning that my writing is rarely about or for me.
Another round of deadly tornadoes ripped through the Midwest recently, reminding me of Stephanie Decker, the Indiana woman who protected her children from a tornado by lying on top of them. In ‘A Parent’s Love: Shelter from the Storm,’ I said that her standing between her children and danger is similar to the way God protects us.
What I didn’t mention was the aftermath.
The morning following a powerful storm always reveals the true extent of the damage. Sometimes what was a sprawling neighborhood just 24 hours prior is suddenly a cross between a barren plot and a landfill, the ground dotted with furniture, photographs, books, and other mementos. And as the survivors take in the mess that Mother Nature has made of their personal worlds, they are left to pick up the pieces.
We generally understand that the rebuilding period after natural tornadoes and hurricanes is a lengthy one. They come and go within minutes or hours, but wreak havoc that takes months and years to overcome. However, we rarely use that same rationale when recovering from theoretical storms of heartbreak, setback, and failure that tend to rip through our lives.
If you’re surveying the damage of a devastating life storm, there are some things you should keep in mind as you pick up the pieces of your hopes, dreams, health, family, and relationships.
Come out, the storm is over! When the wind and rain has ceased, God’s sending you a clue that you are no longer in immediate danger. In fact, as is typical following a storm, He often sends sunbeams to peek through the rubble and beckon you from your hiding place. However, many times we’re still so shocked and scared that we remain hidden. Realize that you have to come from under the rubble in order to get on with your life.
Remember that you survived. When you first step out from the debris following a storm, it is easy to become overwhelmed by the damage you see. However, remind yourself that you survived. Your life storm didn’t take you out. That’s reason enough to keep going.
Take it one step at a time. When I told you about Stephanie Decker, I mentioned that she lost portions of both legs during the storm. I can only imagine what her physical therapy sessions will be like. Eventually she will have to learn to walk all over again, this time with prosthetics. I picture her, mouth set with determination as she struggles to slowly put one foot in front of the other. As she walks, no one step will be more important than another – but each one will be crucial to her success. Whatever you’re bouncing back from, remember to take it slow and steady.
Prepare to be uprooted. Those people who are hit hardest by storms generally lose their homes. They have to pack up any belongings that the storm did not carry away and find alternate lodging. Life as they know it has changed. After your personal storm, accept being uprooted from the familiar and thrust into the unknown.
However, in the midst of this difficulty…
Prepare to be blessed. A coworker recently told me about her neighbor whose home was destroyed by an act of nature. They had to pick up and move for nearly a year while it was repaired. However, because of their insurance policy, they were able to build a larger home with brand new appliances and other upgrades that their former home did not have. They came out of the storm with a nicer house than they had before disaster struck.
I’m a firm believer in that old saying that God gives you ‘double for your trouble.’ If He is your insurance policy when personal storms hit, you will emerge stronger, wiser, and with a renewed appreciation for life. No matter how horrible the storm, no matter how long or tedious your recovery, one day you will look back and realize you came out with more than you had going in.
Have you recently weathered a life storm? Pick up the pieces! I’m tempted to wish you a speedy recovery, but instead I wish you peace, a complete recovery, and double for your trouble.
(Image courtesy of FEMA)
My Issue with Grown A– Men and Women
If my memory serves me correctly, I believe it was Cedric the Entertainer who coined the phrase “grown @$$ man.” In The Original Kings of Comedy, he told us that, as “a grown a– man,” he refused to call another man by the nickname Delicious. Translation: I’m too old for that foolishness.
Since then, grown a– men and women have emerged across the globe, but some have a different use for the term. When new age grown a– folks make this proclamation, they are similar to teenagers announcing their transition into adulthood: they’re defending their right to do what they want without explanation or apology.
It may be true that people of age in a free society can do as they please. However, this popular term has increasingly become a cop-out for outlandish behavior. ‘Because I’m a grown a– man or woman, I can do X,Y, and Z – and who gon’ check me, boo?’
Just because you can do something does not mean that you should. Maturity helps one differentiate between the two.
Yesterday a video of Brian McKnight singing an “adult” song went viral. I grew up listening to the R&B artist woo ladies with talk of love and romance, so my mouth dropped when he began crooning an X rated tune. Although McKnight brushed it off as a parody, disappointed fans either did not believe him, did not find it funny, or were laughing at him rather than with him. However, in the midst of the uproar, there were some who defended Brian McKnight’s right to post a song crudely discussing women’s most private of private parts. Their rationale? He’s a grown a– man.
