Sunday, April 15, 2012
50 Times A Writer: Suzette Unleashed: Don't Chase Provision, Stand in Your Purpose and P...
50 Times A Writer: Suzette Unleashed: Don't Chase Provision, Stand in Your Purpose and P...: "Don't spend your life chasing provision. Stand in your purpose and provision will chase you," says Bishop Jakes while illustrating his poi...
Don't Chase Provision, Stand in Your Purpose and Provision Will Chase You
"Don't spend your life chasing provision. Stand in your purpose and provision will chase you," says Bishop Jakes while illustrating his point holding a $10 bill in front as if chasing it and then behind as if it was chasing him. I forgot that, I thought to myself.
I had scheduled two interviews for Sales jobs. To be honest, they weren't what I wanted. I was consenting simply because these folks had contacted me. Why, as Southern girls, do we feel we have to oblige just because someone asks?! Why can't we allow the deeper truth that resides inside of us to have the louder voice? I'm sorry; I digress. Nevertheless, I had to do what any red-blooded freed woman would do? I canceled those interviews. Yes I did. I shared with my boyfriend why. "I'm not courageous," I said to him. "I'm really not." I often say aloud when I'm praying about the here-here's I've received, "I'm not running for office." I'm doing what I'm doing because I have to. If I don't believe what I say in my blogs, articles and the like, then I have nothing.
I have often said, changing your mind is the easy part. It's the transition that's hard. It's hard to leave the familiar for something that you've never seen or experienced. It's hard when you thought you had found the right job only to discover it's not. What a blow! It's hard when your stand is costing you your savings. It's hard! Now let me clarify something. I'm not grappling with my decision. I know it was right. It's the struggle between where you are and where you are going and the time it's taking you to get there. It's the silence. Then it's the see-nothingness. You struggle with impatience. You come to a dark place where everything is exaggerated or you can't see at all. You start to feel isolated as people around you go about their normalcy and you aren't normal anymore. Everybody can't go with you in the delivery room. Everybody can't handle you when you are birthing something greater than yourself.
Today was difficult. The scripture that came to my mind was "but you have need of patience that after you have done the will of the Lord you might receive the promise." I'm not going to say that God spoke that to me. Time will tell. But what it did do was stop my mind from drifting into dangerous albeit familiar territory. You know, those thoughts that make you suffer. I had enough of that, lemme tell you. Struggling with whether to leave my employment or stay when I knew it was over was torment, absolute torment. I was afraid to leave and afraid to stay. No more suffering!
Bishop Jakes says, "don't give your strength to something that doesn't even matter." It's like this, I can't afford to waste these precious moments. It's not that I've gotten a prognosis and am preparing to die in the near future. It's the fact that at age 52 my mortality is becoming more palpable. I need to be effective. It's like riding a stationery bike. You might pedal oh so fast, but you still ain't gonna move from that spot. Just as I stopped accepting temporary or seasonal men in my life, I have pulled the plug on pimping myself out for a paycheck.
I'm not Oprah. I'm not TD Jakes. I'm not Iyanla. Though the afore-mentioned people excite the very core of my being, I don't lust for what they have or envy them their life path. They aren't my escape. They are simply my God-given encouragers. They rouse the gift that rescued me and that sustains me. I experienced God outside the box. That gift has created a supportive network of warm, affirming friends that I can be myself with. That gift opened my heart and mind to welcome a fulfilling love relationship. Though the chatter around me was to the contrary: there are no good men, there is a 10:1 ratio of women to men, men don't like a woman who are so self-directed, Cinderella is a fairy tale and there is no Handsome Prince, you're going to be a statistic and other familiar beliefs, my truest self objected. "I can't go out like that," it argued. "I'm not suppose to be alone. I can't accept anything less than a genuine, love relationship. Not anymore." My world is the manifestation of that truth. I had nothing else to go on but what resounded inside of me. Why should my employment--where I spend most of my time--be any different?
So how does that look? What is my vision of it? Some clues lie in when I took Career Development courses at Glaxo Inc., one of which was "How To Deal With Difficult People." It was learning those interpersonal skills and the atmosphere of sharing that I felt most alive. There was another time when my ex-husband and I had to go to parenting class. It was required by the mediator in hopes of avoiding a nasty custody battle. I was surprised that I thoroughly enjoyed it. More than the affirmations, I saw myself doing what the facilitator was doing. Perhaps, looking for employment in Career Development, Training and Development or Employee Relations is where I should focus. I saw a position at an area college for a Career Advisor. I applied today. That was the first position I applied for that felt like I was in on the right path.
Group facilitation has a teaching and coaching component that I have enjoyed. I enjoyed that aspect of substance abuse counseling. What was antagonistic was working with an addicted population. I felt like a fraud. I had never been addicted to a substance so all I was regurgitating was book knowledge. I was challenged but there were souls that were impacted by me. Part of attraction to life coaching was it made room for me. It felt like home. I could lend my skills as a counselor to seekers. Whether it was building a business or building a life, I'd work with individuals or groups that were seeking something greater. It is true that people need to feel seen, heard and that they matter. Too, there is a next step. Transformation.
Life has taught me that just feeling understood isn't enough to bring lasting change. It's not enough to get you from your here to your there. One has to figure out their next steps. How can this be useful to move me in my day-to-day? That's the beauty of life coaching. And please know, I'm not trying to make a shameless plug. I truly have progressed because I myself have sought life coaches and/or therapists. Knowledge is illumination but wisdom is how to apply it. I believe that my thirst for knowledge and for wisdom in solving my own internal dilemmas has birthed me into purpose. The proof is not just within me but there is now fruit that others can see and taste of. Athough I have been hired as a secretary or a bookkeeper, it has been those moments where I've been able to share my fruit that I have felt most alive. One such moment was with my ex-employer. He told me that I had insights into people. "What was your perception of him," he would ask. "What did you sense?" I need to find employment where this insightfulness is at work, not something called on occasionally.
