howtogetoutofbed

[howtogetoutofbed]

On Living, Loving and Losing : The Birthday Blog

It’s insane the difference 365 days can make. This time last year I was in my cozy one bedroom apartment, that had been built sometime between World War II and 1972. I lived a few blocks from the beach right outside Los Angeles. I juiced apples and cucumbers, I wrote poetry by the water and went to the farmers market every Sunday. It was for all intensive purposes my dream life. Except it wasn’t. This time last year I was incredibly unhappy. I worked 60 plus hours a week, every week. I loved the place that I worked but I felt miserable and burnt out with my actual job. I was highly underpaid and overworked and was not for a lack of better words, living the dream. I was stuck and stagnant in my professional life and lonely as fuck in my personal life.

A truth about Raven: I’m a hardcore ambiavert. That means I can get up in front of an entire room of people and not be nervous. I have a big personality, I’m loud and passionate and LOVE people. I also simultaneously HATE (not really hate but go with it for the drama) everyone and need to be alone to recharge, re-center and replenish my energy.

I’m an independent dependent. I can fully function alone but I definitely didn’t want to. I knew I wanted more, could do more, be more and have more.

I wanted to be unstuck. So much so that I started becoming obsessed with the idea. I realized being unstuck for me meant needing to literally set things in motion. I knew there were opportunities that made sense for me so I vigorously persued them until they grew from unrealistic ideas to full blown proposals.

Texas.

It happened so fast and I was terrified but I was also unstuck.

……….

Dallas. You don’t suck. It takes me 9 minutes to get from my really fucking nice apartment that is stupid inexpensive for how crazy fucking nice it is. I live in the gayest neighborhood in probably the entire state of Texas and there’s a vegan restaurant/yoga studio within a 5 minute walking distance from my place. It’s like LA without all the cars and pressure to be perfect. The best part of moving to Dallas though, hasn’t been Dallas, it’s been me. It’s been discovering all that I am capable of. There’s a big difference between being lonely and being alone. In California, I was surrounded by the people I love in the place I grew up and I was miserably lonely. In Dallas, I was alone. Aloneness can be as equally painful as it is gratifying. It will test you and has tested me so much but through it I have found so much love and admiration for myself. Love and admiration I wouldn’t have known if it wasn’t for finding myself unstuck in the heart of Texas.

…..

Brandon.

I’m pretty sure I did everything in my power to sabotage this relationship in the beginning. I told myself there was no way I was dating someone who said they were terrible every time you asked them how their day was going. From the beginning I was intrigued by you but I had more or less written you off as not my type, not knowing that you were everything I’d been waiting for.

These days I find myself thanking the universe that you asked me out for a drink that Tuesday and that you took me to get a chocolate shake after the drinks were done. You didn’t know yet about my addiction to ice cream. I find myself thanking the universe that you knew we were meant to be long before I did and you didn’t run, every time I tried to push you away or that you stayed even though you were falling in love with me and you thought I might break your heart. Now you know I was falling in love with you too and I was afraid you would break mine.

In my defense, you’re a freak of nature. I mean that in the best way. As in, I’m a freak of nature and I was convinced up until I met you that there were no other freaks of nature out there that existed for the purposes of cohabiting, cuddling and coroberatting with me. Especially not a straight man from San Antonio, Texas. Somehow my empath, energy conscious, incense burning, house cleansing self fits perfectly with your unbothered, fun-loving, carefree spirit. We couldn’t be more different or more alike.

Falling in love with you let’s me know my karma is good because you are truly special. Every day with you is a new adventure, a new lesson, a new reason to choose each other. Falling in love with you feels revolutionary, most days - as you would say, “babe, I’m colonized.” Each of us individually is a work in progress but like HOV would say, “together who gon’ stop us?”

I’m thankful for all the ways we make each other better, for all the ways we choose each other every day. For the honesty and vulnerability that allows me to feel so safe with you. I’m thankful for the space you give me to shine in my authenticity. I’m unashamed and unapologetic when I’m with you. I never worry about trying to make a home out of you because I’ve never had to ask your permission to be at home with myself.