Indeed he is. As a matter of fact, he’s so grown that most Internet sources place him at age 42. In my book, that’s old enough to know better. I’m fully aware that someone of McKnight’s age is legally free to write a song or parody of that nature; however, I’m also aware that someone of his age should think twice about it. I’m not writing off Brian McKnight and I hope he gets back to making the music that we love. Still, I recommend we acknowledge this incident as a matter of poor taste rather than assert someone’s right to do any and everything simply because they’re over the age of 18.
Grown a– women are behaving badly as well. Case in point: the ladies of reality show Basketball Wives. One moment you have cast member Evelyn defending her sexual choices because she is a “grown a– woman.” But Evelyn goes from grown a– woman to angry, uncontrollable teenager within minutes, physically attacking another cast member.
Grown-ups don’t have to alert anyone of their adulthood. They don’t use that adulthood as a scapegoat for the foolishness in which they engage. They own up to the mistakes they make. They’re careful of their behavior because they realize that they’re probably being watched by impressionable young people who cannot yet purport to be grown a– men and women.
We have grown a– women being paid to throw blows and pull weaves on national television, then wonder why teenagers post YouTube videos of themselves fighting. Grown a– men are trending for writing raunchy lyrics about women and broadcasting them to the world; then we scratch our heads trying to figure out why teenage boys make inappropriate comments to young girls. There are grown a– men and women doing countless questionable things, and the fact that they are grown does not make their behavior any more acceptable.
Feel free to use the term grown a– man or woman if you feel it suits you. However, I wish more people used it as a reason to abstain from childish behavior, rather than as an excuse for their immature acts. Basically, I wish that some of us would just grow up.
My Eyes are Green: When Women Judge Each Other
Erykah Badu sang: “My eyes are green… ‘cause I eats a lot of vegetables. It don’t have nothing to do with your new friend.”
Or new job, house, or car. Or that rock on your finger. Or the hand that you’re holding.
I recently overheard some 40-ish African-American women chatting as I sorted through clothing racks at the store. The topic of their conversation: other women’s tendency to ‘hate.’ What you’re wearing, how you wear it, the way your hair’s styled – it either looks a hot mess or you think you’re cute.
“And don’t be out with your husband,” one lady said. “Then they’re looking at you like ‘What’s she got?’” (read: why is he with her?)
They’re right. I have definitely questioned the appeal of some not-so-attractive women on the arms of handsome men.
But before you judge me, I would like to direct the court’s attention to Exhibit A: When T.I. and Tiny bring their family hustle into your living rooms, many of you light up my Timeline and Newsfeed with comments that are not so complimentary of the Mrs.
We like to say that we’re not hating, just making observations. However, the fact remains that you wouldn’t be nearly as concerned with her looks if she didn’t have something, or in this case someone, for which you felt you were better suited. You can be envious of someone without literally wanting to be them; you need only want something that they have.
Someone recently decided to #asktwitter whether women are always in competition mode. I thought about ladies who harbor ill feelings for me though that we’ve never exchanged words. I considered the women whom I dislike for no particular reason. I recalled uncomfortable situations in which Girl A had wonderful news, yet a sad look passed across Girl B’s face before she forced the obligatory smile. Maybe the question was a relevant one.
It’s natural to occasionally find yourself wishing you had Janet’s man or Maya’s brains or Tameka’s legs. The difficult part is admitting that you and the green-eyed monster have become friendly.
In Genesis 4, after his brother Abel offers God a better sacrifice than his own, Cain gets an attitude. God says, “Why are you angry? Why is your face downcast? If you do what is right, will you not be accepted? But if you do not do what is right, sin is crouching at your door…”
God is asking Cain, “What’s your problem?” He tells him to focus on himself, to ensure that he does what is right, rather than worrying about Abel.
The Bible does not mention Cain’s response, which makes me think he was reluctant to admit his envy. Next thing we know, Cain has Abel out in the field and his brother’s blood is on his hands.
Like him, many of us murder one another’s spirits and kill each other’s self-esteem every day. The weapons we use are words, menacing stares, and nasty attitudes. We have failed to acknowledge to ourselves the envy hidden in our hearts. Before we know it, someone’s feelings are seriously hurt.
