Empty House Full Hearts

When my Husband and I started dating, he led a discussion about where our relationship was heading. He knew from the beginning he wanted to marry me, but needed to know my thoughts about what marriage means. 

It's not JUST about loving a person. It's also a business transaction. So we set relationship and financial goals. 

We'd both made some foolish financial follies (why not alliterate, even though it's redundant). And were tired of not having anything to show for our hard-earned income. And those student loans were/are stifling.  

So we moved into a studio apartment with a futon and a desk. Thankfully we've always loved spending time with each other or we'd have suffocated in those 400 square feet. ESPECIALLY when Deuce visited, before moving with us. I did sleep in a closet for a few hours once when I was mad about something (and looking for attention). But other than that it was more than enough space. 

As a result of us sacrificing square footage for paying bills, I'm not awake agonizing over how I was going to make ends meet as I once did.

However, a new "problem" arose. I was so used to being broke and wanting that I held on SUPER tight to money. Even though we could afford things, I kept having a nagging fear that it could all go away at anytime. I'm just now getting fully comfortable with the idea that I'm not a day away from homelessness.

We still live in a small home. There's just enough permanent space for the three of us with room for periodic visitors. We have furniture now. I also sleep better knowing that Life can throw a curveball and it won't send me to the curb or somebody's couch. I'm not rich but my heart is full. 

I Hate Christian Laettner

I just watched an ESPN documentary called "I Hate Christian Laettner." People have made T-shirts and YouTube videos expressing their hate. He's mentioned on social media outlets hundreds of times a day.  Who is he and do they hate him? 

He's one of the best collegiate athletes in history (according to people on the show). As a basketball player at Duke University in the early 90s he took his team to four Final Four games, won two championships and holds the record for most points scored in an NCAA tournament. He was the first college player to play with the pros when they took over the Olympics in 1992. 

So, what is there to hate? Greatness. If people are still harboring hate for you after almost 25 years, you must have done something right. They probably don't even remember why they hate you. All they know is you did SOMETHING that rubbed them the wrong way. It may not even been something that directly affected them, but something they heard through the grapevine. 

People who hate you have no place in your life or on your radar. Let them deal with their issues and you keep living your life. Like Christian said, he's over his basketball days. He wants to be remembered for being a great husband and father. He's not letting people's hate hold him back or down and neither should you. We have work to do and moves to make!

Being Gay is a Gift

I had a dream early this morning. I was reluctant to talk about it since homosexuality is such a precarious topic and discussions on the topic are often wayward. 

In the dream, two of my favorite YouTube personalites (one was Funky Dineva and I can't remember the other) were talking and FD said, "Being gay is a gift." I made the RCA dog "what you talking about" face and he kept talking. 

When I awoke, I kept thinking about that statement. Why or how could being gay be a gift? They are often victimized because of their lifestyle, sometimes even killed. So HOW could that be a gift???

I concluded that anything Life brings us can be viewed as a gift or curse. It's all about how you live it and look at it. Kind of like the saying, "Today/Now is a gift, that's why it's called the present."

To all my gay friends, I want a cut of the "Being Gay is a Gift" merchandise yall are gonna be rocking. 

The Sound of Music

Some of my earliest memories include music. I remember hanging out with my aunt in her room listening to 45s. I used to be so excited when she let me switch albums on the record player. One of our favorite songs to belt was "Want Ads" by Honey Cone. Even though the 1970 song came out before I was born in 1976, I knew all the words...and still remember most of them. 

Music was an integral part of my life, and still is. My uncles blasted it as they washed their cars. It was played at cookouts and family functions. My dad's family always sings when they're together. 

I sing every chance I get. My son is also a songbird. I'm sure my Husband loves every minute of our daily serenades. I sing Christmas songs year round because who doesn't love a good Christmas song?!? 

Sometimes though, I want the music to stop. Well not stop, but the lyrics aren't always beneficial. I know a lot of gospel songs. Although I love the melodies, I don't quite subscribe to the messages. Same with rap music. I find myself singing songs about drugs because I look the hot beat. 

Music comes to my mind based on my mood. If I'm sad, I can think of songs that support that feeling. But, when I find the pity party becoming too much, I redirect to a more upbeat, positive song. 

In addition to singing other people's music, I make up my own lyrics. So, when the lyrics of a song I'm singing don't meet my needs, I switch them up so they do. 