I had scheduled two interviews for Sales jobs. To be honest, they weren't what I wanted. I was consenting simply because these folks had contacted me. Why, as Southern girls, do we feel we have to oblige just because someone asks?! Why can't we allow the deeper truth that resides inside of us to have the louder voice? I'm sorry; I digress. Nevertheless, I had to do what any red-blooded freed woman would do? I canceled those interviews. Yes I did. I shared with my boyfriend why. "I'm not courageous," I said to him. "I'm really not." I often say aloud when I'm praying about the here-here's I've received, "I'm not running for office." I'm doing what I'm doing because I have to. If I don't believe what I say in my blogs, articles and the like, then I have nothing.
I have often said, changing your mind is the easy part. It's the transition that's hard. It's hard to leave the familiar for something that you've never seen or experienced. It's hard when you thought you had found the right job only to discover it's not. What a blow! It's hard when your stand is costing you your savings. It's hard! Now let me clarify something. I'm not grappling with my decision. I know it was right. It's the struggle between where you are and where you are going and the time it's taking you to get there. It's the silence. Then it's the see-nothingness. You struggle with impatience. You come to a dark place where everything is exaggerated or you can't see at all. You start to feel isolated as people around you go about their normalcy and you aren't normal anymore. Everybody can't go with you in the delivery room. Everybody can't handle you when you are birthing something greater than yourself.
Today was difficult. The scripture that came to my mind was "but you have need of patience that after you have done the will of the Lord you might receive the promise." I'm not going to say that God spoke that to me. Time will tell. But what it did do was stop my mind from drifting into dangerous albeit familiar territory. You know, those thoughts that make you suffer. I had enough of that, lemme tell you. Struggling with whether to leave my employment or stay when I knew it was over was torment, absolute torment. I was afraid to leave and afraid to stay. No more suffering!
Bishop Jakes says, "don't give your strength to something that doesn't even matter." It's like this, I can't afford to waste these precious moments. It's not that I've gotten a prognosis and am preparing to die in the near future. It's the fact that at age 52 my mortality is becoming more palpable. I need to be effective. It's like riding a stationery bike. You might pedal oh so fast, but you still ain't gonna move from that spot. Just as I stopped accepting temporary or seasonal men in my life, I have pulled the plug on pimping myself out for a paycheck.
I'm not Oprah. I'm not TD Jakes. I'm not Iyanla. Though the afore-mentioned people excite the very core of my being, I don't lust for what they have or envy them their life path. They aren't my escape. They are simply my God-given encouragers. They rouse the gift that rescued me and that sustains me. I experienced God outside the box. That gift has created a supportive network of warm, affirming friends that I can be myself with. That gift opened my heart and mind to welcome a fulfilling love relationship. Though the chatter around me was to the contrary: there are no good men, there is a 10:1 ratio of women to men, men don't like a woman who are so self-directed, Cinderella is a fairy tale and there is no Handsome Prince, you're going to be a statistic and other familiar beliefs, my truest self objected. "I can't go out like that," it argued. "I'm not suppose to be alone. I can't accept anything less than a genuine, love relationship. Not anymore." My world is the manifestation of that truth. I had nothing else to go on but what resounded inside of me. Why should my employment--where I spend most of my time--be any different?
So how does that look? What is my vision of it? Some clues lie in when I took Career Development courses at Glaxo Inc., one of which was "How To Deal With Difficult People." It was learning those interpersonal skills and the atmosphere of sharing that I felt most alive. There was another time when my ex-husband and I had to go to parenting class. It was required by the mediator in hopes of avoiding a nasty custody battle. I was surprised that I thoroughly enjoyed it. More than the affirmations, I saw myself doing what the facilitator was doing. Perhaps, looking for employment in Career Development, Training and Development or Employee Relations is where I should focus. I saw a position at an area college for a Career Advisor. I applied today. That was the first position I applied for that felt like I was in on the right path.
Group facilitation has a teaching and coaching component that I have enjoyed. I enjoyed that aspect of substance abuse counseling. What was antagonistic was working with an addicted population. I felt like a fraud. I had never been addicted to a substance so all I was regurgitating was book knowledge. I was challenged but there were souls that were impacted by me. Part of attraction to life coaching was it made room for me. It felt like home. I could lend my skills as a counselor to seekers. Whether it was building a business or building a life, I'd work with individuals or groups that were seeking something greater. It is true that people need to feel seen, heard and that they matter. Too, there is a next step. Transformation.
Life has taught me that just feeling understood isn't enough to bring lasting change. It's not enough to get you from your here to your there. One has to figure out their next steps. How can this be useful to move me in my day-to-day? That's the beauty of life coaching. And please know, I'm not trying to make a shameless plug. I truly have progressed because I myself have sought life coaches and/or therapists. Knowledge is illumination but wisdom is how to apply it. I believe that my thirst for knowledge and for wisdom in solving my own internal dilemmas has birthed me into purpose. The proof is not just within me but there is now fruit that others can see and taste of. Athough I have been hired as a secretary or a bookkeeper, it has been those moments where I've been able to share my fruit that I have felt most alive. One such moment was with my ex-employer. He told me that I had insights into people. "What was your perception of him," he would ask. "What did you sense?" I need to find employment where this insightfulness is at work, not something called on occasionally.
