You Cannot Let Go of Your Past

Maple Tree

To “let go” of something means that it is no longer there; that it is no longer a part of your life.  Yet, the memory remains, the pain persists, and your awareness continues.  Therefore, you cannot let go of your past.  I repeat, you cannot let go of your past.

You can let go of people.  You can let go of things.  You can let go of negativity.  You can let go of hurt feelings.  You can let go of poor behavior.  You can let go of wrong choices.  But you cannot let go of your past, because that would mean that the experience didn’t exist and that it is no longer part of you.  If that were the case, where then lies the lesson?  What you can do is learn from the past, grow from the past, and move forward from the past.

The age of a tree is shown by the number of rings in its trunk.  The more rings, the older the tree, the stronger the tree.  Every ring counts, whether or not the tree was damaged in a particular year, or thrived in another.  Every ring counts.  If you think of the moments of your life like the rings on a tree, it helps you to see the value of every experience, even the painful ones.   Rather than burying it away, allow that value to shine in all that you do!

Posted in Wellness | 2 Comments

Why Every Dream Ain’t Golden

Rainbow's End

Is it the rainbow or the gold?

Here’s the challenge with being a coach, mentor, advisor, and all-around motivator: you have to contend with the “dream factor.”  The dream factor is the (dare I say it) misguided view that you can do and be whatever you want in life if you only believe and work hard for it.  How could this view be seen as misguided, especially by someone like myself who strives to encourage people to reach for their dreams?  Allow me to explain…

Here’s a question for those who know me: have you ever heard me sing?  Most likely, your answer will be no.  Why?  While I am able to perform the behavior of singing, the produced result – no matter what I tell myself I sound like – is far from Grammy worthy.  Hell, it ain’t even YouTube worthy O__o  The truth is that no matter how much I believe and no matter how hard I work, I was not born to sing.  Short of having vocal cord surgery and a few modifications to my sinus cavity, there is little I can do to change that fact. But in my mind, I am a grand Diva, an R&B Prima Donna, a Soulstress!  In spite of this truth, there will surely be people who will tell me to pursue my dream, no matter what anyone else says, no matter how many ears I harm in the process, no matter what!  Because dreams are dreams and dreams have no limits.

This is where we have to be careful people.  For many of us, the playing field has never been level.  Because of that fact, many people have lived their lives unable to fully use their gifts or have been held back from receiving the education, training, and support necessary to fulfill their purpose.  Those inequities are shameful and must continue to be challenged.  However, we do ourselves a disservice when we fail to examine the intention of the dreams we hold, especially when those dreams are disconnected from ability, skill, and effort.

Because we have collectively bought into the “dream factor” without regard to our individual capabilities, we have handicapped our ability to identify our true purpose.  I see it in very real ways: when one of our students goes to college and spends years as a science major when they are easily acing classes in their arts minor.  That student should pursue art, that is where their talent is.  What about the student who spends his high school career focusing on basketball, because he is 6’7″ and is devastated because he didn’t get into a D1 school and decides not to go to a four-year yet, because he won’t be “seen” by recruiters?  It turns out that he is an excellent cook and excelled in his HS culinary classes.  He should study Culinary Arts, channel his inner Chef, and be happy!

This is not to say that dreams should not be pursued.  Rather, they should be based on passion, purpose, and talent.  When dreams are dreamt based on money, power, and fame, they are doomed to be unfulfilled and unfulfilling.  It is not realistic or acceptable for us to blindly encourage people to pursue a dream just because they have one, or because of the gold at the end of the rainbow.  I was told I could become a great artist when I was a child, because I was that good.  Turns out, I wasn’t good at all, but I am happy that I was encouraged.  I am even happier that I didn’t get stuck in a dream that ultimately did not match my true purpose.

Look, I always thought I was going to go to Medical School and become a Psychiatrist.  I had a strong high school record and was admitted into academically competitive schools and selected the one that gave me the best financial aid package.  After fumbling through my science classes during my Freshman year, I quickly realized that my natural ability was no longer sufficient and my passion for Psychiatry was not strong enough for me to put in the time and the effort to get through with the grades necessary for me to (substantiate to myself) to move forward.  So, massaged my ego, took inventory, and had a very real and honest look at whether or not my “dream” was the right dream for me, or if I was doing the Medical School thing because that’s what anomalies like me were supposed to do to get out of the ‘hood.  It turned out to be the latter.

