Tea Time Tuesdays with The Sassy Scribe

Being gathered in today's terminology hardly refers to anything constructive. Its meaning, I'm sure,  is contrary to what Sir Solomon may have intended. In fact, according to the urban dictionary, you are gathered when a person tries to come for you or question you and your authority, and you retaliate with pure indiscriminate justice. This often makes the victim embarrassed, ashamed or belittled.Now imagine that. Someone collects all the most inconceivable bits and pieces about you and then hurls them at you like little mistles, all to break you down. Picture David slinging that stone at Goliath's head but him surviving to hear his fellow soldiers jeering at how a mere boy defeats a big ole hefty giant.I highly doubt Solomon urged us to gather stones to hurt folks. But however you are led to interpret what Solomon means, one might agree that this act is intended to cultivate, grow, build, or protect.

An old proverb says, "People who live in glass houses shouldn't throw stones." I ain't gonna lie; I should never throw stones, seeing as my house even has glass fixtures and furniture. As soon as my petty nature rises, I remember that at one point, I was the immediate past president of the "stay-doing dumbness" club! I was thrown for a loop when I checked this week's topic. Before now, I had never considered what this contrasting season could mean. After all, Ecclesiastes 3 is merely that scripture we resort to at funerals. Otherwise, we quote any couplet of the fourteen whenever the need arises, according to our circumstances. Staring at that line, 'a time to scatter stones,' had me a bit perplexed. First, the word 'scatter' means to throw in various random directions. Yet my childhood warning had me at odds with that thought. As children, we were often cautioned not to throw stones because they have no eyes! In other words, once released, their target is sometimes up to chance. Why, then, is Solomon telling us time is allocated for scattering stones? To scatter does not suggest any kind of order to me. To scatter anything, to me, spells chaos. Right then, I couldn't help recalling the number of times the Bible refers to stones or rocks in some way. Most famously, David defeated Goliath with a small stone. This, though, was one of those cases where the rock understood the assignment. It also says to me that rocks aren't solely for building, but when used unconventionally, a rock becomes a weapon. So, I had to question, "Is 'throwing' a means of scattering?"

Dancing these days has been relegated to having Meg the Stallion knees and the uncanny ability to gyrate a single side of one's gluteus maximus on command. Perchance, if your Tik Tok trend can hit a million views from your mastery of choreography, you, my friend, have reached the pinnacle of stardom. Well, let me tell you now, if that is the prerequisite, many of us are disqualified. Much like laughter, dance is awakened by the presence of something pleasant. And no, this isn't scientifically proven by experts, but I can say with all confidence, we've all witnessed how food that hits the spot can cause one to dance happily. Or we've seen how exciting news could result in a shimmy. Most of us can't help but bounce to an imaginary beat when we've received something unexpected but hoped for. Similar to music, I think dance is universal. But I've noticed that one's dance capability is relative depending on who you ask. I would even venture to say that when it comes to dancing, movement and rhythm, a particular group of people of a certain pigmentation tend to feel they have the monopoly. #melaninainttheonlythingpoppin 

Ooooh, my Gawd, Solomon! Oh. My. God! (throws hands in the air and walks out) Sirrrr, didn't we just finish weeping? Now we gatta grieve too!!?? #seriously Listen, this wasn't sitting well with me, either. My spirit was quite perturbed. Spoiler alert: it's plenty more list to go—so hang tight! Anyway, for the record, grief is slightly different from weeping (not everyone who grieves cries)—though they often team up. Remember last week I had said weeping, among other things, is associated with grief, and when a person weeps, either they are experiencing great anguish or extraordinary loss. Well, grief or mourning is dealing with the loss part. Let's be clear, though, that 'loss' does not only apply to death. You can grieve something or someone who is very much alive. It would be super easy for me to sit here and tell you about the casualties of what I deemed my great loves. Or I can agonize over the one I felt got away. I could avidly relive every gory detail and paint a graphic picture of my 'woe is me, I'm undone' pity party. But as a matter of clarity rather than transparency, I would like to talk about the loss of my mothers. Yes, plural. #boafem

Regardless of their outward appearance, being a funny dude is the' milkshake (jokes) that will forever bring all the girls to the yard. It's just something about slapping a guy on the shoulder and throwing your head back to let out a boisterous, almost snorting laugh. #ahfuntimesI don't know everything, but I do know more people would rather laugh than cry, and others laugh, so they don't cry. Either way, many people stand by the belief that laughter is like medicine to the soul. As a kid, I've always been told to stop grinning like an ole chessy-cat. My brother could say moo, and I'd be keeling over like he was the headliner of the original Kings of Comedy. But as I got older, laughter became my defence mechanism, bursting out at the most inopportune times, causing me to come across as silly rather than nervous. Other times, I could type 'LOL' eleventeen million times in a day and never crack a smile. During those pretentious spells, I found myself watching hours of comedic specials to pull myself out of a mental funk. I would pop jokes like emotional ibuprofen, and just like the actual drug, the high of that good old chuckle wore off rather quickly.It is common to laugh out of shock or disbelief, as well as out of amazement or joy. Naturally, I asked myself, exactly how long does laughter's medicinal benefits last? Is it a be-all, end-all cure, or is it a temporary fix to mask how we truly feel? Realistically, how much laughter does one need to erase what may feel like a lifetime of getting the messy end of the stick? 