Wednesday, April 11, 2012
Thoughts After Oprah's Life Class With T.D. Jakes
I'm no longer trying to figure out what my purpose is. I spent so many years not knowing because I would showcase a talent and folks around me would tell me that was what I was purposed for. "Your purpose is to be a great Praise and Worship Leader," I was told. "Your purpose is to record [an album] with your sisters," was said by many. Without a doubt, I was effective as a worship leader. Others were blessed and I was too. I was effective as a choir director. Others were blessed and I was too. I wholeheartedly enjoyed singing with my sisters. Others were blessed and I was too. To say that there was no purpose would be devaluing of the God who gave me the ability to move people through my music.
Those were great times but my purpose was not limited to that. My song is still being sung. It might not be as entertaining but it still stirs the soul. It's just to a larger, more diverse audience now. It's my heartsong. What is a heartsong? Mattie Stepanek, author, peacemaker and a child with wisdom beyond his years, described a heartsong as "a person's special gift to be shared with others...a person's reason for being." Put simply, it is indeed the song that's in your heart. It is the truest expression of who you are sung for everyone to hear. Oprah shared her heartsong. "I know what it feels like to grow up without hugs," she shared with a aunt-turned-mother struggling with hugging her nephew. She resented the cost of this new role and was taking it out on him. "That's why I hug everybody," Oprah said, encouraging the mother to behave her way to success. "It didn't feel natural for me but I did it anyway. Now, I'm a great hugger." There is a higher purpose to be served. It's her gift out of a heart of compassion to those who might not experience it elsewhere.
I think about my time as a parent. It's time for another painfully honest confession. Until I gave birth to my son, my love was never unconditional. I didn't know what it meant to love unconditionally to be honest with you. Every other love was contingent. Even my marital vows were contingent on whether my husband upheld his part of the agreement else I wouldn't have divorced him. When my son was born, I felt a deeper meaning to my life that I had never felt before. I knew in that moment that I would do all within my power to protect him and nurture the innocent soul looking dolefully up at me.
My heartsong was for him to grow up feeling loved and supported. I never wanted him to feel the pain of isolation that I did as a child. This was the impetus to wrestle down my own demons and the familiar so I could provide that to him. It was harrrrrddddd! It was up and down, in and out, riddled with obstacles but we worked to maintain our connection through it all. It was a cooperative effort. This was one of many opportunities where purpose took center stage. I'd have to forego my own selfishness, my need to control, my own anger distortions, putting my heartsong that he would grow up to be a healthy individual above my own ideals, rules and experience. Some things I would not budge on but others I had to in order to make room for him to grow into his own person.
Bishop Jakes talked about passion and purpose being intertwined. He added however that it is our pain that gives us the motivation or thrust to look for something more. To look for a way out, a way through. Like a pulled bow, the greater the pain, the greater the extension of the pull and the further the arrow can be launched. My heartsong is born out of my pain. Like Mattie who struggled with a rare debilitating disease with respiratory difficulties and being confined to a wheelchair, we seek for meaning. We look to someone or something greater from within or without for perspective, for help, for purpose.
There had to be something more to God, to love, to my existence cause none of it seemed to be working for me. My faith was under seige. My worth was dwindling. It was out of that pain that I disrobed of everything and started my own spiritual journey. God was with me all the way, holding up a mirror. Who are you? What do you really, really, REALLY think? These were questions I had about myself and about my God. He held up a mirror and things were blurred by all the pain I was in. But as I hung out with Him, the more I started making things out. I expected to see an Image that was different. Instead, I saw His face in my reflection. He was right there! I learned that honoring my authentic soul was honoring Him. The more permission I gave myself to live my life on my terms, the more joy I felt in Him. Like Dorothy who kept telling everybody in Oz that she wanted to go home, I had the ruby slippers on all the time and could have gone home at any time. I just didn't know it. Pain led me into a greater understanding and appreciation that what I sought was already inside of me waiting to be discovered.
Thus, my purpose was birthed. So many people have been taught to fear their own voice. Either they've been shamed, rejected or retailiated against in some way for it. My purpose is not the norm, I suppose. Especially in the churchworld that I grew up in. People are taught to deny their own voice to adopt another one. If it were God's voice, I'd be cheering; but sadly, they abandon themselves for is the voice of their leader, the voice of their church doctrine, the voice of the larger religious organism. I've had to leave some people and some places behind as a result. Bishop Jakes said that sometimes we tolerate spaces that are too small for who we are. We have to move to a new space and get around affirming people. That takes courage, unwavering resolve and whole lot of passion to overcome the pull of what we left behind and create a new normal.
My family is filled with examples of people who didn't reach their fullest potential. My dad fell short of reaching his full potential. He laid in bed, dying, trying to convince us to start a family janitorial business. He wrestled with feeling like he had not provided enough for mom to live without him. My cousin Marvin fell short of reaching his full potential, finding his end on the floor of his home after having a fatal seizure due to alcohol poisoning. My cousin Jenny fell short having contracted HIV and full blown AIDS from dirty needles used to support her addiction. My cousin Lawrence had a massive heart attack when he finally started taking his health seriously. Sure, for my dad and for Lawrence there were accolades. Folks applauded their humanitarian efforts and the lives they touched. But they died with dreams unfulfilled, regrets. I can't go out like that. I just can't.
So I stand. I stand for all of those in past generations whose dreams were unfulfilled. I stand for my son, my nephews and my neices so they won't live humdrum lives or waste their time on meaningless busyness. I stand in the Image of God that is larger, broader and greater than any other image. I'm not arrogant. I'm not confrontational. I'm just determined. I want to be one of those who wake up every morning excited about their day. I want to be one of those who experience joy in their work. I want every part of my life to be authentically true. I want to be one of those who is a walking poster of fulfillment, joy and health. Like the Target Stores commercial where colorful people jump out of a hot air balloon and liven up every dull space with color, design and vibrance, I want to bring Life to every place, every space.
