jhaswillwood-blog

[jhaswillwood-blog]

WHY MODERN FEMINISM IS BECOMING AS FRUSTRATING FOR SOME OF US WOMEN AS IT IS FOR SOME MEN.

Some time around the Summer of 2009, I decided that college was not for me. I was unfocused, easily distracted, bored and even worse- I was failing. I remained on academic probation and lacked any real desire to get out of the hole that I had created for myself. Rather than continue to waste money on single, three-hundred-dollar books and four-thousand-dollar classes, I opted to leave and begin working a part-time job. I moved back home and found a job as a pre-school teacher in a daycare that was conveniently within minutes from the house I shared with my mom and teenaged brother.

Completely unqualified for the position as well as lacking any real ambition to do better, I remained employed: not because I was good at my job or loved children. I stayed for the purpose of making money that I could burn at my leisure and making friendships with other teachers who were in my peer group. For the most part, I was successful. Almost to a fault, I have always been social and found getting along with others to be quite easy. So making friends was a cake walk.

Save for one teacher.

I tried everything to get her to like me, but much to my frustration, I discovered it to be impossible. My problem lied not so much within the fact that she didn’t care for me, instead I became deeply troubled with how frequently she went out of her way to express it through bullying. Once, completely flustered by her obvious disdain for my presence alone, I mentioned it to a co-worker. After laying out all of the recent events and numerous examples, my eyes filled with tears and I confessed, “I just don’t know WHY she hates me so much.” My friend, equally perplexed, thought carefully for a moment before she offered, “I’m not sure either, Jhas. I do know that, supposedly, she used to be bullied really badly in high school. Maybe now that she’s past that phase, she feels like she can do it to others.”

Lightbulb.

Of course! Why didn’t I see it before? It all made sense. Having been on the receiving end of bullying in my own high school years, I understood completely. There is a cycle; and often this cycle ends with the one who was once a victim becoming aggressive; attacking everything that could remotely SEEM like it might create the slightest opposition. Even when there is no ill-intent, “This will never hurt me again!” remains the thought process. Makes sense right? Of course it does!

That’s why, long before the #MeToo movement took the world by storm, I was, then, and still remain proud of my sisters.

My sisters: women who decided that enough is enough. That no longer will we be defined by trivial things such as the texture, style or cut of our hair, how much or how little melanin our skin holds nor will we be treated solely as the eye candy of the board meeting as if our brains lack the capacity to be the more attractive quality of ourselves. As the product of a closely-knit, predominantly matriarchal family, full of strong, black, single women: I was signed up for such a movement long before I was born, without ever once officially choosing to ’sign up’.

My ancestors, my mother, my aunts, my grandmothers and cousins, both past and present, have all made the decision to wait for no one. To make their own choices. To walk and live in strength, dignity and whatever consequences: good or bad came from their own decision-making. I come from a people who have lived and died by the protest. America is a nation built on the results of a protest. Black men, women and children have only made the progress that we have, as the result of countless protests.

In life, standing one's ground is non-negotiable. Re-writing rules is paramount. Without re-defining norms, there can be no growth, no change, no forward motion in society or personal development.

But there is a gap; A crack where the women who have chosen to do things ‘differently’ in terms of ‘tradition’ have fallen through.

In June of 2017, model, mother and ‘Slutwalk' movement creator Amber Rose, affectionately known by her followers as ‘Muva’, released a picture (which was quickly deleted by management) onto the social media site Instagram. In the racy shot, the model who has established her fan-base due to vocalizing her controversial viewpoints on feminism, equality and "sex-positivity”, is lying on a staircase, covered in body oil, baring her crotch. As expected, the picture received some backlash. However, I was surprised at the incredible amount of praise it received as well.

Simply because just two years prior to this, Ayesha Curry, mother, chef and wife of famed NBA player Stephen Curry, released a tweet saying “Everyone’s into barely wearing clothes these days huh? Not my style. I like to keep the good stuff covered up for the one who matters.” The difference? Like Amber Rose’s post, it too, gave rise to passionate responses from the masses. But UNLIKE Amber’s, most of it was met negatively. In fact, what followed was an onslaught of ‘slut shaming memes’ that used Ayesha Curry’s face to declare nasty, unfounded, hate messages toward women who choose to bare all.

It was here that I found myself confused.