So here, I am, all these years later with many dreams fulfilled, several dreams changed, some dreams long gone, and an abundance of dreams to go.  Now my dreams are in alignment with my purpose, my passion, and my talent.  I thank God for that and I am sure there are quite a few folks out there who know that I ended up doing the work that was meant for me to do.  Doesn’t mean that I still don’t want to sing, that don’t enjoy drawing, or that I would not have made a great Psychiatrist.  It simply means that I discovered the importance of keeping it real with myself without destroying my ability to dream.  One of the best decisions I ever made was to drop O-Chem from my class schedule.  The second best?  Not to have surgery on my vocal cords ;)

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So I Had a Snooki Moment, Sue Me!

Woman Biting Nails
This damsel was in distress!

One of the things I like most about myself is that I defy most stereotypes.  I like making up my own rules, defying the odds, and challenging the status quo.  My life is an intricate balance between being the girl from the ‘hood and the CEO in the boardroom.  On a good day, you’ll see both.  On a crazy day, like today, you’ll see… A Girl!  But not a girl in the Black girls rock, I am woman hear me roar kind a way.  But, a girl in the someone come and save me because I don’t know what the hell I am doing kind of way.  Yes, ladies and gents, today I was a damsel in distress…smh!

It all started this morning after we loaded the car with the many bags of crap I carry with me.  You know, the pile of paperwork I swore I would get to today, that I hadn’t gotten to yesterday, last week, or last month.  I start the car as usual and nothing happens.  I try again, and again, and again, and again.  I get nothing but a measly little singular click every time.  What’s going on here?  Is it the batter?  I hope it’s the battery?  Is it something else?  Oh God, please don’t let it be something else!  How much is this going to cost me?  How much is this going to f—-, I mean, jack up my day!?!?

I call AAA.  (Side note:  do you read AAA as Triple A or as A. A. A.?  Just curious.)  An older gentleman arrives and begins to tinker with the battery.  After lots more tinkering and doing things like shaking the car, backing it up in neutral, and a failed attempt at jumping it with what I now know is a booster jumper, he informs me that it is my starter that’s the source of my woes.  The starter? A dark cloud slowly rolled over my little condo and stood there clueless.  Where the heck am I going to get one of those and how poor will I be afterwards.

After calling my friend’s hubby who recommended Firestone, which sounded too rich for my uniformed blood, I called Sam.  Now Sam is my neighbor the go-to guy for helping me figure out all the other stuff that makes me feel especially damselish, like the time when I almost electrocuted myself trying to repair the circuit breaker in my house – don’t ask! O__o  He quickly puts a plan into action and calls his people (he has lots of people) at the car shop and arranges for my car to get fixed stat!  Meanwhile, the AAA tow truck is on its way and I am getting anxious.  If you know me well, then you fully understand how much I get rattled by spur of the moment stuff, and this was no exception.

Snooki

Not exactly a dunce cap, but you get the point.

Then, it happened.  That moment when all logic left my brain and I temporarily morphed into a real life Snooki (because I don’t think Nicole is always Snooki in real life).  He asked me 2 questions that, after my struggle to answer, left me feeling well – verklempt (Yiddish for very emotional).  How many cylinders is the car?  And if that wasn’t bad enough, he followed up with – is that 3.5 or 3.9?  The first question wasn’t so hard to figure out.  One quick phone call and I discover it has 6 cylinders.  Woohoo!  But, what’s up with this 3.5/3.9 business?  Hold on again, Sam, let me call and ask.  He quickly says, no, you don’t need to call, just look at the car, it should be on there?  On there where, I ask?  On the side.   I There I was,  walking all around the car, in the back, in the front, on the side looking for these mysterious numbers.  Then I think, oh, open the car door on the driver’s side.  I always see them put stuff in there – not!

After a few minutes of being on hold, Sam decides it would be quicker for him to just drive over and come see for himself.  He pulls up, hops out, lifts up the hood and BINGO, there it was!  In broad daylight, as some folks would say.  Why in the hell did it never dawn on me to lift up the hood?  And who knew that they had labels with useful information in there telling you whether or not you had a V6 3.5 liter engine and other tidbits of information?  Who knew?  I wanted to channel my inner Rosie (the Riveter), and handle my business, but homegirl was nowhere to be found.  So, 4 hours, 3 technicians, and $110 later,  it turns out that the first guy was wrong and it was the battery after all.