I don't want to spend 8 hours a day, 40 hours a week, doing a job. I want to do meaningful work. Work that makes room for me. Work that offers a purposeful space. I invite sovereign intervention. I need grace to start my own business or to recognize a like-minded employer. Just give me a thought, a name, an impulse, an inkling and I'll jump on it. Some say that I'm courageous. I'm not. At 52 years and counting, I just cannot afford to waste my time here on meaninglessness. Life is too short. I owe it to myself and the God who wired me to use this time while I have my health and strength. So I throw myself on the mercy of something Wiser, something Greater. I call upon the Wise Counselor, the Master Builder, Jehovah-Jireh, my Creator and the Love Of My Life. He's my God.
Those were great times but my purpose was not limited to that. My song is still being sung. It might not be as entertaining but it still stirs the soul. It's just to a larger, more diverse audience now. It's my heartsong. What is a heartsong? Mattie Stepanek, author, peacemaker and a child with wisdom beyond his years, described a heartsong as "a person's special gift to be shared with others...a person's reason for being." Put simply, it is indeed the song that's in your heart. It is the truest expression of who you are sung for everyone to hear. Oprah shared her heartsong. "I know what it feels like to grow up without hugs," she shared with a aunt-turned-mother struggling with hugging her nephew. She resented the cost of this new role and was taking it out on him. "That's why I hug everybody," Oprah said, encouraging the mother to behave her way to success. "It didn't feel natural for me but I did it anyway. Now, I'm a great hugger." There is a higher purpose to be served. It's her gift out of a heart of compassion to those who might not experience it elsewhere.
I think about my time as a parent. It's time for another painfully honest confession. Until I gave birth to my son, my love was never unconditional. I didn't know what it meant to love unconditionally to be honest with you. Every other love was contingent. Even my marital vows were contingent on whether my husband upheld his part of the agreement else I wouldn't have divorced him. When my son was born, I felt a deeper meaning to my life that I had never felt before. I knew in that moment that I would do all within my power to protect him and nurture the innocent soul looking dolefully up at me.
My heartsong was for him to grow up feeling loved and supported. I never wanted him to feel the pain of isolation that I did as a child. This was the impetus to wrestle down my own demons and the familiar so I could provide that to him. It was harrrrrddddd! It was up and down, in and out, riddled with obstacles but we worked to maintain our connection through it all. It was a cooperative effort. This was one of many opportunities where purpose took center stage. I'd have to forego my own selfishness, my need to control, my own anger distortions, putting my heartsong that he would grow up to be a healthy individual above my own ideals, rules and experience. Some things I would not budge on but others I had to in order to make room for him to grow into his own person.
Bishop Jakes talked about passion and purpose being intertwined. He added however that it is our pain that gives us the motivation or thrust to look for something more. To look for a way out, a way through. Like a pulled bow, the greater the pain, the greater the extension of the pull and the further the arrow can be launched. My heartsong is born out of my pain. Like Mattie who struggled with a rare debilitating disease with respiratory difficulties and being confined to a wheelchair, we seek for meaning. We look to someone or something greater from within or without for perspective, for help, for purpose.
There had to be something more to God, to love, to my existence cause none of it seemed to be working for me. My faith was under seige. My worth was dwindling. It was out of that pain that I disrobed of everything and started my own spiritual journey. God was with me all the way, holding up a mirror. Who are you? What do you really, really, REALLY think? These were questions I had about myself and about my God. He held up a mirror and things were blurred by all the pain I was in. But as I hung out with Him, the more I started making things out. I expected to see an Image that was different. Instead, I saw His face in my reflection. He was right there! I learned that honoring my authentic soul was honoring Him. The more permission I gave myself to live my life on my terms, the more joy I felt in Him. Like Dorothy who kept telling everybody in Oz that she wanted to go home, I had the ruby slippers on all the time and could have gone home at any time. I just didn't know it. Pain led me into a greater understanding and appreciation that what I sought was already inside of me waiting to be discovered.
Thus, my purpose was birthed. So many people have been taught to fear their own voice. Either they've been shamed, rejected or retailiated against in some way for it. My purpose is not the norm, I suppose. Especially in the churchworld that I grew up in. People are taught to deny their own voice to adopt another one. If it were God's voice, I'd be cheering; but sadly, they abandon themselves for is the voice of their leader, the voice of their church doctrine, the voice of the larger religious organism. I've had to leave some people and some places behind as a result. Bishop Jakes said that sometimes we tolerate spaces that are too small for who we are. We have to move to a new space and get around affirming people. That takes courage, unwavering resolve and whole lot of passion to overcome the pull of what we left behind and create a new normal.
My family is filled with examples of people who didn't reach their fullest potential. My dad fell short of reaching his full potential. He laid in bed, dying, trying to convince us to start a family janitorial business. He wrestled with feeling like he had not provided enough for mom to live without him. My cousin Marvin fell short of reaching his full potential, finding his end on the floor of his home after having a fatal seizure due to alcohol poisoning. My cousin Jenny fell short having contracted HIV and full blown AIDS from dirty needles used to support her addiction. My cousin Lawrence had a massive heart attack when he finally started taking his health seriously. Sure, for my dad and for Lawrence there were accolades. Folks applauded their humanitarian efforts and the lives they touched. But they died with dreams unfulfilled, regrets. I can't go out like that. I just can't.