You have made a year full of becoming and losing, soft and steady for me.

I love you.

…….

Daddy.

This wound is still raw. I’m at LAX. Airports aren’t the same anymore. I lost you while on airplane. It was my older brother’s voice on the answering machine. I’ve never heard him cry before. His loss was so different than mine, I could here the uniqueness of his pain over the phone. We related to you so differently. He just recently discovering you, and I, knowing the different versions of the father you had to offer us. Your love was complicated. It was selfish and sometimes showboaty. It was warm and full of pride. Being your child is a one of a kind experience that only my siblings and I can understand.

I went from Daddy’s girl to stranger to best friend. The relationship we built when I became an adult is something I will forever be grateful for. You loved that I always told you the truth, whether you liked it or not and I loved that I could be so honest with you and you owned up to your shortcomings. You grew up and grew into the father I needed you to be.

Losing you so soon feels cruel. It feels unfair. There are mornings where I wake up crying and nights were I’m so scared I can’t fall asleep. I’ve developed a paranoia so intense I get scared when Brandon walks out of the door. Knowing you’re never coming back has cast a shadow on everything I do.

I wish you could have met Brandon daddy. All those years, showing my photo to every eligible bachelor you met and every phone call I had to listen to the same question about when I was going to get married.

I found the love of my life and he’ll never know you.

He loves and takes care of me the way you would have wanted and I see a lot of you in him, like his sweet tooth and awful sense of humor.

I hear you in my head dad. Even right now I hear you saying, “that’s good baby.”

I’m grappling with losing the pieces of you that matter to me the most, like the sound of your voice.

I lost the last voicemail you left me. What happens when I can’t hear you in my head anymore? Waking up to a birthday where I won’t get a phone call from you is devastating. It’s the reason I wake up crying and have very little will to get out of bed.

It’s been eight weeks and the weight of it all only seems to be getting heavier. The Prince song, I Would Die for You is playing over and over again. I think about you singing it to me when I was a very little girl. I catch myself wishing you would have lived for me.

And on my 27th birthday, I feel you telling me, I need to live for myself.

I miss you daddy and I’ll be loving you always.

…

My life looks so different than it did 365 days ago. I know that every lesson, blessing and heartbreak that I’ve experienced this year will serve a purpose. Here’s to another 365 days around the sun.

Raven

[howtogetoutofbed]

By Any Means Necessary

Dear Raven, 

Today you are taking a remarkable leap of faith. You are doing something that other people do so often but you have always been afraid to do. You have always nestled yourself in the physical manifestation of others. You create space for yourself in the proximity of the people that you love. 

Today you created space for yourself within yourself. 

Sometimes finding yourself free means finding yourself alone, in a new place that you never thought you’d be. Nothing is familiar to you here but your fear. While your fear may be a promise, you did not make it a burden and for that I am so proud of you. 

You packed your entire life into 2 medium sized boxes and 3 Ikea bags, loaded up the back of your car with photo albums and love notes and then sent it on it’s way. You left all your keys on the counter - keys you worked so hard for and were so attached to. Your chest felt like it might implode as you walked away from that little 1 bedroom apartment by the beach. 

If we are being honest, you are undeniably a California girl. Sunshine, avocados, bare feet, Thai tea and YG. You lived by, “why see the world, when you’ve got the beach.” You were content in your 330 days of perfect weather and unlimited animal style fries. Until you weren’t. Until you realized you weren’t growing anymore, until you started to feel stuck and unsatisfied.

And like the magical woman you are, you whispered the word change softly to the universe and just like that everything did. 

When I say just like that - I mean just like that. I mean this move baby - it’s been a whirlwind and you have handled it the way Muhammad Ali handled a chin. You took off running, crying the entire way, and never slowing down to let fear catch you. 

Even on your last night - when home felt so tangible, when the embraces and the words of the people you love, felt like someone was removing your ribs one best friend at a time.