I'm a freestyler by nature. Or maybe that's my way to rebel since I'm a rule follower. I don't stick to recipes, rules of the road or song lyrics. I just sinnnngggg sing a song!

Namaste Namasta Mamakusa

I've been doing yoga off and on (mostly off) for about the past four years. I've never regretted going to a class (but I may dread and drag getting up and out the house). Even when I expected it to be the laid back relaxing yoga and it turned out to be a sweaty strengthening out of my comfort zone and league class.  

I'd been interested in yoga and meditation for many years before that. When I used to go to church, we were told that such practices went against Christianity, because of the mantras I suppose. I've also heard others question whether or not yoga was safe for them to do or if it contradicts their religious affiliations. 

I never picked up yoga or meditation until long after I stopped going to church. In the classes that I attend or group meditations I've participated in (like with Deepak and Oprah), I've not heard, seen or done anything that would have affected my standing with Christianity. If, by chance, you are interested in "alternative" spiritual practices, these are good activities. They help strengthen your relationship with you and in turn those around you. 

If you do not like or want to do yoga or meditate, you can always pick up other beneficial relaxation techniques such as breathing exercises, sun gazing or watching nature in action (or in inaction). You can get your Namaste on from anywhere! Woo sah!

Namaste means "I bow to you" or "the God (or good) in me sees the God (or good) in you"

For a teacher and student, Namaste allows two individuals to come together energetically to a place of connection and timelessness, free from the bonds of ego-connection. If it is done with deep feeling in the heart and with the mind surrendered, a deep union of spirits can blossom.

Girl Gone Wild

There's a school of thought that if a father doesn't give his daughter love, she'll seek it out in all the wrong places. I have several examples of this, but one area where I lived this is not being respectful of my female friends' relationships.

Ever since boys started sniffing me out, I've stepped on ladies' toes. If a friend liked a guy and he smiled at me, I entertained it. If someone's boyfriend wanted me to be his confidante, I was available. Often behind her back or against her wishes. Even though there was no romantic interest on my end (maybe one) and no physical interaction, it was shady and sheisty. 

I've jeopardized about five friendships this way. Three of them fatally. And that's just the ones I remember. There is no telling how many I've forgotten about or didn't even realize were affected. 

It wasn't until college when a friend sat me down and talked to me about what I was doing to people that my eyes opened. By that time lots of damage had been done. But, that ushered in a beneficial period of self-reflection and change. I reckon there is always a silver lining hiding in the clouds. 

On Your Mark!

On your mark. Get set. STOP!

I am a master of unfinished business. I started piano lessons. And vocal lessons. I've sold telephone lines. And junk toys. And adult toys. I was in modeling troupe. And choir. I wrote poetry. And songs. And started books. And I've stopped all of these things before realizing my full potential. 

This brings about a great parenting dilemma. When a child says they want to be or do something when they grow up, do you force them to continue that path? Even if they're lackadaisical about it some days? Do your force them to stay on that path even when they say they want to detour or completly switch?

Are they farsighted enough to know that they have what countless other kids dream about, such as access to different programs and facilities? Or do they only see what's in front of them in the here and now? Should they be expected to think about their future when we, at their age, didn't think that far ahead? When some of us still do not plan for our futures?

Where is the boundary between supportive versus overbearing parenting? At what point does helping your child find and follow their passion get overshadowed by the parent reclaiming unknown or unreached dreams?

When I have ANY of these answers, I'll let you know. In the meanwhile, I'll keep talking and encouraging and sharing my experiences. 

Whose Story is it Anyway?

This is Day 21 of my 40 Days of Me journey. They say it takes 21 days to form a habit. Does that still hold true when I've missed 3 days (but made up by posting 2)?

I used to write often in diaries. But, it became censored for fear that someone would read it. I'm a (recovering) snoop and maybe I was paranoid that it'd catch up to me. I had lots of secrets that I didn't want to get out. 

Then I became an over sharer. I would tell things about myself before anyone else could spread the news. Even with that, I censor. I tell things that cannot be easily traced to a source other than me (like abortion or molestation). 

Why do I do this? Because I always have a hard time telling parts of my story that intersect with other people's lives. Maybe they don't want certain things to come out. Is it my right to expose them or their feelings or actions?

Yes, it kind of is, when it affects me. Just because they played a supporting role doesn't mean that the star (me) has to edit the show to protect them. 