So I stand. I stand for all of those in past generations whose dreams were unfulfilled. I stand for my son, my nephews and my neices so they won't live humdrum lives or waste their time on meaningless busyness. I stand in the Image of God that is larger, broader and greater than any other image. I'm not arrogant. I'm not confrontational. I'm just determined. I want to be one of those who wake up every morning excited about their day. I want to be one of those who experience joy in their work. I want every part of my life to be authentically true. I want to be one of those who is a walking poster of fulfillment, joy and health. Like the Target Stores commercial where colorful people jump out of a hot air balloon and liven up every dull space with color, design and vibrance, I want to bring Life to every place, every space.
I don't want to spend 8 hours a day, 40 hours a week, doing a job. I want to do meaningful work. Work that makes room for me. Work that offers a purposeful space. I invite sovereign intervention. I need grace to start my own business or to recognize a like-minded employer. Just give me a thought, a name, an impulse, an inkling and I'll jump on it. Some say that I'm courageous. I'm not. At 52 years and counting, I just cannot afford to waste my time here on meaninglessness. Life is too short. I owe it to myself and the God who wired me to use this time while I have my health and strength. So I throw myself on the mercy of something Wiser, something Greater. I call upon the Wise Counselor, the Master Builder, Jehovah-Jireh, my Creator and the Love Of My Life. He's my God.
Tuesday, March 27, 2012
Taking Care of the One Who Once Took Care of Me
Who would have known that days following my declaration of a new chapter in my life, purposeful living would involve my mother. These few weeks since my last blog post have been very enlightening to say the least. You see, my mom has been a caregiver to her husband for the last eight-something years. Like most folks who aren't a part of the day-to-day struggle, I grossly underestimated the toll this was taking on my mom. A weekend visit, coming home for the holidays or taking a day off work for this or that was the jist of my involvement--with an occasional call to see how she was doing or to tell her she needed to take care of herself.
I'm not proud to admit that those were just necessary platitudes, but I really didn't want to involve myself any more than that. I justified it by lamenting that there was nothing I could do. Truthfully, if I were to be really really honest, I felt put-upon by my mom's decision to marry this man. He wasn't my father so I owed him nothing. And as long as she chose to stay with him, there was little that anyone could do. This was plausible, but Truth looks for what's real. And what's real is I resented him for not being forthcoming with my mom about his condition and I resented her for being so quick to marry him and thereby putting us all (her family) in this impossible position of watching her suffer without being able to do a dang thing about it.
It wasn't until I came home to accompany her to the doctor that I got a rude awakening to just how severe her situation was. She had had eye surgery and just as I was about to pack up and leave from doing my daughterly duty, I asked her if she had anyone to stay with her. She said "no." It was at that moment, that I saw how vulnerable she was. She had masked it pretty well before this, saying she was doing fine during our weekly telephone chit-chats. But this time, there was no "fine" in her eyes. All I could see was a plea. "Suzette, please don't leave me," was the cry of her countenance.
I took off my coat and told her I'd stay. I stayed and allowed my once eyes wide-shut to remain open. Love insisted on compassion instead of judgment. I watched her with fresh eyes. I watched her nonstop caregiving from putting a towel around her husband's neck to make sure that food wouldn't end up all over his clothes when he attempted to feed himself. I saw her attentiveness to his needs both spoken and anticipated only to be constantly called for no reason. I saw her coach him to do even the smallest things as one would a child being potty trained or learning to tie his shoes or dressing himself for the first time. I saw the tired stare in her eye and the unsteadiness of her gait from not getting any sleep because her husband was up and down throughout the night. I saw her fatigue when the health care tech failed to show up and she had to get him dressed unexpectedly before going to her own doctor appointment. I saw her resolve, without regard for her own frailness, to brace him so he wouldn't fall down. I watched as she and her sister went through their normal routine of putting on coats and hats to assist the driver in loading him into the transportation vehicle so he could go to adult day care. Even as we sat in the waiting room at the doctor's, her mind was whirring with if she did this or if she had forgotten to do that. We even stepped out of the waiting room so she could call her sister so she could make sure.
My insides wept. When I got my mom home, I asked her to stop and rest. In fact, I told her I wasn't leaving until I had her safely tucked in. "Ma," I said. "You won't be able to rest if you sleep in your room. It has all that hospital stuff in there. Sleep in the guest bedroom." She agreeably laid on the bed and I pulled the covers up over her. Her trust was so childlike in that moment. I kissed her on the forehead fighting back tears and did one final check of things before leaving to drive back to Raleigh. She had unknowingly left the stove top burner on low. She has a gas stove. This was the moment when reality hit me right between the eyes. Had I not been there and that burner had somehow blown out...oh my God. The thought was terrifying. This can't go on, I whispered to God. Something has to be done. Show me how to help.
Thursday, February 23, 2012
Suzette - The Next Chapter
Today, February 22, 2012, starts my next chapter. Actually, it’s February 23rd and I tried to post this yesterday but blog kept thinking and thinking and it just stopped.
Okay, back to topic. I’ve started my new chapter. No pictures of exotic locations or breathtaking scenes from other countries like in Eat Pray Love. Though it might spark more interest and make me a New York Times bestselling author like Elizabeth Gilbert, such is not what this journey is about. It’s about rediscovery. It’s about honoring your authentic heart. It’s about doing what you have to do because you simply have to. Maybe that’s why my first day assumed a posture of stillness. I rolled to the edge of my bed, raised my blinds and watched the sunrise. Snapping pictures of the rust colored hue setting itself apart from the rest of the sky announcing that the sun was rising until the sun rose big and bright above the trees, I marveled at the grandness of the moment. I’ve seen the same trees and blades of grass for a while now but there was something different today. There was a quiet grace to it, statuesque and reverent.