Unlike most folks, I get excited when I see the caption 'long post' alert. You get to learn so much about the person doing the posting. Chances are they are about to be transparent, and somehow, reading it acknowledges that you are not alone. As bad as it sounds, it kinda gives you solace.As I reflected on this month of August, my mind wandered to two posts I had seen that broke my heart. Each in a slightly different way. In one piece, I read of a college student's journey. One so rough that I doubt I'd have the fortitude to see it through. And the other, I watched an old clip of a scholarship recipient's acceptance speech. His story was so moving that it prompted me to reflect on how much of my high school life was taken for granted and borderline wasted. Aimlessly scrolling my timeline, I saw a radiant photo of a beautiful young lady regaled in her cap and gown. I didn't know her, but her smile caused me to pause. And there it was, long post alert. I began to read her testimony through her six-year tertiary experience. With each paragraph, my heart sank as she spoke of how she was battling sickle cells the whole time. Thinking back on my autoimmune condition, I could easily empathize. But what added insult to injury was, mid-degree, she encountered one of the worse crises she'd ever experienced. An episode that was so dire that she had to withdraw from classes for a semester. Now, if you know anything about The University of The Bahamas, that in and of itself is enough to make one weep.

Building—whether a house, an empire, a sand castle, a brand or even a bear, takes a concerted, almost deliberate effort to see it through.I suppose those are just a few aspects of conceptualizing what it means to build up. We can also look at the concept of build-up from a different perspective. For instance, when it comes to germs and gunk. We might also consider the uplifting of one's esteem—whether by flattery, compliments or affirmations. By the same token, it can mean reinforcing the strength and sturdiness of a thing or restoration to increase its value. The ways to spin it are endless.To 'build up' can also relate to the time before an event. A crescendo, if you will—the loudest point reached in a gradually increasing sound. I'll tell you the God's honest truth; what I never want to be is anticlimactic. Better yet, not live up to the hype.As I mulled over the notion of building and how it applies to life, I remembered one of my favourite stories from the Bible—The Tower of Babel. 

Evangelist Myley Cyrus, can describe many moments in our lives. I suppose when we read Solomon's synopsis of times and seasons, one tends to identify more with the negative aspects of each comparison. Psychologists refer to this as negativity bias because adverse events significantly impact our brains more than positive ones. #heavenhelpusAs I zeroed in on those last two words, break down. I realize that it can be a compound word as well. Immediately I knew this would give the phrase a different meaning. The single-word breakdown is a noun referring to the result of the action—while the two-word version, break down, is a verb that calls attention to the 'action' leading to the result. As I read various versions in the Bible of this scripture, whether it interchanged, tear down or break down, it used two words rather than its compound version. So let's explore the verb explanation of this phrase.Break down—the action that leads to results. Or, in today's vernacular, "Make it make sense!" This begs an obvious question, "What actions have you or have you not taken that landed you where you are?" Better yet, "Are you willing to retrace your steps and make the necessary corrections?"

Yes, it a true that it takes time to heal but know that 'time is NOT the healer! "Healing" should not be a bandaid that we use to mask our wounds in the hopes that no one can see the imperfections. Having gone through both physical and emotional hurts, I believe that healing promotes overall health.For clarity, healing isn't achieved by the wave of a magic wand, and it's not some weekend retreat that requires you to sit around a bond fire and sing kumbaya. But it is messy, painful, and requires effort from the injured party. For instance, PT won't work if you don't participate. The Therapist can't do the exercises for you, and the process won't accomplish what it should if you don't follow the instructions. Know that when you don't engage, you run the risk of whatever was broken or damaged, mending with irregularities.My initial thought was to discuss healing as it relates to a therapist or managing your triggers and trauma responses, but those seem to get thrown at you at the speed of a viral video. Then I thought to talk about healing from the perspective of heartbreak, abandonment and rejection issues or the power of forgiveness; you know, the regular mulberry bush. #blahblahblah  But no, let's go in another direction. 