But what if they start telling their own tales and add a twist that I've forgotten or blocked out? Or even worse unlock a pain that I thought no longer hurt? 

And after the mental back and forth, I stop writing for months at a time. So maybe I'm going to use these remaining 19 days to push through. If not, at least I'll keep logging my daily random thoughts. 

iComfort

I got a call from a coworker today about a work related email I sent. During the call, she started venting about something. I listened and encouraged her as I tend to do. At the end of the call she felt better and said, "I wasn't even calling you about this, but something in me said, 'Call Dalia.'" I got a little teary eyed when we hung up. 

In the early 2000s, I took a spiritual gifts assessment and scored high in exhortation (encouragement).  I don't remember at what point in my life I became a source of comfort for people and their sounding board, but that's been my role for most of my adult life. 

And I welcome it. And somehow, people know that. Maybe I have an invisible neon light flashing over my head that says, "Come to me, Stranger, and tell me all your troubles." 

And they do. In airports. Checkout lines. Locker rooms. Bathrooms. Just about anywhere. 

By the time I'm done talking to people I know their life story. And they're smiling. And I'm smiling.

Another weird thing is that when people talk to me on the phone they get tired and yawn a lot. Maybe they think of the iComfort mattress when talking to me. I got the power!

From Milk Carton to Newsfeed

I remember seeing missing kids on milk cartons for the first time and looking at each face and name. Giving thought into who they were and where they are. Calculating to see how long they've been missing. 

And then they were on every milk carton, then on Walmart or K-Mart walls and now all over Facebook. I see them and share some of them. Because there are SOOOOO many, I pick and choose which to share......which I JUST decided is dumb. 

I watched an HBO a short documentary called "Muted" about how the media and police focus less on the disappearance of minorities. I'll now share them all. Better to flood everyone's newsfeeds than to lose a chance to help find someone. That's what I'd want if I was missing a child!

Young Old Lady

A (slightly) older cousin said that even though I'm his "little" cousin, he comes to me when he has big questions/issues. My uncles often make the mistake of calling me their sister instead of their niece. 

I am an encourager and advice giver. And I'm pretty good at it! Maybe, like older people say, I've been here before. 

Growing Pains

I grew up in East Chicago, IN, a small town outside of Chicago. The area I was raised in, Calumet, was a tight-knit community.  A lot of us were related to each other by blood or baby mama. Many had roots originating in the South. Most, to my knowledge, coming from Alabama and Georgia. 

Back then, as was customary during that time, the community was active in the kids' lives. I remember getting in trouble and my mother hearing about it from two or three people before she made it home. Stories about neighbors whipping each other's kids are common. 

That era began to die out as I was a teenager. In came new age where kids were talking back to adults without any fear of consequences. I even got bit by the bug in high school. 

I tried to get a friend out of class and the teacher slammed (or shut the door harder than I like) the door on me. As the door was closing, I called her a bitch. The teacher told the Dean or someone and I was called into an interrogation. After lying for what seemed like hours, I finally admitted to it and got suspension AND detention. My uncle was watching me while my mother was on a trip. I got in trouble by him and then had to wait in suspense for my mom. When she came home, I got a good old fashioned...well let's just say I regretted it. 

My treatment of the teacher was not an isolated incident. At that time, disrespect for peers and authority was on the rise. But, we knew exactly who to test, especially since corporal punishment was still allowed. The teacher I called a bitch was a white woman. Had it been one of the black teachers or a few select white ones, the outcome would've been different. I don't even know if I'd have made it to the office unscathed by words or wood (paddle).  

Today, twenty years later, not only can the teacher not touch kids, neither can the neighbors or parents. This may be a benefit since there's a thin line between discipline and abuse. People can hardly communicate without feelings being hurt. People think they have free reign over what they can say and do to each other. Adults don't always know how to reach the kids. Kids don't always want to be reached. Both sometimes repel others by their words and action. 

Who's minding the store? Who's making sure that the produce is fresh and the product protected? That core values are upheld while remaining current with trends? How can balance between the fluid roles of teacher and student be achieved?

I don't know the answers.  But one thing I know for sure is I'm glad social media didn't exist when I was navigating through adolescence and early adulthood! 

Maybe I Deserve

Do you ever think about what you deserve? If you do, you likely think about  deserving happiness, a raise, a treat, etc. Good/positive things. But, do you ever think about those things that you should have experienced and were spared from? 

