RIP Dr. Angelou

I awoke this morning, checked my cell phone, and saw a text: “Maya Angelou died.”


Those three words took my breath away for a minute.   I knew she was ill, and I had been praying for her recovery ... Now she was gone? 

It was like reading that my favorite aunt had died. I immediately started to mourn … and I want to tell you why.  

I came to know Maya Angelou (nee Marguerite Johnson) almost 20 years ago, via a high school English course.

We had a book list for one of our term papers and then were allowed to choose a book for another.

Apparently the list was outdated, because when I chose I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings (a book that had been suggested by other avid readers I knew), I was told that it was now on the banned book list (and I think it still is) because of its “content”.

So I chose another book … but the rebel in me still wanted to read hers. I wanted to see what I was being kept from knowing . So I checked it out of the library and read it – finishing over a weekend. 

In those pages I found a kindred spirit. 

A little girl who had been through trauma at the hands of someone who was supposed to protect her.

A young woman learning to live in a black vs. white world.

A lady who learned to love her herself, despite her past and those who tried to demean her.

A talent who was inspired by the world (and her travels around the world) … She was me, and everything else I wanted to be. This caged bird wanted to fly.

As I often do when I discover a new writer, I then wanted to read everything she ever wrote. Poems, collections, other novels …

It was then that I discovered that she was the pen behind the poems I’d heard in the movie Poetic Justice, and I realized I’d known her work far longer than I thought. (Don’t judge me for being late, I wasn’t allowed to watch that movie when it first came out).

Now, I’d been writing since I was in elementary school … and writing poetry since I was in middle school, but through the work I discovered in my high school years, Maya Angelou stirred something in me that would not be muffled.


And that something still exists.

 I take flight every time I write.

I still own a copy of I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings (I’ve bought it several times over the years).

I still rifle its pages sometimes to remember why I write, or recite some of my favorite lines of her poetry for inspiration.  

Though I never met or knew Dr. Angelou, when I read that text this morning, I shed tears as if she was a member of my own family … and in a way she was.

She was someone I turned to for inspiration (through her work).

She represented that old-school, classy, regal, strong Black woman who has seen the world and experience everything in it – and now can teach me how to conquer it.

With the stroke of her pen, the tap of her keyboard or the sound of her melodic voice, she would whip a crowd into frenzy and ignite the a flame in creatives and non-creatives alike.

She was not just a Black woman, a dancer, a writer, a poet, an activist, a teacher, etc. – she was a treasure of our time.

Her presence will be missed, but the legacy and work she has left with us, will live on forever. 

Rest in paradise Dr Angelou.

And Thank You … For Everything.

 

... Like A Mother

As an adoptee, I know the title “Mother” doesn’t always belong to the person who gave birth to you. I’ve never known or met my birth mother, but I do have Mom – and she’s a darn good one.

I didn’t come from her womb, but she chose me, took me in, took care of me, raised me, provided for me, loved me … like any real mother would.

So when Mother’s Day arrives every year I always thank my birth mother for life and my Mommy for making it worth living. Because the title Mother is not just about who carried you in their stomach – it’s about who carries you through life. 

And this is not a dig at anyone who abandoned their role as a Mother – I won’t even mention them.

This is about those who took on the role of helping to nurture and raise a child who was not their own.

- The girlfriends and wives who claim their mate’s children and blend the families effortlessly, sometimes helping to make HIM a better Father.

- The women who nurtured children as educators, mentors, volunteers, etc … giving them the positive female role model they may have been lacking in their own lives.

- The friends and family who helped a single mom and her child(ren) by co-parenting and filling in the gaps left by absent parents.

- Or like me … the friends and family who took on the parenting role after a family member died, forming the proverbial village to raise the child(ren).


I don't have children.  But over a decade after my brother passed and I promised to help take care of my niece and nephew … I do sometimes feel like I was something like a mother.

 

I was there from day one. I took care of them. I changed diapers and wiped noses. I wiped away tears and bandaged boo-boos. I helped one learn how to walk and helped the other learn how to read.  
I kept secrets and shared some of my own. I was the good guy and the bad guy. I taught them. I disciplined them when they did wrong. I rewarded them when they did well.