This theme has been the backdrop for my entire day. I could hardly wait to get outside the house and breathe in the air outdoors. There is something about the feeling of the sun on my face and arms and the breeze gently caressing me that I absolutely adore. Granted, I get the jitters when a bug flies by my head or an insect crawls out of grass, so I’m not a hands-on type. Rather, I’m a stand-in-awe-of-it lover of nature. Something about the trees reaching majestically towards the sky and puffy clouds floating ever so slowly overhead that brings me such comfort and a sense of calm.
It was out of this restful state that I wrote some ground rules for this new adventure with God. I call it rules for the journey. First, I will not do anything that the truest part of me doesn’t want to do. This month is completely and purely about honoring my authentic soul. No apologies to anyone. Second, I will attend to my health. Whether it’s eating early enough that I don’t suffer heartburn and reflux during the night or participating in some type of fitness, I will up my game on self care. I’ve been quite sedentary for a while. A desk job will do that to you. I can’t put all the blame on that though. To be honest, I haven’t felt much like moving since Lawrence died. I do have bursts of energy; but for the most part, I’ve felt little motivation. If it doesn’t change soon, I’m gonna see if there is something medical happening. At my age, it’s hard to know whether it’s perimenopausal, residual grief or some warning that something more serious is happening. In the meantime, however, it’s time to get moving. My Wise Self requires it. I began today by walking for 20 minutes in the park. I also went to an onsite community center and got a schedule of events. I found that for just $5 per session, I can Hip Hop dance or take a Zumba class; and for $2 a day, I can enjoy the exercise equipment in the fitness room. Sweet!
Though my day has been very good, I am concerned about the fatigue I’ve been feeling. I have periods of tiredness that come from nowhere. With so much in the news about women and heart attack symptoms, I think I’ll make an appointment with my doctor. In addition, I had an interesting anxiety experience. While I sat in the car, staring out my window, I felt fine. But when I thought of getting out of the car to take a short walk, I felt hesitation. That’s soooo strange. I LOVE walking. Nonetheless, I had to talk myself into getting out the car and going for a walk. I don’t understand that. As easy as that should have been, it felt like a magnet was holding me inside the car. Normally, I don’t feel that type of anxiety unless I’m about to spend money. Might not have been related but it sure felt the same. In abject defiance, I flung open that car door and willed my legs to move and body to follow. Once I got moving, I was okay.
Today only reinforced what I believe this month is all about. It’s about de-stressing. It’s about giving myself permission to enjoy life and to throw caution to the wind. I have heard that with age there is a sense of your world getting smaller. I don’t want that to happen to me. I want to see life as full of possibilities. I don’t want that to change no matter how long I am blessed to live. I want to love without fear, stay active and color outside the lines. It’s about living. It’s about thriving. And though it’s probably insignificant to anybody other than me and God, it truly is a walk of faith. Faith that God doesn’t just forgive sins but beckons us to walk on water, to defy the odds, to silence the naysayers most times inside my own head. I believe that’s part of a life well lived. While doing my usual morning email check, I came upon a website that asked that I describe my life in 6 words. I wrote, “surviving no more, thriving no less.” What a fitting title for this next chapter of my life! And so it is.
Sunday, February 19, 2012
Now
Pretty impressive! I just took the typing test for SPEAKWRITE and passed it on the first try! The minimal typing requirements were 65 wpm (words per minute) at 90% accuracy. I scored a whopping…drum roll, please…71 wpm at 97% accuracy. And I wasn’t even fully awake or really trying hard. I was sitting up in my bed with my laptop placed on top of a pillow on my lap when I took the practice tests and then the real one.
SPEAKWRITE is one of a few lauded work-from-home jobs featured in a WRAL article. Allowing my curiosity to guide me during this next phase of life, I read a little about it and was intrigued. It hires contractors to type general and legal transcription for various companies. This took me back to those days in high school where you took Typing as one of your electives. I loved the rush of typing madly for timed typing drills to see how many words per minute you could do with little to no error. This skill has served me well over the years. In fact, it helped me to leave the shall we say drudgery of an eyeglass-blocking job, my first employment post-college, and put me on a brighter path to growth and potential. I know in these days being a secretary is not usually one’s first pick of a career path, but back in my day, it was a respectable job. Definitely way more desirable than blocking eyeglass lenses with a contraption that resembled a straightening comb heating dock. I wasn’t very good at it. Go figure.
This morning, while checking my personal emails, I came across an article written by Peter Bregman, contributor to various respected news and premier organizations and author of 18 Minutes: Find Your Focus, Master Distraction, and Get the Right Things Done. It was “Find Your Sweet Spot – and Stay There.” This article was one of multiple clues I’ve been getting from the Universe over the years that there’s something more out there for me. My God, what is my sweet spot? I’ve been so far off my sweet spot for years. Just recently, I confessed to my boss that most of my life and my career choices have been about survival, not about thriving...except once.
I took a leap, hoping to land in what I felt was my sweet spot. My son will remember. He was in high school and I was a substance abuse counselor. I was working crazy hours and running an office singlehandedly in Garner for its parent agency in Raleigh. It was exciting at first and I’ll admit it was quite an ego-boost. Here I was a new hire and was given such an opportunity, but it wasn’t long before I realized it wasn’t all it was cracked to be. As I reflect on my path, I had obtained an associates degree in Human Services with a specialization in substance abuse. I thought I had finally found the entrance, albeit through the back door, to counseling. You see, I had previously sought to get a Masters Degree in Counseling from a local university but was denied as I had been out of college for more than 10 years. What a way to thumb my nose at them and show off how a God yes trumps any "no."