I would not go so far as to say that every negative comment or thought about someone else is due to jealousy. Sometimes it is simply to make us feel better about ourselves by pointing out another’s flaws. Other times we put people down because we’re extremely critical, holding one another to unrealistic standards that we can’t meet ourselves.
But as God asked Cain: “If you do what is right, will you not be accepted?”
We’ll never be happy if we constantly critique and compare ourselves to one another. The only person we should be concerned with is the one in the mirror. Focusing on being the best you possible will prevent the sin of envy.
And on the occasions in which you do find yourself with a pair of green eyes, admitting the source of the problem will help you overcome that envy before someone gets hurt. A little jealousy is not necessarily a bad thing as long as you can recognize it and still be happy for the person, or use it as motivation to propel you toward a better you. The problem arises when you don’t acknowledge it for what it is and continually hate on someone because you have yet to admit to yourself that you wish you were in their shoes.
I will continue singing with Erykah that my eyes are green because I eat a lot of vegetables. However, when the track ends, we should all get real about the issues we have with others and focus on the difficult task of becoming comfortable in our own skin.
(Picture courtesy of Google Images.)
Who Wants to Date Anymore?
A girlfriend posed this question as we discussed matters of the heart. She said she might end things with the man who held hers. Since it had long been in his possession and he didn’t seem to know what to do with it, she was preparing to utter a final goodbye.
But… “Who wants to date anymore?” she asked. “You should blog about that. Men know what we want. Why don’t they just give us what we want?”
Agreed. I want men to give us what we want and their noncompliance baffles and frustrates me – but that’s a post for another day. I’ll tackle the first question because it’s easiest.
So, who wants to date at this point in our lives?
That’s easy: no one. There may be married people who think they’re missing out, or the occasional single who prefers adventure to intimacy, but most people who’ve been single longer than thirty seconds are over the dating scene.
Meeting new people and learning their preferences, pet peeves, and quirks can be over or underwhelming depending upon the individual. And that’s assuming you make it that far. You may be only one week into unpacking their personality before you decide it’s someplace you’d prefer not to visit, let alone live.
I don’t want to date my future husband. I want us to just be. I want to skip past any awkwardness, learning one another, wondering where it’s going… and just be.
Too bad it doesn’t work that way. And really, do we want it to? In our rush to be instantly in sync, we’d also skip the excitement of dressing for a first date, the butterflies of a first kiss, and that satisfying sigh that accompanies the thought that this could actually be something.
That’s the fun, romantic stuff. When people say their relationships are boring, they usually mean they no longer feel the way they did during this blissful stage. Yet we want to bypass it to achieve the instant comfort of coupledom.
I suppose if you’re not a sucker for romance, that sweet argument I just made did nothing for you. So let’s be practical. Who wants to go through the trouble of learning someone new when you’re comfortable with the one you know?
Well, no one – if you’re content. But rather than asking who wants to date, maybe we should ask who’s content. By content I mean feeling fulfilled, the opposite of that pit of the stomach, I-want-more, I’m-pretty-positive-it-will-always-be-this-way, this-can’t-be-life, type of discontent.
I’ve had jobs in which I was not content. At one, there was no promotion potential. I was working hard, but a higher position simply was not available. In another case, I was so frustrated with every aspect of the workplace that weekdays sent me into a mild state of depression.
I didn’t want to spend months applying for new positions, or get sized up by employers during interviews, or risk being rejected, or get to a new organization and realize it had the same issues as my old one.
Here’s what made me do it: I didn’t know what a new job would be like, but I knew what my current job had to offer; it showed me every day. My displeasure with the known became more overwhelming than my fear of the unknown.
Last year when LeBron James left the Cleveland Cavaliers for the Miami Heat, many Clevelanders labeled him a turncoat. How could he abandon the city that crowned him king?
The answer is simple. He wanted to win. Although Ohio was all he knew and loved, the make-up of his team proved on several occasions that winning a championship was not in its cards. So he left the place where he was comfortable and unfulfilled to take a chance on an unfamiliar place with the possibility of fulfillment.