Every time I talk to someone, I deserve to be treated rudely. Not because I'm a rude person...now. However, once upon a time, rudeness and defensiveness were my default setting...and it still lingers if I'm not careful. 

I deserve to be judged for how I look, talk, act because I've judged people by those things. I deserve to have my belongings stolen, my property damaged, my heart broken, my feelings hurt, to be laughed at, to be made to feel stupid or dumb, lots of things that I've done to people where payback wouldn't be a surprise. 

I practice seeing the good in all things so that whether positive or negative things come my way, I can usually see the silver lining. If something bad happens, I try not to get upset. It usually pales in comparison to the havoc I've wreaked and is still more bearable than what I likely deserve (for example, I deserve a speeding ticket everyday but rarely get them). When good comes into my life, I appreciate it because things could be a lot worse, as it is indeed a lot worse for many people. 

*You take the good. You take the bad. You take them both and there you have the facts of life.*

Honey Shots

Last week my son was sick. This morning my throat is scratchy and I hardly ever get sick. Today will be a day of working from bed downing honey shots (spoonful of honey sprinkled with cinnamon followed by a slice of lemon). And drinking tea with the above ingredients and apple cider vinegar. 

What home remedies do you use for illnesses? We stay stocked with ACV and each drink it first thing in the morning with a glass of water. 

We Likes to Party

I enjoy being around people (at times), but I have an awesome time alone! I didn't always like being by myself. Early in my career I did a lot of solo traveling and had to get used to alone time. 

On the company dime, I began treating myself to nice dinners. At first, I kept a barrier up. It began with books or magazines and moved to cellphones when they became popular. 

No more. In public, I'm just fine sitting alone at a bar or restaurant table and enjoying my company. In the car, we sing. At home, we dance, watch TV or read. We likes to party with each other. 

One should not be surprised to see us laughing at some goofy thing we did. There are tons of inside jokes shared between us. We travel well together and rarely get into arguments. 

I urge you to get to know you. That may become the best thing to you since sliced bread! 

The Fabulous Fabulous

If I tried to list all the blessings in my life I'd run out of unlimited, weekend AND mobile-to-mobile minutes. My life is not free of complaint-worthy things. I just choose not to worry about them...for too long, anyway. 

I have an absolutely FABULOUS Husband. We don't always see eye to eye. Sometimes it feels like we're not only on different pages, but in different books. But in the end and through it all, we have each other's backs (fronts and sides).  We have common goals for our relationship and family. We are each other's very best friend and confidante. We fall sleep and wake up touching some part of the other. We wake up with a kiss, leave the house with a kiss, leave the table in a restaurant to go to the bathroom with a kiss and a returning kiss awaits after each separation. We are each other's "person," a la Grey's Anatomy. 

Our son is a fabulous son. Of course he's not the robot we would like him to be, keeping his room clean, his shoes tied, his grades at straight A's, etc. But he is a learning source, allowing us to learn more about ourselves as we interact with him and keeping our education refreshed as we help him with his studies. He keeps us on the go, giving me a much needed reason to get out the house (and to the gym for steam showers!). He gives us hope that he will be a greater person and reach higher heights than either of us. He is the vessel through which we teach what we preach and put our ideals to the test. 

My contact list is fabulous. Even though I mostly interact socially with people in public forums, like Facebook, I know that if I reach out privately to just about any of them for something simple or complex, they'd be front and center. I know that if I needed a place to lay my head or a bite to eat, someone would make themselves available. 

My hair is fabulous. I can wear it in a plethora of ways and look good (I guess that makes my face fabulous, too). I've had it cut super low (and according to an aunt, looked like a bulldagger), short Halle Berry style, long and straight representing the "Indiannnnn in my fammmm-ly" and wild and kinky for our native Africa. I'm happy to have it in my life. 

My personality is pretty fabulous. I'm quirky, defensive, offensive, sensitive, hard, soft, annoying, know-it-ally, funny, sarcastic, uplifting, creative, exciting, curious, understanding, misunderstood, close-minded, open-minded, seeking, sharing, shy, innocent, private, open, quiet, talkative, introspective, demanding, advisory, teacher, student, generous, frugal....at one time or another. Even with all these multiple-personalities, people aren't repulsed by me. I think I'm (genuinely) liked by at least 61% of everyone who meets me. The other 39% will be eventually won over. 