Here’s what I learned today: 1) I have a car with a V6, 3.5 liter engine, 2) Always have them test the battery with the green machine and give you the little slip of paper that looks like a receipt because that tells you if your battery is shot, and, most importantly, 3) Information about what kind of engine you have is located (insert drum roll) under the hood – duh!  It was such a “girl” moment that I had no choice but to surrender to the fact that I didn’t know what the hell I was doing and could have been completely suckered into all kinds of repairs.  For all of the things I know, I know that I don’t know cars.  Why wasn’t that class part of any of my degree programs? *raises eyebrow*

Please allow me to redeem myself, just a little bit – I can jump a car like nobody’s business. Does that get me off the hook?

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Living in Oz/Vacationing in the Zone

Cloudy Sky

What's in your horizon?

Today is such a perfect day for me to craft this post!  For the past few years, I have been functioning in what I have affectionately dubbed the “Oz Zone.” I have been carefully treading foreign territory and have lost my daily rhythm.  It’s a hybrid between feeling like I am living in the Land of Oz which has somehow made its way inside the Twilight Zone. Things just don’t seem to make a lot of sense and the more I try to control the chaos, the crazier it gets.

But the reality is that by submitting myself to the chaos and embracing it as part of life’s process, I have discovered a new sense of appreciation for who I am and what I have come through. It is strange how the things that have tested me the most (relationships, family, finances, health, business, etc.) are the very things that bring me the greatest fulfillment. Not because it all magically gets better with time, but because the chaos forces gives me the choice to either give in, or to make the changes necessary to restore order – which ultimately leads to a more happy and peaceful life.

I gift myself the freedom to not get everything right all the time. But I also embrace the opportunity to get better and do better, balancing small calculated steps with bold moves that will enable me to become closer to living my life with the peace that I desire. This in turns allows me to be more effective in helping others do the same.

So don’t worry if you feel like your life is out of control, that you no longer recognize where you are or how you got there.  Embrace the chaos and use it as an opportunity to take inventory and to make the hard decisions, do the hard work, and reap the rewards of doing what a lot of people fail to – finding your true happiness.

That’s right, I said it, most people aren’t truly happy.  But, who want’s to be like everyone else?  BE HAPPY – it’s your destiny!

 

 

 

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Why Race Still Matters and Always Will

I remember when I was taking a Multi-Cultural Education class while working on my Master’s degree.  We were having a discussion, that turned into a debate, about what it means to be a person of color in today’s society (mind you, this was about 12 years ago, but the question still applies).  The conversation shifted when one of our classmates, a White male, loudly proclaimed that Black people should get the chip off of their shoulder because lots of groups are discriminated against.   He then announced that he was Gay and that he too is considered a second-class citizen, and therefore subject to a similar type of discrimination.  Shortly after that, and in a loud and exasperated voice – mostly because people were shouting at this point – another student, this time a White female, chimed in: “When you walk out your door you should perceive yourself as a human being, because that’s what we all are!  If you walk out the door thinking I’m this, or I’m that, then you are setting yourself up to be treated differently because you see  yourself as different.”  [Insert uncomfortable pause before all hell broke loose in the class and the professor had to promptly table the topic for another day.]

What neither of these two students realized is that they could never really grasp what it means to be a person of color in this society, simply because they will never be people of color.  And yes, it truly is that simple!  While I fully empathize with the often extreme level of discrimination targeted towards the Gay and Lesbian community, all I can do is precisely that – empathize.  Since that is a community to which I do not belong, I cannot and will not dictate how someone within that community should perceive themselves or their struggle.  And while I can relate to the second student as a woman, I am not White, and therefore am unable to view the world from that perspective since mine has always been “colored” so to speak by virtue of being born a Black woman.

Aside from a strong appreciation for being Black and the cultural roots that has come with it, I actually wouldn’t mind if one day I could wake up in the morning, walk out my door, and frolic in a utopia-like world where all the other human beings would see me (and treat me) like a human being.  Wouldn’t that be nice?  Of course it would!  But I’d be a fool to think that I could leave my house and ignore the undeniable fact that I am a Black woman.  Unlike Coleman Silk in The Human Stain, it will not take 50 years, let alone 50 seconds for someone to figure out my secret identity.  Eventually, someone or something, would snap me back into reality and show me exactly what I am and what they think about it.  And believe you me, it will not be pretty.  Sometimes it will be blatant disrespect, and at other times it will be a subtle comment or a dirty look.  So, no thank you, I will keep my identity and wear it proudly until the end of my journey lest I live unprepared to meet my challengers head-on.