I took them places, showed them things. I nurtured their interests and guided their academics. I bought school supplies and clothes. I made sure they had good birthdays, Christmases and other holidays.

I answered their many questions and calmed their fears. I’ve stayed up with them when they were sick and nursed them. I’ve argued with them and laughed with them ... and even shed tears as they grew up and didn’t need me anymore …

I could go on.


I’ve been their aunt, their tutor and teacher, their counselor, their mediator, their chauffeur, and more. And even if I’m the only one that acknowledges it, I have mothered them as well.


Now I’m not trying to take away from the women that did carry their children, and were there every day, 24/7 … this is just to give recognition to the ones that were there when their mom (or dad) couldn’t (or wouldn’t) be.

The fill-in moms, the second moms, the aunts, cousins and godmothers who help to mold many children and don’t get acknowledged. This is for you.


I may not be a Mother in the true sense, but I am something like one … and to everyone like me, childless or otherwise, I salute you for putting on the mom hat when you're needed, and putting in work.


Happy Mother's Day!

 

 

 

 

A Dream Deferred : When Being Safe Leaves You Feeling Sorry

When I graduated from college over 10 years ago, I was burned out. The struggles of balancing my academics and my social/romantic life left me mentally, emotionally and physically exhausted.

So I was in no mood to continue my studies in grad school, despite the urging of some family members. I was done … for a WHILE.

It wasn’t until 2010 that I finally decided I was ready to apply to graduate school.  

To be honest, it was kind of a last resort.  After being unable to find full-time employment, and unable to get unemployment benefits (despite having my hours cut to zero at my part-time job), I figured it was time to go ahead and return the classroom and gain some more skills. 

I’d been researching programs in both of my fields of interest (Education and Media Arts) and decided that I would look for Master’s programs in both. 

After realizing I did not want to work in a school setting (thanks to my stints of substitute teaching) I decided to pursue Counseling instead.  I’d also found a great Master of Media Arts program at a school in New York City … a place I was seriously considering for relocation.

Since the summer semester was fast approaching, I quickly applied for the GRE and then applied to two schools – one for each program.

[Though I had a list of several as choice schools, I couldn’t afford application fees for them all, so I chose two]

I passed the GRE, but was rejected for admission into the school in NYC. 

I was, however, admitted to the Counseling program.

Though I was devastated about being rejected by a film school I’d been longing to go to for years, I took it as a sign.

Maybe my dreams living in an artistic utopia, making a grand living as an artist in the #1 city in the world was too much to hope for.

After being laid off, fired and turned down for jobs (because I was either over-qualified or under-experienced), plus years of struggling to build my name as an artist (and struggling to make ends meet), maybe it was time to go for the safe career – the one that would be more secure.

I didn’t really believe in job security anymore but at least a more respected career would mean a reliable paycheck, more job opportunities and good health insurance, right?

So I went the safe route, and for a while it was good. I enjoyed the psychology courses and enjoyed some of my instructors and fellow classmates. Though I had more responsibility balancing work and school, I wasn’t struggling as much financially. 

I only went part-time, so my trek to my Master’s took longer than most … but after two years of courses, I was almost done and I was so tired of the balancing act that I was kind of glad it was almost over.

But then they snatched the rug from under me – or should I say … my security blanket.

We were told that the curriculum was changing and my program was being phased out. I now had to choose one of the two available programs (neither of which I was interested in) and that would mean four more courses to take.

I was livid.  Not because I had to take more courses, but because I already exhausted in every way and didn't know if I could push myself anymore.

The two-year struggle had taken a toll on me slowly but surely, and knowing that I may have another year (or more) to go was the straw that broke this camel’s back. I did poorly in my last courses at the university and eventually left.

I transferred to an all-online program, hoping being able to work at my own pace would relieve some stress --- but I was wrong. It felt like going to 24-7, year-round school. I couldn’t keep up.


Already near burn-out, the stress of the increased workload with the new program, along with major family issues and trying to keep my freelance clients happy, resulted in chronic illness, pain and anxiety. I still tried to push through, as I usually do, but after doing poorly again, I was left with no choice but to take some time off.

That not only meant I had to postpone my planned relocation … it meant I had to leave my apartment and move back home. It was a huge setback and a blow to my entire being. At that point, I was dazed and confused. I had no clue what to do.