To hear the word 'kill' is off-putting. Actually, no, it's downright scary. Yet we've been so inundated with this word that we've become somewhat desensitized. I feel I should say, 'kill is not to be confused with murder—technically, they're not the same! But that's another story for another day.I'll admit this is a heavy topic. One that made me wonder if tackling this list of seasons was a good idea, as I felt I was in over my head, and I began wondering if I was qualified to speak to any of it at all.Yet, the more I mulled over this phrase in my mind, the more I heard something that had nothing to do with bloodshed—and it was there I let out a hallelujah.

The word harvest immediately takes me back to primary school when we had to bring canned goods and produce from home to give to the less fortunate. You knew it was a big deal because we'd have a special assembly that took weeks of preparation. Students brought their chairs from classrooms to the quadrangle, and special guests were treated like royalty. My favourite was when the choir would sing: "It's harvest, it's harvest, it's harvest time again. So bring ya pumpkin and watermelon, cassava, and peas and corn. Thank, thank, thank you, Lord. Thank you, Lord, again." As an adult, that whole ordeal now says one thing to me: 'harvest isn't for the benefit of one person.' I was reminded how the residual income of one moment had a rippling effect—and I like it. I spent a lot of my Christian life reading my Bible and praying in the hopes of getting something from God. Be it for an answer, a blessing, or a colossal intervention, it was rarely, if ever, for the sake of just spending time with Him whom I (supposedly) love. 

There are things you do in your free time, and then there are things you free your time to do. I believe that planting is a hobby people "do" with the hope that it works rather than expecting it to succeed. This opinion may be skewed as it's based on observing a person's reaction to witnessing their planted seed growing. It's as if seeing what they've planted actually flourishing—is a shock. As for me, when I think of planting, I think of an activity that requires me to get my hands dirty—problem numero uno. Then, I think of the consistency I'd need to ensure that what I plant actually grows—let the church say, 'ain't nobody gat time fa that.'I'm already cringing at the idea of pests and the proper way to ward them off without harming the plant. Then there's feeding the plant—on top of wondering if I've given it enough water, too little water or too much water? What if the sun is too hot, or what if the sun doesn't shine at all. Does the plant need shade, or should I leave it to nature to do its thing? Do I place it into a pot or drop the seed any ole' where and say abracadabra? Do seeds need particular soil, or will any dirt do? Finally, does this exercise require special tools, or can I use any object that comes to my hands? Gosh, I'm exhausted just thinking about it. It's perhaps me being lazy, but planting doesn't sound enjoyable—it's giving hard work and inconvenience, and I'm not about that life.

You can go ahead and release the tension in your chest, as this is not a piece where I'm focused on last wills and testaments. Well, I suppose it'll depend on which lens you view the information through. Honestly, before we can even get to whether one hears, "Well done or depart from me, I never knew you," we'll have experienced several other instances that might feel worse than death. But like death, these situations may be sudden, or at other times you may battle the proverbial death bed to-do. Either way, rest assured, it's always only a matter of when. To die (not by Webster's description) signifies time has expired or that 'a thing' has met its expected end. Basically, if you've ever had to grieve anything, you've probably had a brush with death.

I could be off base here, but I think most people who've not had the benefit of being born into wealth, if given a chance, would not choose the family they now have. Like most, what I may have opted for, would be based on affluence, privilege and geography.When I hear the phrase 'A time to be born,' I can't help but reflect on that moment in most funerals when you're recapping the details of the deceased's life. You begin to compare it to Solomon's fourteen contrasting seasons and times—each serving a particular purpose. (see Ephesians 1-8) In fact, whenever my life seems halted in a juxtaposition, I think about these verses, wondering what phase I'm in and if I'm handling it with any grace at all. My physical birth occurred in the summer of 1980, amid the dreaded hurricane season. And most times, my life felt stuck in that dynamic—a period of storms brewing in rapid succession. Still, like those disturbances, I'm convinced nothing could stop my arrival; it was simply my time. 

So I used to work in a call center back in the day and ended up quitting weeks shy of my fifth anniversary. Let me tell you, though, saying that it was an eye-opening experience has to be the understatement of a lifetime. I learned in real-time during those many months that communication has nothing to do with what we say but what we hear. And while as an individual, I thought I had an excellent command of the English language, many days, I went home feeling like my elevator didn't go to the top floor.At first, it was all kicks and giggles, as though it was curated for the newbies to be routed the colourful folks—you know, baptism by fire, I called it. Like, how were they doing this to us? How was it that every day, things I thought were standard verbiage became complex that I had to water it down? No lie, I was so excited for the opportunity to walk people through issues. Me, a problem solver. A superhero in my own right. #avengerassemble  Yet, I walked away from that experience, second-guessing everything I said before I said it, and I developed the annoying habit of over-explaining.