Both women expressed two opposing viewpoints. Both women work hard at their own distinct careers, with separate agendas while simultaneously fighting to change the narrative for women everywhere.  What could have made one right and the other a complete ‘betrayer of women everywhere’ (as I saw one young lady write in the comment section of Ayesha Curry’s post)?

Much like Ayesha Curry, I, too, come from a christo-centric faith background where modesty is viewed as honorable and valued. While I have grown to appreciate all women regardless of what they choose to do with their bodies, I wonder why I am not awarded the same grace.

As a female radio-dj in a male driven industry, it is a blessing to be able to say that my audience is primarily female-based. I am able to connect with my lady listeners in a way that my male co-host cannot. I get to encourage them, support them and speak for them in areas that they may feel like their voices are silenced. This is a job that I do not take lightly. I feel grateful to have such an opportunity. I only feel frustrated when, those moments arise where should I disagree with the behavior of a woman, I am accused of being 'against my fellow ladies'.

I understand that we women have been the victim for a long time. But to become the bully now, especially to other women who see purity, fulfillment and self worth differently than we do, will never result in a positive outcome. The woman who chooses to serve her husband, stay home and raise her family is no less a woman than the 9 to 5 gal with three degrees in business, marketing and communications. Each woman has a lot to teach the other. I’d like to think that Jay-Z said it best: “No one wins when the family feuds.”

As a career-woman who has never had sex before and is saving her virginity for her husband only, I absolutely feel judged these days. A popular instagram account named “recipes for self love” (@recipesforselflove) created a post with a caption stating “The idea of virginity is rooted in heteronormativity and religious tradition that pretty much sees women as objects and child bearers.” To this I argued that women can have sex without being hoes just as they can also choose to NOT have sex without it belonging to a tradition that only objectifies women and treating them as child bearers; and both categories of these women can be feminists.”

Feminism, by definition, is the advocacy of women’s rights on the basis of the equality of the sexes. This means that being a feminist and fighting for equality, is completely doable while letting women be women in all of their facets including ones who want to remain covered up, not strip and be stay at home moms. It does not ONLY apply to the women who want to have sex without stings, not shave their armpits and proudly flaunt their underweight, average weight or overweight naked bodies in the name of self-love. This also includes me. Even me, as my virginal, Jesus-loving, sexy, black girl magic having, educated, career-driven self. I am for all women; not just the ones who have backgrounds mirroring mine but also including those whose background directly contradict mine. I am, however, frustrated with the judgement that comes from opting to NOT show parts of myself on the internet.

My desire is that women can both empower and be empowered without suddenly creating a habit of only putting down the ones who do NOT work at strip clubs. Just as we should have NEVER put down the ones that do.

It’s only once we accomplish this, that we won’t have to be the victim OR the bully in any arena.

[jhaswillwood-blog]

WAKANDA FOREVER

‪The whole world is buzzing about the cinematic gold that is Marvel Studios Black Panther movie; and just in time for Black History Month, too! The movie takes you on a whirlwind from start to finish through the fictional land of Wakanda: a technologically advanced, culture rich country that closely resembles many countries in Africa. What makes this movie both so incredible and incredibly different from other comic based movies is the industrious writing! If you’re seeking a movie with blown up cars meant only to appease you due to lazy storytelling - Black Panther isn’t that movie. The story line is just AS rich as the budget it must have taken to create such a cinematically pleasing flick. This movie appeals to everyone, young and old; the action fanatic, the romantic, the thrill seeker and of course the one who loves a “good” bad guy. With stars like Chadwick Boseman, Michael B. Jordan, Angel Bassett and Lupita N’yongo the cast in itself is full of Yale School of Drama and Juilliard graduates ensuring that nothing will lack. As a movie buff, former drama student and having spent most of my career focused on radio, television and film, I have to say: even with the highest of hopes due to all of the hype, Black Panther STILL exceeded my expectations. As a student of the culture, this movie is exactly what the world needed- something they had never seen: A movie with multiple women of color in places of power as leads beside and EQUAL to male leads. And as a woman of color this movie brought me to tears. Never have I left the theatre so empowered as a woman of African decent, standing as tall and as proud from a movie that was about superheroes. I anxiously await the sequel and every movie that continues this AMAZING franchise. I had an opportunity to interview Frederick T. Joseph who appeared on ELLEN to discuss his #blackpantherchallenge in which he partnered with the Boys and Girls Club of Harlem and over 200 campaigns to send over 30,000 children to the movie. His article has been featured on the Huffington Post and since having raised over $400,000 dollars he has been VERY busy. Somehow, he made time to speak with me about the importance of Little Black and brown children getting to see themselves in movies where they are also depicted as superheroes. If interested, you can check out this interview and a full comedic review of the movie on the latest episode of the Podcast “Jhas and Then Some” which is on iTunes! Enjoy the movie, don’t overthink it and remember- WAKANDA FOREVER!‬

[jhaswillwood-blog]

That Time the Eagles Parade Saved My Life...

