The Greatest of These

Pops is a man of many sayings:

"Shoot for the moon, if you miss you'll be among the stars."

"Done that. Been there." (The reversal has always irked me.)

"Keep your head out of the clouds."

And of course, "The greatest trick the devil ever played was convincing people he didn't exist." (Or some variation.)

Lately I've been thinking about another "trick." I'm convinced it is one of the greatest tricks of all time. I believe it is at the core of so many issues people have with relationships: We have been convinced love is a weak emotion.

Surely if love was seen as strong and powerful, folks wouldn't be so adverse to it. If people were celebrated for their strength to love themselves and others, the world would look a lot different. After mentioning misplaced Bible verses in the last post, I went back and read 1 Cor. 13 a few times. The chapter explains that all of the things you have and everything you know mean nothing if you don't have love. And note, this chapter isn't specific to romantic love. The last verse says: "And now these three remain: faith, hope, and love. But the greatest of these is love."

When all else fails, love does not. Yet expressing love in any form is often seen as a sign of weakness. I am in the process of changing how I think and what I say about love. It takes a lot for me to not refer to displays of love and affection as soft. Old habits die hard.

If "she was young and in love" wasn't the explanation given every time girls 'round the way got into a bad situation, maybe things would be different.

If every super hero or bad guy didn't screw off everything we worked for and end up and the bottom because he "fell in love," maybe things would be different.

If anthems of Money over Bitches didn't knock harder than or get more airplay than songs about love (which is different than sex), then maybe things would be different.

Outside of watching my words and being encouraging to the homies, I'm not quite sure yet what I will do to help combat the negative view of love.  I'll let you know when I know. For now I just wanted to put this out there.

My Six Word Story

I Can't Make You Love Me. #sixwordstories

Maybe it was the ride-or-die wifey anthems. It could have been the countless romantic stories where someone pursues relentlessly and the the pursued finally realizes that what they want has been in front of them the entire time. I'm sure it was my warped interpretation of 1 Corinthians 13. "Love is patient," I'd say to myself. Nothing like a misplaced Bible verse to make you stay in a place you should've left a long time ago. (I was also a frequent quoter of: "It is not easily angered," which meant that I couldn't be mad when he was being disrespectful.  And: "It keeps no record of wrongs," which meant I didn't have to hold him accountable.)

So I guess it was a number of things, but I used to think I could make someone love me. I'm driven and slightly competitive and when applied incorrectly, say trying to win a dudes heart, ish goes all bad. Within the last year or so I've started to understand that I can't make someone love me. No matter how many times I invite you over to hangout, how many games I go to, how many papers I read over, how many times I'm that ear when no one else is listening, there comes a point where it really isn't about me. It's about where the other person is. And yeah it may be a matter of timing, but timing is not something you can force or gauge. If you are the right person for me five years from now, I will not spend the next half decade trying to convince you of that. Come holla at me in 2014 and we'll see what happens.

At times we idealize struggle, but I am now convinced certain things shouldn't be so difficult. Yes relationships take work. Yes we enter them with different communication styles, personal histories, and ideals (romanticized or not) that act as a filter. Our experiences color and discolor our views. These are all things that make relationships hard. Who needs the added trouble of trying to convince someone that just isn't that into you, that you are in fact The One?

Why Are You Talking To Me?

"Why are you talking to me?"

"Umm, you were standing by yourself, thought you may have wanted to dance, you an attractive dude..."

I was thrown off by the question. What the hell did he mean by the question? Clearly WTF was written all over my face. We are standing outside of the club. I'm now considering all of the guys I could have started a conversation with...

"I’m sorry. I’m not trying to offend you. It’s just that Black women in California don’t like Black men."

"I don’t think that’s true," I replied.

"No it is," he insisted. "I’ve been here for two years. I moved up here from Alabama. And the black women here do not like black men."

He was serious. I could hear the hurt in his voice.

Way to dump all of your baggage on me.

As he explained to me his logic, I kept wondering: How the hell did I get into this conversation?

I’m in the club with My Boy and a few other folks. Short dress, tights, high heels. Long Island in hand. I’m getting it in. (It is my firm belief that if I am out, I have to have fun, especially if I am coming out of pocket.)