The other day, I was in a coffee shop drinking my water, minding my business. And by the other day, I mean pre-pandemic, and by water, I mean coffee. In came an elderly lady who sat next to me. We exchanged pleasantries, and by pleasantries, I mean a nod and a smile. She, too, was drinking her water. Although, I'm not sure she was minding her business because, from my peripheral vision, I could see her staring at me—rather intently. After what felt like an eternity, and by eternity I mean one sip of her water, she finally said, "Wow, you have beautiful skin!" I smiled, a bit uneasy and deflected by saying, "Yes, it's the weather, doing me all levels of justice!" And my urge to over-explain was brewing; I mean ready to bubble over. She looked at me, and in a matter-of-fact tone that only comes with an elderly badge of honour, she said, "Oh, hush, could you just take the compliment?" Feeling a little shame, I said coyly, "Yes, ma'am, thank you!" and we continued to chat briefly. As she left, I could no longer focus on my reason for being there. I had an overwhelming urge to dig deeper. "Why did her compliment make me uncomfortable?"

I saw a homeless man sitting on the side of the road the other day. Next to him was perhaps everything he owned, covered by a tarp, in a supermarket trolley. ⁣My heart sank, and I began wondering what could have possibly happened in this man's life that landed him in this position?⁣Far be it from my pointless curiosity, something very profound got my attention. I was no longer fixated on his condition but instead that he sat there, in his state, reading a book. You'd think he'd be there lamenting over his many woes. I know I would. I'm talking, big ole pity party on lock! But no, he was there soaking in information. ⁣⁣I don't know what book he was reading or why. But from observation alone, I concluded that his circumstance didn't define him as it might others. I realized he wasn't waiting for the conditions to be perfect for him to do something worthwhile or productive. To me, he appeared to start with what was in his reach.⁣⁣

It feels like yesterday that I wrote about 'new year, new me season' that seems to descend upon us like the plagues of Egypt every 12 months. Ah yes, another round of cut-offs, clearing social media friend feeds and contact lists. And lest we forget the 300,000 vision board party flyers. I mean, nothing against it but seventy-five bucks for me to use my own glue stick, glitter, and scissors to create a homemade poster while someone stands in their cute-fit to the front of the room—hmm, no thanks. (insert trapsy emoji) Nonetheless, I was not at all enthused by the impending possibility of yet another 365 to make any major changes, other than to ensure my words matched my actions. Still, I was reminded of the sentiment that "The more things change, the more they remain the same."  Or "There is nothing new under the sun!" Oh boy, I was about to descend into the rabbit hole of revolving thoughts.To be completely honest, I was conflicted; you'll. On the one hand, the famous quote that says, 'the only constant in life is change,' denotes that change should happen, and if it's not, maybe something somewhere isn't growing. But then my life in Christendom echoes God doesn't change. So, do I change or nah? 

Suddenly, my thoughts of Christmases past were met with the harsh present-day reality that all things I'd hoped for to this end seemed out of reach with no end in sight. (Sigh) Bah Humbug!  The longer I pondered, the more I got irritated. The mere thought of my Christmas lather, rinse, repeat cycle was steady, giving me the heebie-jeebies.  "So, pretty girl like you een married yet?" was about to be the question I now consider more irritating than the near interrogations about my weight influxes.In fact, any social outing where I'd face an opportunity to be grilled by all the insensitive people was gonna get me all in my feelings or force me to hurt some feelings. I wasn't interested in either parity. Believe me; I didn't need an office memo issued to remind me that I was growing older by the second. Nor did I need an update that my womb has somehow shrivelled up and become utterly useless (at least that's how they'd make you feel). While this time of year should be about togetherness, it's the pressure to 'be' that makes you wanna take a hard pass.

Disclaimer: Today's piece has nothing to do with Tyler and dem. Honestly, I've never even watched the show. Now that that's out of the way let's get to it.I remember hearing a phrase not long ago, though I can't recall where—it was said. 'People don't want purpose; they want prizes.' As I pondered that thought, I couldn't help but look over my life and think of the motivation behind many of my so-called goals. There was no surprise there; it was more about me reaping benefits rather than pursuing the reason I was destined. 

All my life, I've heard the words' obedience is better than sacrifice!' Suffice it to say, while I always thought I knew exactly what this phrase meant, I can't explain what that initial thought process was. Meaning I can't put it into words that would make sense enough to make it make sense—if that makes sense. Needless to say, the first sentiment went up in flames. And as of late, I've found a new appreciation for this phrase—hang tight, and I'll cue you in soon enough. In my short life to date, I've made some questionable choices. I mean, downright nonsensical. Some of those choices were as blatant as seeing fire spewing from the stove but opting to take my bare hand and slap it on there regardless. Then, of course, cry. I mean, wailing that I got burned. 