Ultimately, the distinctions we make surrounding racial and other differences is about competition for resources and control; an unending race to see who will win the pot of gold at the end of the proverbial rainbow and who decides how said pot is distributed.  Power is ascribed to those who control access to, and information about, these resources aka the gold.  So long as there are limited resources, the race will continue.  And sure, there will be times in between the multitude of races (pun intended) where we can find time to appreciate the diversity amongst the different runners.  But rest assured, as soon as the clock strikes, the race will resume and if you happen to forget the team you are running with, don’t worry, the other runners will snatch you right back into a colorful reality!

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Independent is (Not) a Four-Letter Word


Several artists have sung about it.  Lot’s of people talk about it.  Some folks even write about it.  But who made it a bad thing?  Your guess is as good as mine!  But what I do know is that it is most certainly a hot topic and if I am to heed the warnings I’ve been getting lately, being perceived as “independent” can be the death-nail for educated, professional, Black women.

So, what makes a woman independent?  Check out these lyrics…

Destiny’s Child had us all braggin’:

“All the women who are independent; throw your hands up at me!  All the honeys who makin’ money; throw your hands up at me!  All the mommas who profit dollas; throw your hands up at me!  All the ladies who truly feel me; Throw your hands up at me!”

Then Kelly Clarkson had us wondering:

“What is this feeling taking over?  Thinking no one could open the door.  Surprise, it’s time, to feel what’s real.  What happened to miss independent’s no longer need to be defensive?  Goodbye, old you, when love, is true!”

Now Ne-Yo has us humming:

“She got her own thing; that’s why i love herMiss independent, wont you come and spend a little time?  She got her own thing; that’s why i love herMiss independent, ooh the way we shineMiss independent, yeah…”

So, is it a mantra?  A proclamation?  A lifestyle? A badge of honor?  An indication of conceit? A slick way of giving the finger to any dude who has abandoned you (or ever will)?  What exactly does it mean when a woman call herself “independent” or what does a man mean when he slaps her with that same label?  And since when did it become akin to a four-letter word?

As an educated, professional, available Black woman, I have a vested interest in exploring this topic. And as of late, the Black blogosphere and media outlets have had a field day challenging Ralph Richard Banks’ recent article, An Interracial Fix for Black Marriage.  So, if I wasn’t thinking about it before, it’s been in my face darn near every day over the last month.  Not to mention, every time I sit down with someone to discuss the challenges of dating, the conversation ultimately leads to the same question: would you consider dating outside your race?  Which would not be a problem if it weren’t directly related to the perceived unavailability of educated, professional, available Black men – and here’s the catch – who would be willing to date a woman on my level (their words, not mine).

After a conversation with some up and coming young Black men about the topic, I soon realized that the problem wasn’t as much about availability, but about perception, particularly when it comes to manhood and what it means to date a so-called independent woman.  It turns out, that for some men, it is assumed that a woman who can take care of herself financially does not have a vested interest in sticking with her man through thick and thin if she has as much, or more, than he does.  The thought that she could “leave at any minute” evokes a shift in some sort of innate power dynamic that many Black men (not all), simply cannot overcome.

Mind you, this whole thought process appears to take place void of any real discussion about the topic.  It’s a default response to the woman’s title and credentials before she can even get around to discussing the great equalizers such as debt, family obligations, or health challenges – things could possibly be more realistic deal breakers, if there are to be any.  He doesn’t even have to know how much money she really makes, which could be actually less than or equal to him.  He only has to think she makes (or has the potential to make) more than him and its a done deal!  I’ve even been told not to mention my degrees or job title up front or the brother would go running in the other direction – really?

So I ask this question, when we talk about independence, are we really speaking about the same thing?  Or, is the real issue here a matter of semantics: self-sufficiency versus superiority?  I see self-sufficiency as a value both men and women should ascribe to within and in absence of a relationship.  But self-sufficiency should not be interpreted, or projected, as a way to establish superiority in a relationship from either prospective.  And when it comes to matters of strength, I find it hard to accept that men who applaud their single or married Black mothers for holding it down when times got hard, would penalize a potential mate for using that same revered strength to succeed academically and/or professionally.