A few days shy of my seventeenth birthday, the half-brother that I had known for slightly less than thirty days knocked on the door of the home I shared with my mom, step-father and younger brother. I wasn’t expecting him, considering we had only met one time prior, and due to legal troubles, he had forewarned me that getting across the bridge from the state where he lived into mine would be difficult; but boy, was I happy to see him. He was the most exciting thing about my world at that time, which was then and still remains- one of the most difficult periods of my life. 

After a brief exchange, and an understanding of when I would be back home, he asked me with excitement, “You ready to go meet some people?” I was. I had waited my whole life for this moment. We took a 90 minute drive from New Jersey to Chester County, Pennsylvania trying to summarize sixteen and twenty-three years worth of information in an hour and a half’s time.

As we neared the parking lot of a Chili’s Grill & Bar, my stomach knotted up. I knew exactly who we were going to “meet” and I had already met him. I met him for the first time in my life a few months prior and he had then informed me, as honestly as he knew how, that he didn’t see himself connecting with me in any way. As a teenager, you can imagine what a rejection of that magnitude might do to you when it comes from your father. So why now, I thought, would he want to meet with me? Was it because he needed for others to sign off on me first before he was willing to acknowledge me? Did his family’s acceptance of me prove or disprove my validity? I wasn’t sure… but I was certainly uninterested now. I remember thinking, ‘To live in your home, to grow around your family, to have you raise me, to be around your children- my siblings- was all that I wanted; and yet, I wasn’t good enough; But now… am I? 

Why?

New Jersey is an interesting place to grow up. Once, while living in Los Angeles, I heard a coworker refer to New Jersey as the armpit of the United States. Even though separated by only the smallest bodies of water, residents of both neighboring states, New York and Pennsylvania, have almost always considered the dinky little odd shaped state to be something like ‘the bastard little brother that no one wants’. The jokes always fly freely and though they don’t always hurt per-say, you do hear them. 

“Ah, you’re from Jersey… so who do you identify with? New York or Philly?” 

If you say you’re from New York? Stamp of approval. Pennsylvania? Stamp of approval. Jersey? RETURN TO SENDER!

The only part that I’ve ever dreaded about meeting someone new, was the moment they’d ask me where I was from. My response was always the same, “Uh…I… well I’m from Jersey… but I lived in LA… and I’m now living in the DMV… but my mom is from Levittown and my dad is from West Philly but I have family in New York… But JERSEY mainly.” The most complicated answer to the simplest question. 

And then came either one of two things: silence or a confused look on the asker’s face followed by a short “Oh okay.” coupled with a shrug. I know, dramatic.. right? I, too, was always grateful when they moved on. It got to the point when I just began responding with, “The East Coast.” But to other ‘East Coasters’, that simply won’t fly. To most of them, it’s really just not that “deep”. 

Just answer it.

And it wasn’t that I didn’t want to… it was more-so that I couldn’t. Because, truthfully, I didn’t know who I was or where I was from. I’ve never been sure quite where I belonged. I’ve never been quite clear of where I didn’t belong either. When you’re a black woman, finding your place in life is hard enough. To some members of my own family, I’ve always been too white. To some coworkers and some classmates, I’ve not been white enough. Too black. Not black enough. Corny because of where I was from. Whack because of where I was not from. I’ve always struggled with not knowing where I belong. Whether in my home…or in my state… or in my family.

I’ve always been told that you can’t know where you are going unless you know where you are from. And even though rejection is a common thread in nearly one hundred percent of every human being’s experience, that statement has never been quite as clear to me as it became on February 4th 2018. As I’m watching Super Bowl LVII, sitting comfortably between the cousin I’ve only met once and my dad who has since become both my best friend and the most important person in my world, I’m holding my breath in the fourth quarter of the football game.