My life is no Romeo and Juliet melodrama, but I've had a riveting mix of bitter and sweet moments. I've had what felt like eleventy thousand jobs but no Career.  As I'm sure, it sounds like a skyrillion relationships, too. Though in actuality, it's only been 4—at times, I'm talking about the same person but from a different vantage point. I even reckoned that I've had a bajillion places that, at some point, I called home. Not to forget the assortment of friends that garnished my various stages in life. I know to you, the listening audience, I sound like a mess—and you'd be mostly right. For a long time, perhaps I was. Even so, it's easy to sit in a seat of judgment, especially when sorrow (that is, heartbreak and sadness) looks different on everyone.

A friend of mine posted the other day on social media, "If I read, 'understood the assignment' one more time!" I hit the laughing emoji immediately because I could see her rolling her eyes as she typed it. Understanding the assignment seems to be the order of the day, but I'm curious to know how we can understand the assignment when we have no clue what it is in some instances. Actually, no, that is a bit presumptuous. I think we are focused on the wrong assignment. Yeah, maybe that's it. I think the assignment, more than anything else, is what's "Clearly Misunderstood"—this refers to someone who completely missed the point or did not understand something or someone. Many of us are walking around screaming at each other like Chris Tucker in Rush Hour, "Do you understand the words that are coming out of my mouth?" And in kind, when people don't respond how we expect, rather than say it a different way, we keep repeating the same thing, only louder.

Right out the gate, there is nothing civil about war. No, all is NOT fair in love and war because if that were the case, then kingdoms would not have been divided over who couldn't marry whom, and Jesus' death would (a) never have happened or (b) not been so brutal.A civil war is described as a battle between citizens of the same country. For the purpose of this exercise, we'll use the term metaphorically. It's no shocking surprise that most wars are first among people that are members of the same house. Crazy, right? Mark explains plainly how this is damaging, "If a house is divided against itself, that house cannot stand. Although, the NLT version is more direct when it says, "Similarly, a family splintered by feuding will fall apart." (Mark 3:25) Mmm-mmm-mmm, issa whole word right there! 

There are roughly 6,500 languages in the world. You're more than likely living in a place where most people speak your language, dare I even say, with almost the same accent. Yet you can feel like no one understands you. Still, you're in a place with everyone who looks similar to you—with the same skin hue, experiencing the same struggles, following the same patterns, in the same mundane job, going to the same predictable church service, and taking the same curated (fake) pictures for the gram. While we're all leading separate lives, is it really our commonalities that bind us and the difference that set us apart? Or, could it be that we're all in the same trenches, together, although we may live apart?

When I think of being alone, it's the silence that makes that feeling a reality. It's the absence of discourse that forces you to be painfully aware it's just you in a room. Even when a room is full of people, and there is chatter in every crevice, if no one is speaking to you, it's the same as two strangers sitting on a park bench. They are alone, but together. I've experienced several kinds of silence in relationships. There was a silence where words weren't needed: a smile, a touch, a nod, a furrowed brow, or widened eyes. Even the subtleties of body language were an entirely enjoyable and understood conversation. Then there was silence where no words were adequate to explain what was happening. All I knew was the silence became deafening, and anything said would have cued an avalanche. That type of quiet makes you feel alone, misunderstood, unheard and completely disregarded, all while next to someone. It's that silence that makes two people start questioning the intent and sincerity of every word and action.I've also experienced self-induced solitude. The kind that comes when you start cleaning the emotional closet. Categorizing people based on how they regard you or lack thereof. But there is no loneliness like being alone in a room full of people. There's no alone like walking into an event holding hands with someone you've just had a thirty-minute car ride quieter than the night before Christmas.  It makes me wonder how is loneliness greater in an overly connected world, or is it worst knowing that you're never alone, even when you always feel like it? And is silence and loneliness interchangeable?

I can't speak for anyone else, but I often wonder if God was serious when He picked me! When I think of my inhibitions or those things I can't share with the world, I'm like, "Whew Lord, are You sure You want me to represent You?"In life, I think it's natural to observe people, and sometimes low-key wanna be like them. Well, no, let me speak for myself. There was a point I wanted to be quiet and reserved. Ladylike and dainty with grace and poise and elegance—and if you know me in real life, you'd know most of which, I'm NOT! 

Let me just put it out there; I've exercised this defence a few times in my life. "Oh, I thought your text said it started at 7:30 pm, not 7:00 pm!" Yeah, I wanted to be late, so I didn't get stuck doing something I knew I'd be called on to do.I've even sent a text to the right wrong number cause I knew its contents was gonna get a reaction. I, too, have said some mean things with a smile that I knew was below the belt cause we all know how to plant seeds of doubt in a person about themselves and then pass it off as, "Girl, I was only joking!" But was I, though?