In the end, I think both sides have a lot to learn from each other.  Women should not take for granted a man’s desire to care for his woman.  And men should be careful not to assume that a self-sufficient woman doesn’t want to be cared for; I know I do…

 

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Am I Losing It? Thoughts on The Help – pt. 3

Continued From: Am I Losing It? On The Help – pt. 2

Guess what? I have read other books too?

4)      I find it difficult to accept that there is no validity in the possibility of Black maids to have developed loving relationships with the White children they have raised even under the cloud of harsh racial inequalities and gender bias.  While I understand that the great majority of the relationships were most likely similar to those experienced by Singley’s mother, we must accept the nuances of Black/White relations in the segregated South and the ironies created when Black maids nursed, nurtured, and raised White children who often held those women in a higher regard than their very own mothers as a result of time and necessity.  According to the ABWH:

During the 1960s, the era covered in The Help, legal segregation and economic inequalities limited black women’s employment opportunities. Up to 90 per cent of working black women in the South labored as domestic servants in white homes. The Help’s representation of these women is a disappointing resurrection of Mammy—a mythical stereotype of black women who were compelled, either by slavery or segregation, to serve white families. Portrayed as asexual, loyal, and contented caretakers of whites, the caricature of Mammy allowed mainstream America to ignore the systemic racism that bound black women to back-breaking, low paying jobs where employers routinely exploited them. The popularity of this most recent iteration is troubling because it reveals a contemporary nostalgia for the days when a black woman could only hope to clean the White House rather than reside in it.

But, what about people who I know on a very personal basis?  Elderly women who raised White children, who are now loved and cared for by those very children?  What about present-day Latina nannies, who are in many ways disenfranchised by their employment conditions – are we to believe that it is impossible for them to love the children they raise while loathing the parents that employ them?  What about films such as Clara’s Heart, The Long Walk Home, and Corrina Corrina, (note, this is not a purposeful focus on Whoppi Goldberg films) or TV shows like Gimme a Break?  I do not know the answer to these questions, nor can I speak of the validity of the relationship dynamics.  But I have been privileged to witness some of these relationships up front and up close, and am convinced of the validity of the love shared between many of these maids/nannies and the White children they care(d) for on a daily basis.

It is not my opinion that this book, or the film, gives White women and children an out when it comes to their participation in the horrors of the segregated South.  I see it simply as a fictional depiction of the very real possibility of love and sympathy within the context of these roles.  Besides, doesn’t the use of a White woman as a vehicle to share the stories of the maids further highlight racial inequalities in that it would be unrealistic to think that their stories could have been shared through any other means (on such a wide level in the fictional publishing world) but by way of a White sympathizer?  Would it be conceivable that Aibileen or any of the other maids would have been able to tell their stories with the masses without the help of a White hero/heroine character?

5)       Finally, it is a Book – now a film – and has done what we would expect it to do: generate a discussion regarding a sensitive and often ignored topic.  To that end, I am happy that there is controversy, that there appears to be dialogue and discourse on the topic of race relations in this country and its lingering effects.  That people are taking the time to be inquisitive, introspective, reflective, and vocal about their perspectives and opinions.  That we have seen a resurgence of the dichotomies among and between Black and White perspectives surrounding the impact and significance of the “mammy” figure and how those dynamics continue to effect Black family life in present times.  I hope that this discussion will encourage more Black people, and other people of Color to write their stories, provide their perspectives within historical contexts, and to tackle the very issues that incise them head-on, challenging the status quo and generating the same level of interest and income that will surely be generated by those of us who are so inclined to both read books and view films that move us in some way.  And as the discussion continues regarding this most sensitive issue, I implore everyone to do so from an informed perspective, rather than an instructed one.

Now, I completely understand the hoopla.  I still haven’t been able to watch Hustle and Flow basically because I can’t sympathize with the plight pimps suffering from hardship while exploiting women.   And it took me years to watch Amistad, because I was pissed off enough after reading the book.  But this book was meant to be a novel, and not the ilk of Roots or Eyes on the Prize.   Stockett even questions her own use of voice at the end of the novel and acknowledges that she couldn’t possible get it exactly right.