You wept deeply on and and off for hours - but you still got on that airplane this morning. Crying in and out of sleep, reading lita’s letter - telling you, you saved her and that she’s proud of you. Knowing she’s the reason you are here - her and that whole village of love you left in Los Angeles.   

It is painful to think about how loved you are - only because you never want to lose that feeling and you feel uncertainty around creating space for more love in this new place. 

You have to have faith that you will. 

Have faith that you will exceed your expectations of self. That you will fall in love with the most honest parts of you. That finding freedom will mean, unapologetic self-acceptance and the manifestation of a life you love.

That this decision was for you. It was about the words written on your arm. The promise that you will be as brave as the women who raised you and have as much gumption as your father. 

And on a night, in a week, in a city, in a country that feels on fire - bravery and gumption must be your song. 

Make a promise that you will lead with love and great care for yourself, that you will say yes more often than you say no, that you will be cautious but not judgmental. Find comfort in discomfort and treat the next 365 days like the adventure it truly is. 

I am proud of you. I love you. 

By any means necessary.  

[howtogetoutofbed]

Resentment and Other Compounded Thoughts

It’s been along time since I haven’t been able to say what I need to say. What stops us from speaking? What makes us second guess ourselves? The fear of being wrong. The fear of confrontation. Not wanting to disappoint someone. 

I’m not happy. Usually, when I’m this unhappy, it’s because I’m not speaking. It doesn’t mean I don’t show up. I always show up. I can always be counted on. Lately, I feel far to agreeable. I feel less creative. I don’t think there is anything in the world that makes me happier as an individual than being creative. I need to make shit, build shit, tear shit down and reconstruct it. I need words and puzzles the same way I need glitter and fabric. If I’m not creating, I’m simply existing, quiet and agreeable.  

And then I become resentful. I start resenting everyone around me. Almost as much as I start to resent myself. Resentment is one of the unhealthiest relationships you can find yourself in. It’s comforting in it’s initial security. Like blame and guilt - it feels like a way out. In reality, It’s a way for you to take zero responsibility for how you feel. It’s a way for you to not have to do any work. It’s thinking you deserve something from somebody. And you do. You deserve the best that you can offer yourself because every other person you come in contact with will fail you. They just will. People are complicated, even when they love you. Even when they love your voice but can’t stand to hear you speak. 

I think I might be reveling in resentment. It’s the reason it takes me 2 months to write a blog post. The reason I’ve been paying for a gym membership for 2 months but haven’t stepped foot in the gym. It’s the reason I write test dates and application deadlines on stickie notes but haven’t picked up a book to study or picked up the phone to ask for a letter of recommendation. Resentment makes you question everything. It strips away your faith, and where you once landed on your feet, you land in self doubt and a lack of trust for others.  

I think part of my resentment lies within my intrinsic nature to be a chameleon. I’m a Gemini which means I adapt, consciously and subconsciously. I don’t know how many times a day I stop and ask myself, “why are you responding this way?” “why did you react like that?” “why, didn’t you say anything?” It’s nuanced- less group think, more basic need for copacetic surroundings. I need peace even if it’s immediate and not long lasting.  

I have found myself exercising more of these characteristics the deeper I fall into resentment. The deeper I fall into resentment, I find myself doing more of the things that I am resentful for, like muffling my voice and self expression. The more resentful I become the more afraid I am of others resenting me. I’m in a big fucking resentful mess, if you haven’t figured that out yet. 

But I want out. I don’t want to live here anymore. I miss joy. I miss thanking the universe for the way the sunshine feels on my skin. I miss my deep appreciation for the way the color purple mutates in lavender plants. I miss deep empathy and how powerful I feel when I’m practicing it. I miss sunflowers in my hair.

I miss revolutionary shit. And I can’t help but think about all of the things that I’m missing out on while I continue to be in this relationship with resentment. Like revolutionary love and political action. I miss thriving. I miss speaking freely, purposefully, intentionally and so truly, that I can’t help but feel content with myself. 

Contentment is the the complete opposite of resentment. Contentment is acceptance. It’s honor. It’s the omission of fear. It’s being able to speak and trusting that what you say is truth. 