I recently read somewhere how in ancient Greek plays, one man would play multiple roles. Onstage, he wore one mask, then went backstage to put on a new mask for playing another role. This person was called the 'hupokrites,' that's where we get the word 'hypocrite.'Hypocrisy is the practice of claiming to have moral standards or beliefs to which one's own behaviour does not conform; pretense. Layman's terms, we be lying, aka we say one thing and do the next—aka (for my saints), we don't practice what we preach.Though this has nothing to do with the pandemic, masks should not be worn to display oneself to some and not others. It shows a lack of authenticity. I believe God wants us to be exactly who He made us to be, no matter who is watching.

Having a choice means there are multiple options available. So how can one be faced with an 'only choice?' This oxymoron occurs when contradictory words are used together. In this case, there are multiple options when it comes to "choice." And when we say "only," we mean one thing only. You see how they are very different, almost opposing? In reality, there will always be more than one choice. So what in the dickens can I be meaning? I'm glad you asked; stay tuned!

I'm sure you've heard phrases like, "You just like ya pa (father)!" "You're the spitting image of your mother." Or, "I wanna be like you when I grow up." Shoot, back in the 90's everyone was singing, "I wanna be like Mike!"  On the other hand, there are well-known brands, and then there are generic brands. There is a clear and distinct contrast between designer pieces and their knockoff. And there are palatable differences between authentic Italian pizza and pizza bought from the frozen food section. Either way, deep in the recesses of who we are, we want to be set apart; we desire to be 'the first.' We want to be that standard by which all bars are set. Humans, at their core, want to be the chef's kiss to anything they put their hands to.  

This oxymoron, is one of those things we say without much thought on how weird it sounds. How can something simulated (replicated) also be deemed real? Is it because of all this visual stimulation that we've lost sight of what's real? How can we enjoy what's implied but stay dialled in to what is real?

You'll know Petty? Well, let me tell you'll 'bout her. She was me, and I was she! My petty was like the Lebron James of relationships. I could go from ultimate beast mode to milking a flop like someone just bulldozed me with their 7'ft. 1'in. 325lbs body! Like many, I embraced the petty; I became one with the petty. I put 'she on like a warm winter coat as the chill of a Swiss Alps winter softly kissed my sun-deprived cheeks. I was giving childish. I was giving shady. I was giving spiteful. I mean, I was serving passive-aggressive like I was Cash Money taking over for the 99's & 2000's. ”Hi there, welcome to Pettyville—where the odds are always against you!”

What in the ee-i-ee i-o!!?? Did someone really just take the thing you created, slapped a different label on it and tried to pass it off as their own? Wow—this happens more often than you might think.  At first, I use to be upset about it, until I remembered the famous saying: "Imitation is the highest form of flattery (Oscar Wilde). Then it dawned on me, if you're being duplicated, emulated, or fabricated in any shape or form, then you must be doing something right. But then again, can it be that most people are merely existing rather than functioning? Content in their pineapple under the sea?

Back in my 20's, I used to be a shoe fanatic. I could go weeks strutting like a foot model without a repeat. Unfortunately, while my extensive collection was fashionable, most of them weren't comfortable. Yes, they were nice to look at but let me tell you, many days, these puppies were crying. Now that I'm older, I think the idiom "Beauty is pain" makes absolutely no sense. My initial approach to the shoe game was similar to that of most women, who feel that having a 'corn' on every toe and two on the pinky is a small price to pay to be a show stopper. There's no better remedy than to have other ladies ogling over you to numb the feeling of your throbbing feet. I was among the women who would sooner opt out of an event before choosing comfort over style. But, seriously, having said that out loud, does that make any sense to you? Likewise, when life starts to squeeze us, we'll look for any loophole to tap out. Meanwhile, some women will wrap up every bunion, blister and sprained ankle while hobbling on crutches before they retire the coveted stilettos. It all makes me wonder: "Why then are we peeved when life comes chomping at our Achilles heel?"

Ahhhh, drama—it's been the focal point of life since before I was a twinkle in my father's eyes. Well, more like, since Adam threw Eve under the bus, really. When I was younger, nothing could compare to the Young and the Restless episodes featuring Victor & Nikki Newman, who, by the way, has been doing drama literally since I was born. Who could get enough of Brooke (I don't even know her last name), sis, done married every Forester man, in some cases twice (Bold and the Beautiful)? What is more enthralling than screaming "You idiot!" at a television screen living vicariously through the characters you think are real? Well, let's just say NOTHING beats reality. 