I prayed and meditated, hoping for an answer. I was thinking, “This is what you wanted me to do God, why is it turning out this way?” 

I believe in being obedient to Him … so when I was rejected from film school, I took it was a sign that chasing my dreams was not the route to take right now. I needed to grow up and choose something safer. If it was meant to be, I would’ve been accepted right?

Now I was at the point where I’d done as I felt I was told and it still didn’t turn out right … So now what?

During my hiatus, I searched for peace. The longer I didn’t have the burden of trying to fit some mold or play it safe, I felt free. 

Yes I enjoyed the classes and learned a lot … but who was I doing it for? Not me!

And when you’re working hard to please everyone BUT yourself, of course you’ll be exhausted! It will break you down physically, emotionally and spiritually because you’re not being true to who the Creator made you to be … you’re not fulfilling YOUR purpose or HIS purpose, you’re working to fulfill man’s purpose for you … and that’s just backwards.

When the New Year rang in, I made a promise to myself that in 2014, I would live for ME again.

First, I was going to re-start my search for a graduate film/arts program and, by any means necessary, I was going to make it to NYC and chase my artistic dreams.

I can still counsel people, give them advice, and change their lives in some way through my words of encouragement and voice of reason.

I can do that through my art – through my words and images. I was meant to help and inspire people, but I wasn’t meant to play anything safe.

I knew that my years and courses in Counseling would be lost. I’d basically wasted 3 years of my life and accrued lots of loan dollars I’d have to pay back. But it’s better than wasting my entire life doing everything but what I was meant to do.

I found another arts school where I could go to school online, this time based in California. I traveled to Dallas to meet advisors at an open house event. I applied, submitted my transcripts and then put together a short film for my portfolio submission.

The difference between the applicant in 2010 and the applicant in 2014 was that this wasn’t a last resort … it was what I truly wanted.

Heck, I knew that in 2010. Even when I got that rejection letter, I still wanted it. I’d just convinced myself that it wasn’t the right time or the right move … and maybe it wasn’t. Maybe it was meant for me to go through this so I can learn and grow as an artist, or so I can prove to the Creator how bad I want it.

After months of back and forth I finally got my application and portfolio submitted.  Two weeks ago, I got a call from my admissions rep, Eve.  She’s been exchanging emails with me since 2010, when I first started my search … and even though I gave her false hope several times, she kept after me and was nothing but nice to me, assisting me through the entire application process.

In her last email, she said she’d tried to call me but I didn’t answer and that she didn’t want to tell me their decision via email because it was too impersonal. I called her back immediately and held my breath as she read my portfolio review.

I got a glowing review of my short film. And not only was I admitted, one of my courses was waived even before I start my first semester. I am officially an MFA student, studying Motion Pictures & Television at Academy of Art University.

Now this may not be much to anyone else, but it’s everything to me. In a field where my race and gender are two strikes against me, I need all the help I can get. I want to master my craft so my work will speak for me before they even see my face.

Yes, I’ve wasted a lot of time and money.
Yes, I can’t get any of that back.

But I share this hoping to save the next person some time, money and stress.

Maybe if I’d applied to more schools then, I wouldn’t be here now.  I honestly don’t know.

But I can’t think about that anymore.
All I can do is do better from now on.

So to those at a crossroads … with life breathing down your neck wanting you to choose a path, 

Let me say this to you:

Never be afraid to chase your dreams.

Skip heartily down that path of purpose.

Exhaust yourself exploring every possibility.

Know that sometimes what you may see as a sign, could be a test of your patience and endurance. Stay obedient to your purpose and don’t waste your talent, whatever it is.

And most of all:  Believe in yourself and surround yourself with people who will support your dreams.

I found my support in a rep named Eve. And some may say “That’s what she’s paid to do” but in my mind, the Creator sent her to rescue me. 

When I was frustrated, exhausted, struggling – as I had before – this time, I was nurtured and encouraged and supported until I achieved my goal. That’s something I never got from those other schools. 

Even if her journey with me is over, my journey has just begun. And no matter where it leads, I’m grateful for the chance to follow my dreams.

For the first time in a long time, I’m living for me.

Look out world, here I come ... and no more playing it safe, 

#DeferredButNotDefeated