It might seem that I chose a horrible example to illustrate my point. After all, LeBron still does not have a ring. However, LeBron and Miami are still learning each other. Unless you’re the Kentucky Wildcats (BBN, baby!), it’s hard for a new team to win a championship in its first year together. Regardless of star power and complementary skills, there’s a getting-to-know-you period. LeBron and company are still in that development phase that my friend doesn’t want to be in with a new man. But considering the team’s potential, if they can practice and work through this, maybe a championship’s in their future.
If not, LeBron can date some more. Maybe he’ll move on to another team. Maybe the Heat will switch up their roster again and find a different winning combination for him. Maybe Cleveland will woo him back with a new line-up. Maybe the joy of playing will become more important to him than winning. Who knows?
The point is to accept not knowing, to not shy away from the hard work of learning new people, jobs, places, and things – and instead take chances when you know that you can’t get what you need in your present situation. I don’t know when people should stay or go, but I don’t think not wanting to date should weigh heavily in the decision.
The only people we control are ourselves. If someone can’t give you what you want, the ball is in your court. You can keep playing and see how it goes, or call it quits. But if you decide to find another pick-up game, understand that you won’t immediately gel with your new teammates. However, if you take the time to build a partnership, maybe you can do with them what you and the former team could not: win a championship.
I welcome more requests! Feel free to e-mail, FB, or tweet me.
Photo courtesy of www.free-extras.com
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Beauty Shop Lessons in Faith 3: the In-Between
Lately my hair and I have had a strained relationship. I regularly look into the mirror and tell my strands they’re not pulling their weight to help make us beautiful.
What has my hair done to get on my bad side? Well, it’s not growing fast enough.
After snipping my strands every chance I got these past few years, I recently decided to reverse that trend and let them grow.
Sounds easy enough, but growing out short hair is a lengthy process. It’s fine in the beginning, when your hair still resembles the original cut. But there’s an uncomfortable in-between phase in which it is neither long nor short, and often lacks shape and style.
If I cut it, it would instantly be cute again. But then I would be even further from the long strands that I desired.
I sat in my beautician’s chair once during this growth period and we both stared in her mirror at my less-than-inspiring ‘do.
“This is when most people give in and cut,” she said. “You’re almost there. If you can just make it past this point…”
We’re often focused and determined when we begin our goals. However, we reach a midpoint in which we are uncomfortable and feel as if we’re making very little progress. We’re tempted to go back, but that would negate the little progress we have made.
Likewise, we believe God for miracles big and small – until we reach a point in which we think they should have already manifested. It’s that in-between phase in which you’ve begun to doubt, but your heart, soul, and faith are so tied up in the promise that you can’t jump ship.
At these times, if we would quietly seat ourselves in God’s chair and seek His consult like I did my hairdresser, He would remind us of how far we’ve come. He’d help us to see that we’re nearing the top of the mountain. If we just trudge on until we reach the peak, it’ll be downhill from there.
About a month ago I reached a point in my hair growth process that is just as important as the one-on-one with the stylist. I was in an apartment full of ladies getting dolled up for a night on the town. I longed for an up-do to complete my look. Piling my hair atop my head, I was pleased that it had grown enough to pull up, but I scolded it for not being long enough to stay in place.
So I did what any mature adult would do: I whined until one of my friends agreed to tackle it. When she finished, I looked in the mirror at my hair pinned up and away from my face, and I smiled. That simple style reminded me exactly why I was growing my hair in the first place: for versatility.
When we’re working toward dreams, it’s easy to reach the in-between point and wonder why you even began. You ask, ‘why am I doing this again?’ But there are always small successes that remind you. They confirm that your labor is not in vain and that the uncomfortable in-between phase is worth the end result.
What part of your life is at an awkward in-between point? Consult the Expert and He’ll urge you on. Consider your small victories and you’ll remember why you’re doing this. Then you’ll keep going, understanding that the in-between is just that: a necessary midpoint between your meager beginning and an accomplished end.
Miss Beauty Shop Lessons in Faith Part 1 and Part 2? Catch up!
Liebster Award
A couple of weeks ago I was pleasantly surprised to be nominated for a Liebster Award. Named after the German word liebster, which means dearest or beloved, the Liebster Blog Award was created to give talented bloggers with less than 200 followers more visibility (yes, that few of you are actual followers vs occasional readers of the blog – hint, hint). Many times great blogs get lost on the crowded Internet. So many, many thanks to Alicia at “Why We Yell,” http://aliciabozza.wordpress.com, for the nomination! It is greatly appreciated.