Sounds good doesn’t it. What a backdrop for a foot-stompin testimony at a church gathering or a success story for an African American woman from a small rural town! Though I was effective and my performance praised, one encounter changed everything--well, two actually, but I’m only going to talk about one. After the conclusion of my weekly substance abuse group, a group member asked to speak with me privately. I consented. He said to me, “Miss Hinton, you’re not safe in this office. I live in this neighborhood and you working here by yourself just ain’t safe.” The blood left my face. In that moment, I really paid attention to the inklings I had but dismissed. Inklings like there was only one way in and out of our second-floor office suite. Further, my office was sequestered on the opposite end of that entire second floor in a corner. I was a sitting duck! No buzzer underneath my desk if I was in trouble. No exit not even a fire escape. Small windows. And oftentimes, especially on group nights I was there until 9:30 or 10 at night, often approaching my car in a dimly lit parking lot. Eewwwwwwwwwww. With this heightened sense of urgency, I asked my supervisor to employ some safeguards or to return me to the Raleigh Office. Needless to say, my urgency wasn’t his. After almost a month of nothing done, I submitted my resignation.
Barraged with thoughts of impending doom yet equally challenging thoughts of lack and poverty from not having another job lined up, I was in a state of absolute torture. Seemed that either decision was the wrong one. What to do? What to do? It was during this time that the idea of life coaching came up again. It had flirted with me in the past and here it was again. I decided to search online to see what opportunities were there. First, I asked around for the name of local life coaches. I asked them about how they got trained and transitioned into their coaching careers. This led me to an online opportunity to become a certified life coach. I knew it was more in line with what felt right. Rather than deal with a population that didn’t want my help, I would have clients who sought my help. Rather than dealing with mental health, alcohol and drug abuse issues, I would help clients achieve their life goals.
Weeeeell, things didn’t go as I thought. Even though I graduated from the online program, put up a website and wrote articles to drive traffic to my website, I got no bites. I was faithful to this for three months but when money started to run out, I chose the path most taken. I went online and applied for bookkeeping jobs. Yep, I was in survival mode again. I had a son to take care of and needed a “real job,” so I succumbed. As I reflect, I find it interesting and almost poetic that I find myself in the same place almost six years later. This time it isn’t physical safety that’s at stake.
Shall I continue to pick jobs based on survival or shall I risk it all for a belief that there is something more? That’s what’s at risk for me. Shall I allow my authentic soul to lead this time instead of fears parading as good sense, wisdom or being responsible when underneath it all I don’t trust myself? When I’ve told people that I’m leaving my job, they’ve asked me what I’m going to do. Truth is, I don’t know. I'm leavin that up to God. All I do know is this: if I don’t take a flying leap—now--I’ll regret it for the rest of my life.
SPEAKWRITE is one of a few lauded work-from-home jobs featured in a WRAL article. Allowing my curiosity to guide me during this next phase of life, I read a little about it and was intrigued. It hires contractors to type general and legal transcription for various companies. This took me back to those days in high school where you took Typing as one of your electives. I loved the rush of typing madly for timed typing drills to see how many words per minute you could do with little to no error. This skill has served me well over the years. In fact, it helped me to leave the shall we say drudgery of an eyeglass-blocking job, my first employment post-college, and put me on a brighter path to growth and potential. I know in these days being a secretary is not usually one’s first pick of a career path, but back in my day, it was a respectable job. Definitely way more desirable than blocking eyeglass lenses with a contraption that resembled a straightening comb heating dock. I wasn’t very good at it. Go figure.
This morning, while checking my personal emails, I came across an article written by Peter Bregman, contributor to various respected news and premier organizations and author of 18 Minutes: Find Your Focus, Master Distraction, and Get the Right Things Done. It was “Find Your Sweet Spot – and Stay There.” This article was one of multiple clues I’ve been getting from the Universe over the years that there’s something more out there for me. My God, what is my sweet spot? I’ve been so far off my sweet spot for years. Just recently, I confessed to my boss that most of my life and my career choices have been about survival, not about thriving...except once.
I took a leap, hoping to land in what I felt was my sweet spot. My son will remember. He was in high school and I was a substance abuse counselor. I was working crazy hours and running an office singlehandedly in Garner for its parent agency in Raleigh. It was exciting at first and I’ll admit it was quite an ego-boost. Here I was a new hire and was given such an opportunity, but it wasn’t long before I realized it wasn’t all it was cracked to be. As I reflect on my path, I had obtained an associates degree in Human Services with a specialization in substance abuse. I thought I had finally found the entrance, albeit through the back door, to counseling. You see, I had previously sought to get a Masters Degree in Counseling from a local university but was denied as I had been out of college for more than 10 years. What a way to thumb my nose at them and show off how a God yes trumps any "no."
Sounds good doesn’t it. What a backdrop for a foot-stompin testimony at a church gathering or a success story for an African American woman from a small rural town! Though I was effective and my performance praised, one encounter changed everything--well, two actually, but I’m only going to talk about one. After the conclusion of my weekly substance abuse group, a group member asked to speak with me privately. I consented. He said to me, “Miss Hinton, you’re not safe in this office. I live in this neighborhood and you working here by yourself just ain’t safe.” The blood left my face. In that moment, I really paid attention to the inklings I had but dismissed. Inklings like there was only one way in and out of our second-floor office suite. Further, my office was sequestered on the opposite end of that entire second floor in a corner. I was a sitting duck! No buzzer underneath my desk if I was in trouble. No exit not even a fire escape. Small windows. And oftentimes, especially on group nights I was there until 9:30 or 10 at night, often approaching my car in a dimly lit parking lot. Eewwwwwwwwwww. With this heightened sense of urgency, I asked my supervisor to employ some safeguards or to return me to the Raleigh Office. Needless to say, my urgency wasn’t his. After almost a month of nothing done, I submitted my resignation.