No matter where I have lived, no matter how confused I have been, no matter where I have traveled, gone, been kicked out of or welcomed into… one staple in my life has always been the Philadelphia Eagles.

The “ring-less”, “close but no cigar” , “under-dog”, “bastard-little-brother” Philadelphia Eagles. If you let the media tell it, the fans are reckless, destructive, disgusting. The National Football League team, it’s players and its fans have been called disparaging names such as, “The Philthadelphia Eagles” and “The Dirty Birds”.

An article released by CBS Sports.com titled “Eagles Fans Are The Absolute Worst and Here Are 9 Times They Proved It.” stated “From snowballs at Santa to assaults and batteries, there is no shortage of craziness in Philly.” Since the 1960s, Eagles fans have been known to get rowdy, rough and down right horrid. In the days surrounding the playoffs, Super Bowl LVII against rivals ‘The New England Patriots’ and the Broad Street parade, businesses were warned about potential riots that could occur if fans felt disrespected in even the slightest way. 

I am not denying that, as a fan base, we are a temperamental bunch. Nor am I condoning behavior that has left the rest of nation with such a vile impression of  an otherwise incredibly passionate city.

But I am expressing gratitude.

Gratitude because on Thursday, February 8th, I bore witness to an experience that changed my life.

Initially, I’d had every intention of going to the Parade to celebrate the most epic win that my team had seen since the 60s. But when the bodies in attendance were estimated to be approximately 3 million, I began to back out. 

Because I work in radio, my boss, co-worker and co-host urged me to go. They reminded me that no one deserved to celebrate this win like I did since it was ‘home’. They also wanted me to cover it. I went, expecting to do live updates transmitting back to the studio of what I was experiencing. But I certainly did not expect the experience to change my life.

This win was not just about football. This win was not just for football fans. This win was about the underdog in its truest form. The Broad Street parade was to celebrate anyone who’d ever known the feeling of not belonging. Anyone who’d ever felt disregarded. Counted out. Over-looked. For everyone who’d been undermined. In millennial terms, this parade was for all of those who had been side swiped, overshadowed, ‘left on read’, considered a dub…

I looked around the sea of people and finally, as an almost thirty-year-old woman, for the first time since I was born felt a sense of belonging. Not because I was from Philly directly nor because I had grown up only 20 minutes outside of the city right across the bridge. But because I was a fan; celebrating a survival that was not supposed to happen. Just as I was not supposed to happen. Me, the little brown girl, the product of an affair, who’s entire life had consisted of constant apology for being in the way. Guilt-ridden for being here and always feeling misplaced- I belonged. Right where I was. 

And for a few hours, in that mass of people, it didn’t matter if you were black, white, purple or yellow. It didn’t matter who voted for. It didn’t matter who you preferred to have sex with. It only mattered if you wore green and if you knew all of the words to the ‘Fly Eagles Fly’ anthem. I watched people around me who held urns filled with the ashes of loved ones that they didn’t want to miss the experience; families hugging and crying; people cheering and high fiving one another despite being total and complete strangers; beach balls surfing the crowd and footballs being thrown back and forth. 

And after arguably the worst year of political history, non-stop news coverage of government shut downs, blatant racism, children being gunned down in the streets, misunderstanding and things that kept the older generations up at night and kept the younger generations at odds-

the only thing that mattered on February 8th, 2018 when several buses filled with underdogs drove through the city, was unity. And that’s when I realized not just that I was home… but that I had been home all along. Amongst the underdogs. The odd men out. And that maybe, just maybe, God could do great things with me too.

xo,

Jhas

[jhaswillwood-blog]

Filthy vs. Finesse

I don’t say this often.....

at least not in today’s age of music which generally consists of fire beats and convenient ad-libs (*skrr-skrr*) ; and don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining. Mainstream music doesn’t make me as disgruntled as it seems to make so many people over the age of 35. I, for one, enjoy a good trap beat! I hit my milly rock harder than most and in those moments when I DO need a bit of Joe Sample, Smokie Robinson or Spyro Gyra, I know where to find them. Spotify, Apple Music, YouTube to name a few places.