I’m dancing with my crew and with anyone else who steps within my personal square. After a few songs I realize there is a guy looking my way. He’s the color of a Hershey’s Kiss and wearing an orange polo. His two step is more of a half-assed rock and really I just wish he would have fun. He's too cute to look so bored. So I walk over to him.

“So I guess you don’t dance,” I say in my best if you're feeling me I'm flirting, if you're not I'm just being friendly voice.

“I do dance,” he responds.

“Well, when I look over here you’re standing still.”

“That’s because you are always dancing with someone else,” he chuckles.

And with that we two step and chit chat.

No way I would have anticipated the convo that followed.

"If I’m in the club and I ask a sista to dance, she says no. Then next time I see her, she’s dancing with whatever non-black dude she can find."

"I really don’t think it’s because you’re black. Maybe it’s the crowd, maybe it’s something else," I'm trying to find the words, but I'm surprised and not sure what to say.

The convo ended shortly after that, but I kept thinking about it on the drive home.

There were a number of reasons I could think of that a chick would turn him down in the club.

- He didn’t look like he was having fun. (We are there to party, not carry the weight of the world.)

- He was rocking a polo and jeans. (It wasn't a bad ensemble, but there were many dressed better.)

- He didn’t seem like he was ballin'. (Not gonna front, it is the club. A lot of women are dancing with the dudes who can buy them a drink.)

The list could go on, but in the middle of my mental rant of a sub point, b sub point, I wondered just how many dudes went through this every time a black woman started ranting about black men not liking black women, or all men liking everyone except black women.

Dude was clearly seeing what he wanted to see. The majority of the black women in the club were talking to black men. I figured that dude probably got turned down when he was back south as well, but race didn't come to mind as the reason because the clubs probably aren’t as integrated. And if the clubs are hella multi-cultural, maybe the black women there aren’t as open to talking to dudes “outside of their race.”

 

There was some sort of underlying insecurity there. I knew because it was familiar. I wanted to sympathize with and chastise him at the same time.

If I had the energy I probably would have told him that he was beautiful and whatever insecurities he had about his complexion and worth needed to be thrown out of the window. I would have told him he sounded bitter and bitter isn't sexy. I would have told him that a black woman dating a non-black man does not mean she is a victim of self-hate or that she has sold out, or that she doesn't like black men. I would have played "Shades" by Wale ft Chrisette. I would have told him to check his attitude and demeanor in the club instead of putting everything on race. I would have told him that he was seeing what he wanted to see, but his visions weren't rooted in reality. But if I'd said those things, I would have had to tackle all of my hang-ups with race and dating, and I wasn't ready to go there.

Just Sharing

I like Wale. Actually I like him a lot. His album is dope. I've been listening to it non-stop for the past few days. And because I believe in supporting good music, I'll be buying it this week. Anyway, this song deals with a lot of the things I talk about in my blogs, poems, and everyday conversation. I think you should listen. Let me know what you think...

More than a Resume

This weekend I was chatting with my home girl about lists and such. She was a bit peeved because a friend of hers kept describing potential love interests by what they possessed. I thought about how common these conversations are. A friend likes a guy. You ask her to describe him, you ask what she likes about him, you ask why they are a good fit, etc. By the end of the convo you know where he went to school, where he works, where he lives, what he drives, what he wears, which frat he pledged, so on and so forth. But you have no clue what his hobbies are, if he has siblings, if he likes kids, if he’s adventurous, if he quotes rap lyrics non-stop, you still can’t figure out how the two of them are compatible outside of their similar resume/ pedigree.

So of course I was gonna write another post about abandoning your damned lists. But then I thought about my piece on adulthood and realized: We are so busy judging love interests by their resumes because we tie our self-worth to our possessions and accolades. I’m sure the women and men (my boys are guilty of this too) who give the resume rundown to describe “what’s his/her face from Saturday night,” refer to themselves in the same terms.

We are damn proud of our degrees, jobs, and affiliations because we invest a ton of time in these things. Some times we invest more than we should, and the only way we can possibly justify investing so much in things that won’t really matter when we are gone is by convincing the world that these things are great and necessary. By convincing the world, we convince ourselves.