Quit rolling your eyes, calm down and don't get your knickers in a bunch. Today is not me pontificating or expounding on the word like I'm a member of the clergy. Nah, that's what your pastor is for. I'm just a girl who sits in the pews like you, and I'm ready to tell my story. Well, at least another one of my stories. I'm gonna tell you about my journey. The one on how a personal relationship with God has a lot less to do with the rhetoric we do on Sundays and more about what's done in those spaces when you think no one can see you. Or behind closed doors when you feel no one is watching.

Let's cut to the chase; taking responsibility can be embarrassing, humbling, painful, and downright costly. Therefore, owning your actions requires two crucial factors; eliminating blame and getting rid of excuses.Lately, it's become common practice to say that adulting is ghetto. That's now comical to me because, as teens, we couldn't wait to be rid of the people who dictated our every move. For reasons I have yet to grasp, we could not then appreciate the level of responsibility it took to parent us. I'd give at least one kidney to go back to a time when my most significant decisions were what to buy from the lunch lady and what whacky style I would fix my hair in next.  But no, like so many of you, I didn't appreciate what it meant to be free of worry or stress. Nope, I wished myself right into bills that come faster than people when they hear the government giving out free things.

Seeing the words: 'Access denied' has to be one of the most infuriating encounters. I mean, right up there with discovering you have a flat tire while dashing out the door on your way to work. Funnily enough, this tends to happen when you're in a mad rush or trying to meet a tight deadline. Being unable to obtain what virtually belongs to you seems a bit unfair. Even if it's because of something as trivial as forgetting your passcode, having an expired key card or perhaps not having the key at all. Yet isn't it amazing how many people think being available means they should be accessible too?

Picture it, you see a woman, she's dressed to the gawds. Hair done, nails done,  everything did (in my Drake's voice)! I mean, this chick is snatched from head to toe. You give her the once over, and since she looks so nice, you owe it to her to look twice. But that's where you stopped, at her toes. Although her shoes are designer, I'm talking; they are kuttee (cute); something distracts you and catches your attention at the same time. And there it was, winking at you, the pinky toe that won't quit. I mean, it's working like it was hammer time. Well, that's me. I'm the pinky toe. No matter how much I wanted to blend into the in-crowd, I always stuck out. Forget the sore thumb; I stuck out like a little phalange of a wide-width foot trying to fit in a narrow shoe. 

It turns out Adulting is much like the schoolyard, only with better toys, more lunch money and a later curfew. There's still a cool kids table and a corner for the jocks who only like the popular girlie girls. There are still the wallflowers who are underestimated and misunderstood. And let's not forget the 'I wish I had a little more of this and a little less of that' body-conscious chicks—only now having credit affords many the opportunity for a nip n' tuck. (insert drumroll) Then there are the bullies, the people that don't know who they are, so they make fun of you because, well, they don't know who they are! High school is now called the workplace. Funday is the staff party, and afterschool clubs are known as happy hour. Assembly is the dreaded staff meeting, report card day is the end-of-year review, and teachers are nothing more than annoying supervisors, only now, in most cases, you are probably better qualified to do their job. Bullies are called Negative Nacy's and Karen's, who always have a problem and find fault in everything you do—usually, these folks have no life of their own. There, of course, is still that one person that's the butt of all the jokes and, on the flip side, there's the most charismatic individual that everyone gravitates toward. AKA, 'the popular kid' that it's more beneficial to befriend than to be enemies with. Like I said, adulting—nothing more than a playground for grown-ups.

In my late teens and early twenties, I remember breaking up with Bugga-boo every five minutes and twenty seconds. Argh! Looking back, that was so silly and super annoying. Why was I like that? I suppose it had much to do with emotional immaturity. Me, falling face forward into the status quo of "Reasons why women don't be makin' no sense!" First, I succumbed to a highly contagious disease that many women suffer from, known as the tomfoolery disorder. The most common symptoms are the words fine, nothing and whatever. When it wasn't that, then I caught a bout of good ole-fashioned catty-iitis―where symptoms resulted in slamming down phones and flinging doors shut. As if that wasn't bad enough, I, too, caught the sourpuss bug, which resulted in the incessant need to keep bringing up the past. I mean, rehashing "once upon a time's" more furious than a volcano erupting. (Talk about hell hath no fury...) All of it culminating into an era of what I refer to as the rise of the "Petty Crockers."  These days, we don't bother to go through all that; we use the handy dandy block and delete. 