My secret performer game is fabulous. I sing better in the shower than Whitney Houston in her prime, I'm a better actor than Denzel, better comic than Richard Pryor, better chair dancer than Rhythm Nation Janet Jackson. I author more mental books than James Patterson and my flow is way nicer than Jay-Z. I'm a sextuple threat!

I could go on and on about all the fabulosity Life has bestowed upon me, but I've run out of anytime minutes for the moment. I'll say that the reason I can even recognize all these thigs as fabulous is because I know that my outlook on life is what determines whether things are hot or not. My life is HAWT! I'll re-read this when I forget how truly fortunate I am. 

Visionary

I've been thinking or talking about making a vision board for the longest. A couple weeks ago I was asked if I had one. Yesterday it was mentioned twice in a video and TV show I was watching. 

So, I'm finally heeding the hint. I'm dragging the family in and we're going to do a family project. The deadline is the end of this month! 

I'll make the final project my first Instagram post...maybe. 

Family Secrets

I recently read a post about a girl looking to trace her family roots but being unable to do so because her grandmother died without ever revealing to her father who his dad is/was. As a result, she and her father feel like a piece of them is missing. 

I grew up knowing my paternal grandparents to be X and Y referring to them as Granddaddy and Grandma. My dad and I eventually had a comversation about his birth dad. Unfortunately, this was after his dad had died. 

I imagine that somewhere along the line I knew Granddaddy and I weren't blood since my dad didn't have his last name (someone may have even told me, so I won't rely on memory). As is often the case, this makes me think of a scene in The Color Purple. Celie found out that her abusive dad is actually her stepdad and says, "Pa ain't pa." So Granddaddy wasn't my blood relative but he was certainly still Granddaddy, and always treated me as such. 

I have a couple siblings I've never communicated with. One is a boy slightly younger than me, S from Tennessee. The other is quite a few years younger, R from somewhere I can't remember. There is also a sister, K, with whom I keep in contact. I plan to meet her by next year!

I didn't care too much about having sisters that I didn't know. I was pissed when I found out about S, though. Not because he existed, but because we were in the same dating range. At the time, I had just graduated college and often road tripped. What if I'd met him and we "connected" not knowing we were related???

It almost happened with one of my brothers and our aunt (but technically she's not our aunt since we don't share the same blood). It's happened with two of my cousins. All because kids were being created in or kept secret. Or because family members weren't claiming each other. Either way, it sucks when you've established feelings for someone to only find out that you're related. 

What's the point of keeping family secrets? Who are they protecting? Who are they hurting? Sometimes, the people who were involved are dead. Are you really trying to protect their deceased legacy by keeping secrets that are hurting the living? 

Families are suffering because secrets are killing them slowly. This addresses the secrets about genealogy. But if "simple" secrets are being kept, there's no telling what else is under the rug or in the closet. 

Speedy Nevarez

I do things quickly. I work fast, type fast, walk fast, and of course drive fast. I do things like I'm being timed. Rushing. And for what? It's not like I'm getting bonus points by reaching the finish line first. 

When I was younger I used to be slow...well, do things slowly. I walked super slow in the school halls so nobody would pay me attention. Lol maybe I watched Animal Planet and saw how sloths survive in the wilderness. 

I'm not sure what changed my pace in life. I have to remind myself sometimes to slow down...other times my Husband or cops remind me. Yikes! 

Life isn't going anywhere and my rushing won't help spin the earth any quicker. It will just get me to the red light faster and I'll be waiting with the rest of the traffic. 

Note to self: Breathe. Relax. Pace yourself. 

Who Am I?

These three words got a lot of airtime in my mind today. Everything I know about my heritage is supposition. The assumption is that because my skin is dark brown that I'm a descendant of slaves from Africa. Which is fine, since all life is from Africa. But, who's to say that my ancestors weren't free people from dark communities in Asia, The Middle East, etc.?

Why is African American or Black American slave descendant my default? That's the same with White Americans going on the premise that their ancestors were slave owners and not slaves...I mean indentured servants who migrated to America. 

And then, even if I AM from Africa, that's not telling me anything. Africa is a big ass CONTINENT while others get to rep their COUNTRY. I got my DNA tested and it shows me being from The Middle East which also is useless information since the M. E. used to be part of Africa and people from M. E. were indentured in Africa. 