So, the problem isn’t that Black people don’t read, rather, the reality is that Black people don’t always agree!

Read: Am I Losing It? On The Help – pt. 1

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Am I Losing It? Thoughts on The Help – pt. 2

Continued From: Am I Losing It? On The Help – pt. 1

But wait, I actually read the book!

So, I embarked upon a mad dash to re-orientate my perspective and get my attitude in check.  Let me re-examine my initial reading of the book, carefully consider the negative and positive reviews, and maybe I ought to think twice about my lingering excitement about seeing the film.  So here I am, after hours and hours of reading, even more hours of thinking, and several conversations with people I respect and I feel kind of stuck.  I cannot get myself to hate the book, the author, or the film (which I went to see on opening day, by the way – I know I broke cardinal rule #1 for The Help haters out there).  Please allow me to explain why:

1)      I have always maintained a clear understanding that this book was written by a White woman as a representation her perception of the dichotomous relationship between Black maids and the White families they served – Thus, I was not disappointed with the perspective presented in the product I received, because of whose perception it was.  Singley challenges the perception of a woman cared for by her mother by questioning her nostalgic recollection of their relationship:

“Have you ever thought about the fact that the woman you call ‘Odessa’ was the same woman my friends called ‘Mrs. Singley’? That she supported a family on the six dollars and bus fare (fifty cents round trip) your Grandmommy was paying her? That the woman you call your ‘best friend’ was forty years your senior and had another whole life of dignity, hopes, and dreams that had nothing to do with being in service to you and Grandmommy? That maybe “Odessa” didn’t like you as much as felt sorry for you because you were the baby of the family, the one your brother and sister slapped around, the one they were always leaving behind? You ever thought of that?”

I simply argue that because of the nature of the relationship, Singley’s mother perhaps presented herself in a way that was palatable to the White family she worked for and perhaps in a caring way toward the White child, now woman, she cared for.  Thus, would it be inconceivable that the experience that this White woman had was in fact one of love and friendship because that was precisely what was presented to her as a matter of Mrs. Singley’s preservation of her job?  Should the woman be aware of the inherent injustices of the time?  Yes.  Are Singley’s words deserving?  Perhaps.

2)      I accepted the book as a Novel, a fictional account of a set of relationships as a sub-text of the many indignities and ironies of the Jim Crow South – The Association of Black Women Historians (ABWH) makes the following point:

“We are specifically concerned about the representations of black life and the lack of attention given to sexual harassment and civil rights activism.”

While I wholeheartedly agree that there were many opportunities to strengthen the depictions of Black life in the book and the film, including the references to the Civil Rights Movement.  However, this was not the main impetus behind the novel.  And while some would argue that the two are inextricably tied to the role of Black maids in the South, I move that this is exactly why the author attempted to address these issues.  While I will not cut Stockett any slack for the inaccuracies surrounding the brutal murder of Medgar Evers and other faux pas surrounding historical fact, the reality is that it is not inconceivable that some maids were not sexually harassed (now, don’t bite my head off, I KNOW this was a MAJOR issue and a harsh reality bred out of slavery), and that not every Black maid was engulfed in the Civil Rights movement on a daily basis (not sure about the time span of the book, but frankly, the issue of Civil Rights was not ignored by the author).

3)      I think that Black people will always be sensitive to White (fictional and non-fictional) representations of racial injustice, particularly in reference to slavery, the South, and the Civil Rights era.  When you add gender, politics, and labor into the mix, the chasm only widens.  I keep contemplating what a book of similar nature would look like if it were written by a Black woman and whether the same criticisms would apply?  I am sure many would respond with a resounding YES on both accounts.  Yet, there appears to be an overarching assumption that a Black woman would most surely have written a more accurate depiction of Black life, written the dialect with admirable precision, been overwhelmingly inclusive of the impact of the Civil Rights Movement, and would have taken both White men and women to task on all accounts.  But, what about The Color Purple?  While historical accuracy was not a major criticism, Alice Walker has been harshly criticized for the negative portrayal of Black men, the subservience of the women in the novel, and for the graphic and often violent descriptions woven throughout each chapter.  The film, having been directed by none other than Steven Spielberg (sound familiar?), drew a great deal of precipitous criticism as well.

Read: Am I Losing It? On The Help – pt. 3

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Am I Losing It? Thoughts on The Help – pt. 1

[Note: This rant originally started as a Facebook status turned Note.  It has been edited only slightly before being posted here.]