As a recipient, in addition to thanking Alicia through my blog, I’m also supposed to pass the Liebster Award on to other deserving bloggers. Therefore, I would like to introduce you to some blogs that have caught my attention. They are either aligned with central Sheryl’s Pearls themes or some aspect of my personality. Give them a look and I’m sure you’ll enjoy them as well.
I’m passing the Liebster Award along to:
Darrielharris’ Blog – http://darrielharris.wordpress.com/
Darriel is an American preacher fresh out of seminary, now halfway around the world lending his time and talents to the people of South Sudan. He uses his blog to provide a glimpse of a lifestyle that is foreign to many of us. His blog includes pictures, sermons, and stories of everything from disease and poverty to the resilience and kindness of people who have never experienced the tremendous fortune that many Americans take for granted.
LabAttire – http://labattire.blogspot.com/
This blogger, Dr. Princess, is a chemist by day and aspiring writer by night. Since science makes my head hurt, I find this amazing! Her blog feels like Internet girl talk because her voice rings through every post. She blogs about fashion, celebrity, girly stuff, and world events. The kicker is, her chemistry background informs her posts – but thankfully she doesn’t sound like a scientist. Check out her piece on wrinkles to find out what I mean.
Katie’s Kitchen – http://katieskitchenblog.com/
Katie’s mixing up fabulousness in her kitchen and sharing her most delicious finds with the World Wide Web. While she provides recipes for various food types, her specialty is baking. I have not tried the recipes because my massive sweet tooth makes it unwise to have baked goods sitting around my kitchen. However, I hear from a third party that they are delsih. So, visit her site for unique recipes (like Bacon & Maple Syrup Cupcakes or Gluten-Free Hawaiian Carrot Cake) that she’s tested and tweaked.
To the nominees, I just took a wild guess. Please forgive me if you don’t meet the minimum follower requirements for this award. Happy writing
To Trayvon: An Apology
I wish I knew your name for some reason other than this. I wish it were ten years from now and you found your way onto our TV and computer screens for some great academic achievement instead, or for football dreams realized, or for some brilliant technical invention. I wish that you were not yet a household name – that you had this, your junior year, to live in the blissful obscurity that should be one’s second to last year of high school – Friday nights with friends headed to no place in particular; Saturday mornings in front of the television with a bowl of cereal; a spring evening with you in a tux, pretty girl in a dress on your arm, as your mother requests just one more picture. I wish that your life hadn’t been cut short just as it was truly beginning.
I thought about you yesterday. I was looking at the screensaver on my cell phone, smitten with the cute baby boy staring back at me. He’s about your complexion, eyes bright, cheeks chubby, and soft brown curls half-covered by… a hoody. He is the picture of young innocence with just a touch of cool. As I looked at him, I thought of you. I pondered the future of this black baby boy who lights up my phone and my life. I wondered what will be the “hoody” when he reaches your age, what will be the excuse people use to justify their discomfort with his appearance.
I’m currently wrapped up in the madness of March – the college basketball tournament. It’s interesting that thousands of fans of all races have packed into arenas to see young men, most of them black, make magic on the hardwood. I think about what most of the black players look like off the court, how they likely appear as soon as they leave the gym following a win. How many of them wear sweatpants and… hoodies? How many of those screaming fans would sing a different tune an hour later if they saw one of those players, unrecognizable in a hoody, walking through their gated community or some other place that they assumed he didn’t ‘belong?’ Would they, like Zimmerman, assume he was up to no good?
Did you ever see Crash? It was probably a little before your time. But in the movie, there are all these characters of different ethnicities whose lives crash into one another in horrific ways. How the characters interact with each other is always greatly influenced by race, each of them bringing along their stereotypes, preconceived notions, and life experiences in a way that is detrimental to the interaction. The movie was highly acclaimed, not just for the acting of its all-star cast, but for the fact that it forced everyone to confront the quiet prejudices that lie within.
Acknowledging those biases is difficult. Most people – good people even – can’t face that part of themselves. They think that acknowledging any bad part of them makes them a bad person overall. They don’t realize that there’s no way to chase out dark thoughts and feelings without first admitting their presence.