A common reason that "African American" people do not know their history is because it was lost during slavery. But why don't I know my history from the past 100-200 years? And does it really matter? 

As a human, I know what I'm capable of being/doing, so will will it motivate me more knowing that my family ancestors did this or that? Does it allow me to puff my chest in pride based on their accomplishments? I know American history books paint a biased picture, so all I need to do is color in the faces and know that whoever did it descended from the same Source I did...

Sigh. To close this chapter, I know for sure that I am American (for the moment). So I'll keep ticking "other" or "prefer not to answer" unless I can enter American as a choice. 

The Secret Life of QD

I am an excellent secret keeper. A large part of that is because I forget things people tell me. But, if you tell me a secret that I do remember, it's going down with me. Even if we break up or if I'm upset. 

I also keep my own secrets. Well, I used to. Now that I'm married, I like to practice transparency. However, being see through can be nerve wracking. Combined with my motor-mouthedness (another new word) is my Husband's innate way of reading body language and vibes, so nothing gets unsaid. 

Even when I can sneak things past him, I try make a habit not to, especially since he's going to probe until he knows what's going on. I even tell him all my irrelevant dirty little secrets (like stealing earrings from McCrory's when I was a kid). It feels good to release hidden parts of myself that have often been locked up for years and years. 

Today I made a mistake setting up an bill to be paid too early and almost overdrew our checking account. I was going to hide the error (as my Husband is just finding out as he reads this), but I spilled the beans. I can't handle being on pins and needles. Plus it messes up the atmosphere in the house. And I wouldn't be able to hide it for long because messing up my money (or anything) can sometimes put me in a funky mood...Virgos don't like mistakes. 

She Will Neither Hunger Nor Thirst

"Is the glass half empty or half full?" That is the question. At one point of my life, I was certainly a half empty kind of girl. I lived a life of lack and want. It felt like I should have more, be doing more, more, more, more. 

Somewhere along the line, with practice, I became thisssss close to being half full. One of my friends calls me a cynic, so you can probably conclude how hard it is to get the half full concept for me. I'm a Virgo. Perhaps that explains it. Even though the glass was half full, it sometimes felt too good to be true and that misfortune would once again knock on my door.  

Now I'm an "I don't care if it's half full or half empty, I'm thirsty and am going to drink it" kind of person. I try to remember that I am enough, have enough, know enough, enough, enough, enough to sate my thirst. I'm quenched in the desert, mountain, snowstorm or rain...when I remember that enough is enough and it's all I need. 

Fuck a Dollar and a Dream

I am a very generous person. I'm quick to donate for just about any cause: funerals, backpacks for kids returning to school, clean water in Africa, whatever. 

That's fine when it comes to charity, but it's not such a good habit to have in relationships. I tended to date boys/men who needed help, be it financial or emotional. 

I had a flashback of one instance today. I was supporting an ex in his endeavor to become a talent manager. He was saving his money and my money went to pay the bills. I was doing everything I could to make ends meet: car title and 401k loans, credit cards, bouncing checks, paying bills late, whatever. 

It's totally not his fault that I was willing to drown myself so his dream could float. But, from that, I hold dear the words of the late, great Notorious B. I. G. in his song Big Poppa: Tremendous cream, fuck a dollar and a dream. 

I did not feel any anger or regret when I had the flashback today. I was just happy that I finally learned that lesson. I always say that life will keep teaching you the same lessons until you learn them. 

It feels awesome to be the saved one and not the savior...or, to be more accurate, experience a symbiotic relationship. 

Plateau Problems

Doing a blog a day for 40 days sounded like a great idea when I had it. But it's Day 5 and what do I have to talk about? I guess now is a good time to talk about one of my needs for improvement. 

I am a plateauer (new word, meaning "one who plateaus"). I guess it's less about reaching a plateau and more about becoming disinterested and "over it." Which, I suppose is being a quitter. Nah, "plateauer" has more panache.  

I've started and stopped so many things! Which results in wasted money. Hundreds over the past few years. I've bought golf clubs, shoes and clothes and have only been on the course a handful of times...in street clothes, using one or two clubs. 

I have tons of workout and yoga clothes and hardly do either. When I do go to the gym, it's to wash and steam my hair. Otherwise, I sit at the basketball court watching our son practice. I do go to an average of one yoga class a month (maybe). Oh yeah, that made me remember the roller blades taking up space in the closet. 