Should they pull my card?

When black people don’t bother to read, sh*t like The Help happens!  Umm, really?  This was the post that took me over the edge and led to write this:

Over the past couple of weeks, I have read numerous articles and blogs regarding Kathryn Stockett’s, The Help.  I read the book at the urging of my 6th grade Teacher who was reading it as part of her book club.  While the first couple of chapters did not really grab me, I soon found myself easily navigating my way through what I considered a pretty good book.  I think I may have even suggested it on my FB page.  After finishing the book, I chatted with my teacher, now a dear friend, about it over lunch.  But, other than that, I found that most of the people I knew at the time had not – and did not intend to – read the book.  Then I moved on to other things in my very busy life…

That is, until a couple of weeks ago, when I first saw the previews for The Help movie.  (I know I’m late.  I record everything on my DVR and generally skip commercials.  It has also been a while since I’ve gone to see a movie in a theater, so previews were a foreign concept, lol).  Pretty soon, I started to see a lot of online chatter about the film including quite a bit of negative or controversial press, particularly on Black blogs, most notably A Critical Review of the Novel The Help, this statement by The Association of Black Women Historians, and this scathing reaction by Bernestine Singley on her blog, Before Barack.

My initial reaction to the criticism was a sense of guilt, uncertainty, even shame.  Is it possible for me the self-perceived scholar, the woman who spent her high school lunch hours huddled on the school steps drenched in books like Native Son, the Bluest Eye, and Malcom X, the woman whose bookshelves are filled with African American literature due to personal interest and a BA degree in African American studies, the woman who decided to attend her undergraduate Alma Mater (USC) partially because she knew she was one of a select few Black high school graduates to be accepted (reluctantly walking away from her treasured admission to Spelman College, her dream school that also could not match the scholarship support she received from any of the other reputable schools she was admitted to), could it be that I was losing my obligatory awareness of all things offensive to Black people?  Uh oh, I thought.  Maybe it’s time that I do a reality check and get my awareness of self back in order lest I lose my Black Card!

Read: Am I Losing It? On The Help – pt. 2

Read: Am I Losing It? On The Help – pt. 3

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Welcome to The Silent i!

It’s finally here!!!  Over the past several years, I have toyed with the idea of buying my name’s domain: www.sharmakrenia.com.  At first, it was just a passing thought when I first set up my consulting website, but I couldn’t figure out exactly what I would use it for.  This was way before the popularity of blogs and well before I knew anything significant about maintaining a website.  So, I dropped the idea and kept it moving.

Every now and then, I would get the same inclination.  But, I would brush it off and tell myself that it would be a waste of money to buy a site just to have it sit there.  Besides, its not like I am a superstar where someone would buy up all the versions of my name and hold them hostage until I pay them buckets full of money.  So again, I let go of the idea and kept it moving.

I would consider myself somewhat of a Facebook junkie.  In addition to the personal and professional profiles I maintain, I also manage several pages, and by and large get the bulk of my news by liking all of the media sites’ pages and trolling my news feed multiple times a day.  I carefully think out each post, check in on friends, follow-up with former students, and even squeeze in time to play a game or two – my favorite is Bejeweled Blitz!

Lately, however, I have found that despite my impressive use of privacy controls, many of the things I want to say (including the ways I want to say them) don’t quite fit in my Facebook world.  And while I do my best to be authentically me in every aspect of my life, I do believe that there is a time, a place, and a way for everything and some of what I want to say is way outside the realm of what most people signed up for when they decided to “friend” me.  This notion really hit home after I spent several hours hovering over my laptop typing up my thoughts on The Help and posting it as a note.  It was then that I realized (and you will too after seeing how amazingly long it is) that I really needed a more intimate, no, a more appropriate and specific place to house my thoughts and rants on how I see the world, specifically from my perspective as a Black woman of a particular generation, with a particular background, on a particular career path, and, well, you get the point.

Then it dawned on me!  I finally found a justification to buy my name’s domain and a way to give it some sort of purpose.  So, that’s it in a nutshell and some of you may think I’m nuts for putting myself out there like this; and, you might be right.  On the other hand, as you scroll these pages, follow the links, and add a comment or two (I hope), you might just find yourself inclined to give voice to your own Silent i.

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