I’m sorry for the way some have tried to excuse your killing. I think people’s attempts to justify things are often a result of their ability to empathize with the act. It’s easy for some to understand how a man could feel threatened by you for no other reason than your skin color, attire, and the fact that you were in a place he didn’t expect you to be – because they would have felt threatened themselves. Whether that feeling is justified does not matter to them. They don’t want to face that part of themselves.
I’m sorry we have yet to make them face it. I’m sorry you got caught in the crossfire of a nation at war with itself. I’m sorry we’ve been complacent enough to believe that the election of our first black President meant you and other black men were suddenly safe, that the communities you lived in had finally welcomed you home. I’m sorry we’ve allowed society to make guns more tolerable in gated communities than in ghettos, or when carried by college students instead of drug dealers. I’m sorry we still haven’t learned that bullets don’t discriminate – people do.
I apologize to the beautiful black baby in a hoody on my screensaver. I apologize to the talented young black man who throws on a hoody on his way home from basketball practice. I apologize to you, gunned down on your way home from the store, screaming and begging for help. I’m sorry that our nation keeps accepting hoodies and other excuses as justification for your wrongful deaths. I’m sorry we haven’t yet made it criminal to kill you.
I started not to write this. I felt my feelings would be obvious and anything I would say had already been said. Then I realized that’s not the point. Maybe adding our voices to the cause is one of the best things we can do. Use your voice by signing the online petition or attending a local rally. Do it for Trayvon Martin. Do it for the Trayvons of other names in our families and communities.
Like this:
Have You Ever…
Last week a bright afternoon sky was quickly dimmed by dark clouds as rain stole the sunshine’s thunder. Moments later, those rude raindrops got stage fright, settling quietly into the ground for an abrupt end to their scene. And just like that, the sun, the crowd favorite, was back.
As I watched Mother Nature’s very public mood swings, I thought about our private ones.
Have you ever felt uncomfortable in your own skin – like it was crawling with suppressed thoughts and emotions determined to gnaw their way out? Have you ever marveled at the unique creation that is you – so impressed with the many intricate pieces fitting perfectly together, that you wanted to pinch that same formerly crawling skin, to see if you were real?
Have you ever felt painfully insignificant – and then spectacularly special?
Have you ever found some part of you – either visible to the naked eye or hidden in the heart – so repulsive that you dodged bathroom mirrors and the people whose presence was a reflection of your shame? Ever had someone declare that ugly part of you breathtakingly beautiful, and for a moment, believed them? Ever had a day in which every part of your appearance conspired to make you absolutely gorgeous?
Have you ever been so giddy that you couldn’t frown if you wanted to, your lips permanently turned upward and cheeks plump with inexplicable joy? Have you ever walked through life on auto-smile, your mouth muscles forming fraudulent grins on cue? Ever gotten so good that you fooled yourself?
Have you ever wanted to be everywhere and nowhere all at the same time?
Have you ever longed for the days of Miss Mary Mack hand games, jump rope, and ice cream cones that left a sticky residue on your lips and chin, yet never stuck to your frame? Ever played host to a moment so perfect you wanted to freeze time, or at least memorize every sight, smell, sound, taste, or touch to play it back over and over into your forever? Have you ever experienced a moment so wrong that you wished you could race past it into whatever future would silence the involuntary wail escaping your throat?
Have you ever wanted something with every fiber of your being – then had your heart ache with longing for the exact opposite thing? Have you wondered if getting one would make you hate it out of loyalty to the other?
Have you ever been so sure of something that you’d bet your life on it? Ever awoken the next day in a haze, your mind grappling to make sense of everything but your name?
Have you ever thought failure was impossible – then, after thinking that endeavor over once more, decided success was improbable?
Have you ever felt your foot tapping impatiently on your Life floor, beckoning that next great moment? Ever had a change of heart, wished you could buy yourself some time before the greatness made its grand entrance?
I guess that’s where faith comes in. I guess that’s what keeps life interesting. I guess I was just wondering… have you ever.
Five hundred and eighteen words later, questions and confusion exited stage right. And just like that, Sheryl’s Pearls, the crowd favorite, was back.
[I know this was unusual for me. I try not to do posts like this because I don’t know how they’ll be received. However, since this is my 100th post (yay!) I selfishly wrote something creative just for me. I still hope you can relate.]