If you couldn’t use titles to describe yourself, what would you say? Who are you?

I suggest getting to the core of why these things are so important to you? If you find that your org affiliation is more about the commitment to community and bond of sisterhood than strolling and elements of elitism, then you should be more worried about his community involvement and the quality of his relationships with friends and family rather than his letters or lack thereof. If your degree is about your love of learning, then the fact that he is constantly asking questions, always reading, and loves getting insight from his elders, should matter more than where his degree came from or if he has one.

I also suggest working on communication and personal growth while you are accomplishing all of those goals. I’m amazed at how many people think they can do what the hell ever and then one day magically switch gears and be in a relationship.

And finally, spend time with yourself. Get to know you. How you see yourself will always impact how you see others.

Black is, Black Ain't

I spend my a Saturday mornings walking around Lake Merritt's Farmers Market. The colors, scents, and random foods I've never heard of before make me happy.  The kids, who are begging for honey sticks because they think they taste better than candy, make me smile. The people are extra friendly as they search through organic produce. When I see a Black person there, I smile a bit harder. Why? Because even though we are in Oakland, it's a rare sighting.
 
As I work on improving my health I always think of what black is, what black ain't, and who made it that way.

It's not a new thought for me. I grew up dealing with criticisms of "acting" white. My mother would always assure me that I was indeed Black and that people who thought my complete sentences indicated anything else were ignorant. It's the same conversation I had with my younger sister a few weeks ago when she looked me dead in my face and asked: Do I talk like a white girl? The insecurity in her eyes made me furious.

I was shocked that it was still going on, but I'm not sure why. A while back this guy was over for dinner.   Said that dinner was great and he was surprised that I ate and cooked white people food. *blank stare* Since it wasn't fried and there were steamed veggies, my meal was white? My great great aunt is always talking about how I could never in a million years marry a black man. Why? Because I listen to "strange" music and I'm "too smart." Uhm, WTF? (If you could have seen the look on my mother's face. I'm sure if my mom did not have respect for her elders, she would have said something crazy.)

As I continue to explore what black is and what black ain't, I pay more attention to the intersection of race and class.

I've taken a liking to young man named David. He thinks it's dope that I spend a lot of time at Farmer's Markets and that I enjoy microbrews. He goes camping once a month and plays soccer every Saturday morning. He's into that whole underground hip-hop thing. He's also an Oakland boy through and through. When I talk about him, folks usually ask what color he is.

"He's Black," I reply.
"Oh really, his family is middle or upper middle class then, huh?"
" Yeah."
"Oh, ok that explains it. "
"He's half white too."
"Oh yeah, it makes sense."

A Matter of Time

"I love that you are so picky. I hope your sisters inherit that."

Pops was looking at picks with Moms. He thinks is girls are the best thing since Zippos. He also believes that I am beating off suitors with a stick.

"I'm not in a rush," I reply. "I have time."

He looks at me and laughs. "I like that you're selective, but don't think you have too much time."

One of my father's goals is to make sure I stay grounded. That I keep a level head. That I never forget that family and loyalty come before anything. I understand where all of his comments and concerns come from so I'm never too irritated. He thinks I don't listen, but do.

But the comment reminded me of my older sister's lament that I did not find a boyfriend in college. "Don't wait too long, you'll end up old and alone," she told me on the phone. Which of course made me think about the time that a guy told me that I seemed like the type of woman that would be too involved in my career to realize that there was more to life. Way to woo me, huh?

It's funny what people assume. I'm single. Have been for some time. I don't walk around complaining about how single I am. I have a degree. I work really hard. To them I'm the Gabrielle Union character. I'd like to think I'm more like a Jill Scott song.

Twenty-something without a boyfriend is unheard to my family. My siblings are serial monogamist (older brother included) and by the ripe old age of 23 everyone was already married or at least engaged (Parents, Aunts, Uncles...). It's highlighted by the fact that by the end of this year two of the three girls over 18 will have welcomed new life. The one (guess who) hasn't brought a guy home to meet the parents since high school.

The family is coming to terms with my timeline. Slowly but surely visions of me has the unhappy single aunt are fading (partly because my mom reads the blog and also because they see how I'm living first hand now).

They just want me to be happy. And I am.