Barraged with thoughts of impending doom yet equally challenging thoughts of lack and poverty from not having another job lined up, I was in a state of absolute torture. Seemed that either decision was the wrong one. What to do? What to do? It was during this time that the idea of life coaching came up again. It had flirted with me in the past and here it was again. I decided to search online to see what opportunities were there. First, I asked around for the name of local life coaches. I asked them about how they got trained and transitioned into their coaching careers. This led me to an online opportunity to become a certified life coach. I knew it was more in line with what felt right. Rather than deal with a population that didn’t want my help, I would have clients who sought my help. Rather than dealing with mental health, alcohol and drug abuse issues, I would help clients achieve their life goals.
Weeeeell, things didn’t go as I thought. Even though I graduated from the online program, put up a website and wrote articles to drive traffic to my website, I got no bites. I was faithful to this for three months but when money started to run out, I chose the path most taken. I went online and applied for bookkeeping jobs. Yep, I was in survival mode again. I had a son to take care of and needed a “real job,” so I succumbed. As I reflect, I find it interesting and almost poetic that I find myself in the same place almost six years later. This time it isn’t physical safety that’s at stake.
Shall I continue to pick jobs based on survival or shall I risk it all for a belief that there is something more? That’s what’s at risk for me. Shall I allow my authentic soul to lead this time instead of fears parading as good sense, wisdom or being responsible when underneath it all I don’t trust myself? When I’ve told people that I’m leaving my job, they’ve asked me what I’m going to do. Truth is, I don’t know. I'm leavin that up to God. All I do know is this: if I don’t take a flying leap—now--I’ll regret it for the rest of my life.
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
A Love Story
I can’t allow Valentine Day to come and go without talking about the man in my life – Robert Vearnon. Robert whom I adoringly call Carm. You’re probably thinking that Carm has absolutely nothing to do with the name Robert. And you’re very right. There is definitely a reason behind it that I’ll choose to keep to myself.
Carm and I met January 2011. We actually met online and what impressed me most was his motivation to meet. Believe me when I tell you, that was not the norm. I don’t know if guys hang out online just to have virtual relationships…lol…but it was like pullin teeth to have a face-to-face. To me, it ain’t real until I see you in person. So, within two days of saying “hello” online, we decided to meet at Caribou Coffee. We still meet there from time to time just to reminisce.
Immediately, Carm and I hit it off. We had the same kind of comedic timing. If I said something witty, he would respond in kind. I found that intriguing. I also felt very comfortable around him. He had a laid-back comfort that I had not seen in past dates. He wasn’t pretentious—not at all. After some ice breaking talk, I asked him why he was on the dating site. He said he was there to meet new people. Not certain of whether we were looking for the same thing, I pressed further for clarification. I mixed no words in telling him my intention to meet someone I could have a satisfying long relationship with, annnnnnnnnd I didn’t think we were seeking the same thing.
As I thanked him for his time, Carm clarified that he was looking for something long-term too. He just wanted to take his time to get to know a person rather than making it all about the goal. “Ohhhhhh,” I said. He was smart to clarify cuz this gurl was about to walk away. He told me later that he realized in that moment that I was exactly what he had been looking for: a woman who wasn’t playing games but was honest about what she wanted. He won’t about to let me walk away.
Within a day or so, he contacted me to ask me out on an actual date. Ohhhhh how I loved how he asked me out!! It went something like him asking me if I was available on Friday or Saturday that weekend. He had two places in mind that he felt would be good. He described them both, invited me to pick which one I wanted or suggest something else. I chose Beyu Café. I’m so glad that I did. When describing our date only one word captures it adequately - magic. The atmosphere, the food, the live band, the whole night - magic. I was downright giddy, grinning all the way home!
Everything was going well, until. Until he didn’t call. That’s when insecurities and fears got the best of me. You see, I had read the book, HE’S JUST NOT THAT INTO YOU. Greg Behrendt cautions that a man isn’t that into you when he can go for more than 48 hours after a date before he calls you. To me, the date had been so wonderful I was surprised and disappointed when he didn’t call. One day went by, no call. I was able to justify that to myself without a problem. Another day went by and no call. Not so easy. By the third day, I called him and invited him to President Obama’s State of the Union but he declined. I was sure that he was feelin just so-so about me and I was too far from the so-so to pump the brakes. Feeling disappointed and scared, I didn’t even pay any attention to the fact that he said he’d be interested in going if it were earlier. All I heard was “he’s not that into you.” Determined not to be undervalued, I ended the relationship. He resumed dating other women and I, other men. In later conversations, we found that we were not satisfied with the people we went out with. After three weeks to a month, I felt compelled to call Carm. I had to apologize to him. I had no other agenda but to let him know that he was a good man and the truth about why I ended things. I… was… scared--point blank.
I can honestly say that, when I called him, I wasn’t expecting for us to get back together. I thought it was too late. Nevertheless, I wanted him to know that he wasn’t to blame, that he was a good man and that I’d not be so quick to abandon the next one. He was so gentle with me, listened without interrupting and then asked, “do you want to try again?” The rest is history.
Thank you, Carm, for making this the best Valentine Day ever. Can’t wait to continue our celebration tomorrow ;)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)