But it’s not often that I’m impressed. Pleased? SURE! Because I can get along with a song like ‘No Limit’ or ‘Bartier Cardi’ or ‘Plain Jane’ and play them often. But then a song comes on that takes you back ‘to the good ole days’ WHATEVER those days are for you.... For me, the 80s and 90s are just it.

But I’ll admit that I was IMPRESSED with Bruno Mars go and his latest video ‘Finesse (Remix ft. Cardi B)’ ?? The visuals paid homage to Keenan Ivory Wayans’ hit TV show, ‘In Living Color’, complete with professional dancers like Ysabelle Capitule representing THE FLY GIRLS. The whole song makes you feel as though you’re listening to Bell Biv Devoe’s Poison, starring in Michael Jackson’s Remember the Time video or on your way to see New Jack City in theaters. The feel is incredible. Cardi B outdid herself on this track. I can’t say that I one hundred percent felt her verse on Migos’ Motorsport featuring Nicki Minaj. I felt that she was trying too hard. But I must say, overall, as an artist, I’m impressed with her climb to the top and I really do think she’s going to win whether people want her too or not.

Jumping on this track with Bruno Mars- MAJOR WIN. From start to finish. 

Meanwhile. 

Justin Timberlake and Timberland left me relatively disappointed with ‘Filthy’. This song could have ABSOLUTELY been a hit but seemed overly produced. I hate it AS much as I love it and am unsure of how to pick wether I hate it or love it more! This shouldn’t even be a dilemma. Great concept. Great underlying tune. But way too overdone..

What did you think?

UPDATE_ JAN 16, 2018

** As I predicted... Filthy has grown on me. Since I was unsure of whether I loved it or hated it, I knew I’d ultimately end up liking it if I heard it enough. And what do you know... I do. It’s REALLY funky, you can’t deny. I still think it’s overproduced. But the funk JUST might outweigh the overproduction this time!

[jhaswillwood-blog]

Me...too?

I’m not a bandwagon jumper. To date, I still haven’t seen or read Harry Potter because during the time it was popular, I, myself, wasn’t interested. I’ve never tried smoking weed before simply because of my own convictions and not because of what was popular or even permissible by law. In an age where approximately 85% of the thoughts and opinions on social media are simply recycled careless as a means to connect, I refuse. I am an original. I am my own person. I have my own passions. Purpose. Thoughts. Feelings and Experiences.

So when, in recent events, Harvey Weinstein was outed as being a disgustingly perverted perpetual molester and criminal rapist; and millions of #metoo ‘s began circling the web, I chose to remain silent until I had all of the facts.

Not because I did not believe the women who had spoken up. Not because I, myself had not been a victim of both sexual harassment AS WELL as sexual assault- because I have been both- but because I did not have all of the facts! While I am an advocate for remaining silent until you have all of the facts before speaking, I have found that in THIS case… I didn’t need them all to conclude that any man who pressures a woman outside of her comfort level; any man who can not accept one solid no as ‘a good enough reason’ to back off; any man who can not respect a woman who is simply trying to do her job, be an effective member of society and live her life with the authority that God gave her as another human being without being harassed because of what she looks like or how she dresses… is not only repulsive but should be admonished.

I am a radio personality in an industry where everyone knows everyone. Speaking up can get you praised or into trouble. It can affect paychecks, it can affect business and it can affect anyone who relies on you for either of those things or more. So when a DJ who through a friend reached out to me for business, as is my nature, I found that it’s never harmful to make connections and I’m never too good to extend my number for business purposes ONLY. Not to be asked out a record 10 times after I continuously have said ‘No’. 

Ultimately, I ended up having to tell this person off- which of course was met with implications that I am a snob, a strange girl and acted unnecessarily. Fascinating to me because all I said was, “Please stop asking me. My answer is no.”

Imagine had this not been just another peer. Imagine that this were my affluent, powerful, well-respected boss with the power to destroy my livelyhood: all that i had worked for; take food from the mouths of my children  or have me blacklisted. Would I have been so bold then? I don’t know.

But until I know, until YOU know, I suggest that the world STOP telling women WHEN, HOW, and what time frame is appropriate for them to stand up for themselves. 

xo,

@jhaswillwood

[jhaswillwood-blog]

Hang in there ❤️

This Milford phase in my life is such proof that everything in life is a process. I’m so glad my suicide attempts in past years were unsuccessful. I’m on the brink of something sooo good- both externally and internally. The survival was worth it. You couldn’t have told me that even a year ago. Hang in there.