You can’t be in a relationship with both and I…I am not in love with resentment. 

-Hopeful,

Raven 

[howtogetoutofbed]

[howtogetoutofbed]

What It’s Like to be Black in America in 2016 in 6 Minutes. Go.

I’m sitting on a panel, Tuesday. The question being posed to all the panelists is, What is it like being Black in America, today? I’m struggling. Preparing to sit in a room that will undoubtedly be filled with well intentioned white liberals seeking insight into the dystopia that is the Black American experience. Well, let me say the dystopia that is MY Black American experience. I even struggle with contextualizing it within the boundaries of these 50 states because I have crossed borders and seas and like James told us, there’s no country for me. 

To explain what it’s like to be Black in 2016 is to simultaneously write a love letter to my unborn daughter and a list of demands to those who wish to kill her and me. It’s the proclamation that everything about me is by nature indescribably magical and utterly painful. As in, I am magic. As in, I am in pain. Always. James Baldwin said, “To be Black and conscious in America, is to be in a constant stage of rage.” 

I thank God for my magical Black foremothers and fathers for naming it all for us. James named it conscious. In 2016, we call it being woke. And what a burden and a blessing it is to be awake. The burden, for me, comes at 7:45 a.m. on my morning commute to work. There are 3 schools in my neighborhood and I watch the kids crossing the street, as I stop at the crosswalk. After, George Zimmerman was found not guilty of murdering Trayvon Martin, a part of me changed. My consciousness had risen to a higher level which meant so had my rage. I carried it around like armour. I didn’t cry - I was silent and screaming, all of the time. When Tamir Rice was murdered while playing outside in the snow, I was changed. Again, my consciousness had risen and my rage, my rage felt like a burden. I was screaming- and weeping. I cry when I stop at the crosswalk on my morning commute. I see Black children, laughing. I see them playing and talking and walking to school and I hope that they’ll be okay that day. Being Black in the world today, is crying before 8:00 a.m. and feeling panic on the freeway as a cop gets behind you before 9:00 a.m. I’ve always felt a fear of the police. I’ve had my car broken into several times. One of those times I could hear it while it was happening and still, I never wanted to call the police. Being Black in America in 2016 is knowing that there are no systems in place to protect you - and this is just before 9:00 a.m.

This is just the part where I am by myself and I can weep and feel fear without judgement. This is the part before I give myself a mental pep talk, so that I can handle my business and get through a day filled with unintentional bruises in the form of structural oppression, microaggressions and the misguided ideology of the post-racial society. This is called work. It’s where I spend 50-60 hours of my week. I police myself here. I wear my politics on my body like combat boots and leather jackets. My afro is large and wild and my hoop earrings are as big as they come. It’s purposeful. I take up space on purpose because in too many ways I am silenced here. I put a Black Lives Matter poster up at my desk. I ask important questions in the moments allotted for forward thinking- I get called hostile. Being Black in America in 2016 is the assumption that you are anger. Not that you are angry but that you ARE anger. I make people uncomfortable because I’m existing unaplogetically but still silently. I don’t have a choice here. We name this financial mercy. I call my best friend on my lunch breaks or on my drive home. There are times where I don’t even speak but she knows the inflections of my sighs. I call this solidarity. Solidarity, is one of the most beautiful and magical parts of my Black experience. It’s being seen in a way that only someone with a shared life experience can see you. Oh, how it feels to be seen. I live for Black human connection, I live to be seen and to see other boisterous black angels, as mother Audre called us.

To be awake and Black in America in 2016 is to be proud. It is, to feel, a deep connection to the creator and all those who created before you. It’s to have an innate understanding of survival. It’s thriving and shining in a way that is as equally filled with struggle as it is with ease. In 2016, we call that Black Excellence. It is celebration and resistance co-existing on the continent that is my Black body. It is the lifetime unlearning of every lie you’ve ever been fed by the mainstream media, by your racist history books and your prejudice neighbors. Being Black in 2016 is the adoption of revolutionary love of self. It’s existing in a world, that has waged war on everything that you are and thinking, “Wow, I am powerful.”