Secure the bag, sis! Get 'dem coins, miss! Where the money resides! Everywhere we turn these days, it's all about the Benjamins baby. It's no wonder when the word' priority arises, the first thing that comes to mind is 'the budget.' While that's all good and well, I believe that your relationship with money reveals a lot about what you prioritize most in life. What you spend money on first usually indicates who or what has your heart.I recently heard a sermon snippet where the preacher was listing things in your body that you could live without.  I'd never really given it that much thought simply because we see so many people around us functioning without certain extremities. I mean, that in and of itself shows that life is very doable without some stuff. That made me conclude priorities are not always determined by what's most important on the list but by knowing what you can do without. However, neither of these two extremes can't be understood or achieved without discipline and self-control.

Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears (in the words of Mark Anthony): To live in a state of denial means every day you wake up and choose violence. Your rejection of reality doesn't make it any less real, nor does your refusal to accept it make it go away.Have you ever looked back over your life and asked yourself, "What in the Whitney and Bobby was I thinking?" Well, I was sis, sis was me! It all started in the last season (unbeknown to me) of a relationship. I woke up one day and realized the relationship I thought I was in and wanted so badly did not exist. There I was, with this romanticized view of the 'good woman' behind 'the great man.' But in actuality, there was a woman, and there was a man, but they were not moving together. The picture was a far cry from the negative.

I searched high and low for a definition of clarity that would explain exactly what I want to say next. Definitions.net did it justice and defines the word as: free from obscurity and easy to understand. So to be clear, one must be able to first see and then understand.Secondly, gaining clarity calls for being in control of your thoughts. Research shows we have anywhere from 50,000 to 80,000 thoughts a day! How can you tell anyone else what you think if the things you're considering don't even make sense to you?

From the very moment you open your eyes in the morning, everything you do from that moment on is based on a choice. Snooze or not snooze? Pray or don't pray? Shower, bath or nah? Sweats or jammies? Coffee, tea or both? Toast or cereal? On the flip side, there are some things that dictate your life but are based on decisions that have nothing to do with you. Like, you can't decide who your parents are. Nor can you determine when or where you're born, neither when you'll die. All you have at any moment is the moment you have in the now. I heard a preacher say that the understanding of life is not so much found in the answers but in the depth of the question.All of this then made me wonder, is it your choice whether your life is empty or full? And can you choose what fills your life or what you'll lack? Ultimately can you decide to be or not to be? 

This made me question, "Is it possible to become too familiar in a relationship?" After all, isn't that the goal? To know you as I know myself?Truth be told, the more you know about people, potentially the less you like them. Usually, the folks you encounter act as a mirror. Sometimes it's a two-way, where you can see them, but they can't see you, or it's just as we know it to be—and what is presented is what is reflected. What a person represents can sometimes show you precisely who you are. Honestly, most of us don't like that feeling. How dare you reveal to me my flaws? How dare you reflect me to me without a filter? I firmly believe in any relationship, be it platonic or otherwise; we're either projecting or reflecting. 

According to one online dictionary, there are 13 definitions for the word toxic. Most of which are derivatives of poison. So essentially, what we're doing when we hold on to our unhealthy traits is the equivalent of scattering droplets of contaminants as we do when setting traps for rodents. We are purposefully and intentionally (whether you admit it or not) destroying whatever we come in contact with. So if you are out here staying toxic even after being told, then fam, you're selfish, trapsy, and must simply hate people.

I remember reading somewhere that you can't be salty and single. Immediately my melanin neck roll ensued, followed by the appropriate "Ooh really now?" dose of sarcasm. Now, what was more real than the statement itself was that at that moment, I wasn't ready to face the truth of what that conversation would reveal. That admission suddenly made me aware that being salty is usually birthed in insecurity and nourished by fear.

It's these would be insignificant facts that made me remember one thing. The more I learn, the less I know. Yet, for most of my life, 'I' had the audacity to think I knew more than I really do. Could no one tell me nothing! This, of course, played out in several intervals during my life. First, as a teenager, when I wanted to defy parental rules. Then in the workplace, when I couldn't stand being corrected, especially openly. But more predominantly in relationships where I thought I was the foremost authority on most subject matters. I don't know; somehow, I kept catching the Black Friday sales on Audacity. I was fully stocked. I mean never rationing or in short supply.

Yikes! So many decisions, so little time. Should I really wear white, or should I choose a hue, less colourful than my past? Timeless lace or sparkling crystals? A chignon, soft-curls or my signature cut? An empire waist, a princess cut or ball gown? Train or no train, veil or no veil? In a garden or a church? Spring or Fall? Roses or lilies? Morning or afternoon? A reception or nah? An entourage or the faithful few? Open seating or arranged seating? No garter and bouquet toss, or should I keep the tradition? Limousine or a vintage car? A wedding registry or monetary appeal? Themed or no theme? E-vites or invitations? Should I write my own vows or stick with the norm? You know what forget this, I'm just gonna elope.