[jhaswillwood-blog]

Meh..

I went home recently. Back to the small town in New Jersey, just 30 minutes outside of Philadelphia where I’m from. And something funny happened. Or sad depending on which position you’re standing in. I went to a local, familiar diner that I used to frequent and just as I was coming out of the restaurant...I bumped into someone. A boy who I had grown up with. I had known him well, or rather, known of him. He was popular with the girls and guys. But this time, when I saw him, I didn’t see him surrounded by a whole bunch of his lackeys or fans. He was doing tricks on his skateboard by himself. He looked a mess and he looked unmotivated.

I wasn’t as inclined to pass judgement on him as I thought I’d be. But as i carried out my takeout order, I was immediately reminded that there was a time when I wanted to be found favorable by him. I so desperately wanted to be in the in crowd. And in that instant, I was grateful I had never been.

Something tells me, that one day, I’ll look back on all of the time I spent wishing I had more than 20,000 followers on Instagram and feel the same way. I’m ok with the substance instead.

[jhaswillwood-blog]

To the left, please...

The best piece of advice I have ever received, came from my dad. He told me “Jhas, your talent is going to take you places that your character cannot keep you. Unless, first, you move out of the way and let God do the work that is necessary in you.”

So I moved out of the way.

It really was that simple. Thanks dad 🌱

[jhaswillwood-blog]

I hope I never forget the year I learned to love myself. I don’t want to just ‘never forget it’. I want to always remember this feeling.

Candles lit. Alone in my apartment. Hot shower. Sade in the background. The percussion instruments of ‘Sweetest Taboo.’ I danced in the mirror. Belly still full from lunch. Far from flat. But this time, not self conscious at all. Just me and my mocha. Caramel. Not one inch of my skin uncovered. My lips are full. My eyes slightly slanted. Romancing myself in a dance. Forgetting everyone who ever tried to take this feeling away from me.

If this is what it feels like to fly, then I hope I always remember the year I finally learned to love myself. This is living.

[jhaswillwood-blog]

Get Out

While the country seems nearly split in two and all across the world people are at odds, you can almost feel the tension in the air the moment you run into someone in the grocery store. Stepping on toes seems more likely now than ever before,and where social media was once used to give reprieve from the real world it is now a place to avoid if you want to avoid stress altogether. Comment sections and timelines are littered with people who think they they know everything about things that they have never experienced; political tirades are in large supply, fraudulent photoshopped pictures that are captioned with lies such as “Being myself!” or “LOL caught off guard!” (intentionally- eye roll) while being anything BUT flood your feed. Even fitness pages now showcase incredible store-bought bodies in attempt to pass them off as real and earned via exercise. It’s all so much. Too much. And if you’re anything like me, there have been times where you have (finally, after hours upon hours) looked up from your cell phone screen or computer screen only to say to yourself “Wow, I’ve really been online ALL day.” Talk about overload! Recently, I unplugged from the internet for a few days and was able to tell a clear difference in the way you my spirit was uplifted. It was almost as if I had been underwater for a long period of time and was finally, just now able to breathe. Day one was the hardest, yes. But by day two, I had re-discovered my love for good books. Something I had completely forgotten about since I was a child. By day five, I felt my brain had almost expanded again. Like oxygen was suddenly flowing once more… and even more than that, I rediscovered: PEOPLE. Such an amazing feeling it was that I felt EVERYONE should know this feeling. If it’s been a long time since you’ve gotten off the internet… if your thumb is bruised from scrolling for hours and hours and hours, maybe you should give it a rest. Go for a week. If that’s too long and you need it for work like I do, learn to limit yourself. Give yourself conscious unplugging hours where you look someone else in the eyes to have a conversation with them. Or even better, step outside of yourself. With recent natural disasters rocking not just our nation but the world, so many people are in need of help right now. The Virgin Islands and Puerto Rico which are absolutely under water are apart of the United States just as much as New Jersey and California. They are not just places to plan your next vacation. They are places where people live and are currently in desperate need of help and assistance. Find a way to give to them. Not because they are apart of the US but because they are human beings. Find a way to unplug. Give back. Love someone today. Read a book. Re-discover yourself. “I need the internet for work though…” is no excuse. I do too. But I also need to refuel who I am as a person. And one simply can’t do that online.