I've not gotten very far with learning Spanish on Rosetta Stone. But, to my credit that was a gift for my Husband and not directly for me...and anyway, I remember most of what I learned in high school and college. 

I started out going to college to be a doctor (pediatrician or anesthesiologist). I switched to Chemistry because I didn't want to listen to the monotonous Botany teacher or look at her butt-long ponytail. Technically, that doesn't qualify as quitting. She forced me out since the class was a requirement for a Biology degree at the time. I may be the reason it became an elective. 

There are a couple things that I stay consistent with. One is keeping track of where our money goes. Once you've been broke (and depressed), that's not a place to which you willingly return. And, since I don't like having to get up everyday and work, I'm doing what I can to minimize expenses so I can retire. 

I'm also a voracious reader. I feel bad if I start a book and don't finish it. Well, that mainly goes for fiction. I've started and stopped reading "Think and Grow Rich" and "A New Earth" five or six times. But, if you put a James Patterson book in front of me, I won't stop until it's finished. 

Duh!!! I haven't quit the job I've had over the last 16 years. So maybe I'm not a quitter as long as I'm getting paid. 

Hmmm why do I feel like this revelation is a bad thing. Now I have some things to thing about. 

Yooouuuuuu Are Getting Sleeepppyyy

I've been intrigued by hypnotism for as long as I can remember. I wondered if I could be put under and if someone really make a person bark like a dog. 

I've seen coupons for hypnosis but never bought them because I didn't want to tell people that I was getting hypnotherapy. But, one day I bought three sessions. And then after using those up, I got three more. 

Hypnotherapy is more like a deep relaxation session with affirmations. I have the best sleep in that chair. Before we begin, we talk about what the ssssion should focus on. My session last week was actually about seeing if I had any blockages preventing me from writing or if I was hiding any fears. 

She then finds a script that meets my needs. The one she used last week was "Path to Freedom."

She starts off talking about liquid relaxation flowing through my body and then does a countdown from 5 with each lower number taking me into a deeper relaxation...she never swings a pendant and says, "Youuuuu are getting sleepppyyy," like they do in the movies.  By the time she gets to 1, I'm usually asleep (or deeply relaxed) and don't remember things until she's counting up to 5 to bring me back to awareness. 

On my last session, I set the tape recorder to try to get a sense of what happens. But doggone it if I didn't go to sleep while replaying the session!

I didn't uncover any fears during the session that I could remember. But, I had a pretty violent dream that night. 

A man was trying to choke me to death and I was fighting back. I gave a primal scream and then fought back even harder. At some point, in real life, my Husband grabbed my arm and I started scratching him. I woke up breathing hard and panicked. 

Thankfully, I wasn't fignting back as hard as I thought...or he was in a deep sleep...because he didn't remember it happening when I brought it up the next afternoon. I still don't know how that dream relates to my reluctance to write. 

I have one final session with Debbie (unless she posts another Living Social coupon). Maybe she can let me know if the dream was connected to our session. 

Have you or would you visit a hypnotherapist? I think it's made me calmer and more centered. 

Love Means Never Having to Say, "I'm Sorry"

"Love means never having to say you're sorry" is a popular saying. Until today, I didn't know it was taken from a novel and 1970 film called "Love Story" starring AIi MacGraw and Ryan O'Neal (thanks Yahoo! search). 

Anyway, I call BS on this quote. Love is saying you're sorry as often as needed. I transgress often against my two closest loved ones, Rick and Deuce).  I apologize, even when it bruises my ego and I have to mull over my apology for a bit. 

I've turned the phrase around in my mind trying to see when it would ever make sense and I'm coming up empty handed. Well, I guess if you're perfect and make no mistakes you never have to apologize but that's about it. 

It's possible that someone out there guards their thoughts, words and actions so closely that they never step on anyone's toes, but that's not me. Not even close.

I have good intentions. But I sometimes say the wrong thing at the wrong time. Or the right thing at the wrong time. Or in the wrong tone. And things can go wrong. 

I apologize...usually the same day. Out of love for the person I offend and for myself. For my peace of mind. And peace in my home and surroundings. So unless I don't know how to love, then love means never missing the opportunity to say you're sorry (or to apologize if you're a person who doesn't call yourself "sorry"...the whole "whatever you say after "I am" is what you believe/are/will be thing"). 

You May Say I'm a Dreamer

I have a gift. Or maybe it's a honed skill. Anyway, sometimes the things I think come true. So do some of my dreams...the ones while I'm asleep, not my wishes.  

Maybe not exactly how I dream it, but some events in real life link to dreams that I've had. I took a Facebook quiz about spiritual gifts and it even said I'm a dreamer. 

I also have déjà vu frequently. And see the same numbers on the clock often. Hmm maybe I should stop choosing Quick Pick for my lottery tickets and select numbers. 

A couple years ago, while home alone, I saw my deceased mother-in-law's shadow. Right after that, when I left the room, some papers that I'd been working on were gone.  My Husband and I still joke about her "thieving" ways! 

Do you have any quirks? Or weird things that often happen? Did I mention I don't think humans are the only intelligent life? Am I the only one?

Who's Telling Your Story?

As Black History Month winds down, and after watching and reading a myriad of movies, videos and books about Black culture, I'm left wondering who is telling my story? 

Black Entertainment Television (BET) is currently airing a mini-series called "The Book of Negroes" that provides yet another perspective of initial Black life in America. An early scene in the movie had the enslaved Africans calling out their native names awaiting on the ship for the departure to America: Ayo, Aminata, Abiba, Fola. In the next scene, their white captor announces his name as Tom and changes Aminata's name to Mary. 

Just the other day, I wondered what my name would be had it not been for slavery. Perhaps one day I will find a name that resonates with my Spirit. As of now, Dalia, when pronounced Dale-ya, will do. I'll keep an ear open as I continue to write my story. 

40 Days of Me

Today is the beginning of Lent, where many of my friends on social media are giving up bad habits, such as makeup, Instagram, cursing, fried foods and liquor. Since I don't practice Lent (and like cursing and liquor), I got the notion to pick up a new habit. For 40 days, beginning today, I pledge to myself to blog a new entry. 

I recently wrote the Universe a letter on Facebook outlining my perfect day. It included working when I want, spending time with my family and practicing yoga. As soon as I posted the letter, my Spirit whispered, "Then write."

I've been practicing listening to my inner self, so hearing my Spirit and following my intuition have been becoming easier. When I heard that whisper, I laughed. 

My Husband tells me I should write. My Facebook friends tell me to write. My hypnotherapist tells me to write. I write for my job. I write for my mystery shopping gigs. 

All these signs, signals and people are pointing me to my Path. What do I do? Procrastinate. There's an archaic saying, "Use it or lose it," so for the next 40 days, that's what I'm going to do. Who knows, this may be the beginning of my retirement plan. 

Let's roll!

Let Me In!

I was thinking about the ritual of baptism. I was baptized at a young age because I didn't want to feel left out. 

On first Sundays, kids my age were being dipped in the pool and getting to eat the crackers and juice, while I sat there as an outsider. So, one day, when the "doors of the church were opened," I went to the front and joined church. I knew, from years of observing, that I should answer yes to all the questions (Do you take Jesus as your personal savior? Do you believe XYZ?), even though I didn't know what those things REALLY meant from a personal perspective. 

The notion of being/feeling left out is one that I would feel for many years to come, and would lead to many poor decisions. But, that's a different story, so back to the topic(s) at hand. 

I looked up when Jesus was baptized last week after a discussion where I posited that kids should not be baptized. Jesus, according to the internet-explained timelines of the bible, was baptized around 30 years old. I didn't search to see if accounts of John the Baptist mentioned kids being baptized (but Christians follow Jesus, not other people, right?). So if Jesus, a great example of living according to God's will, wasn't baptized until he was an adult and I know from personal experience that I shouldn't have been baptized as a kid, and I know adults who have been re-baptized, I'm going to go ahead with the idea that I'm onto something. 

Anyway, my thoughts wandered further into how crazy it is that I was even exposed to exclusionary practices, especially as a kid, especially in a "safe" place. When Jesus, according to the bible, gave communion, he did it with his few associates. There were no onlookers made to feel like outsiders in the room. If churches ONLY want select people to take communion, do that (I almost cursed) stuff in a private service. Kids and "you ain't on my level because you didn't join church" / "you still have sin in your heart" adults shouldn't be exposed to it. 

What has been your experience with baptism, communion or feeling left out in life?