The Aftermath

                                                     This is what has truly been lost

 The world is still spinning on its axis from the news of Whitney Houston’s shocking death. I didn’t know her personally, so my opinion isn't that precious, but I can attest that her presence is sorely missed.  Each time I scroll through the television channels, I can’t help but to come across a news flash, ticker, or program highlighting Ms. Houston. It’s definitely a heart wrenching moment for many, as she was definitely a true talent beloved by the world. However, loving her voice and her beauty does not give any of us the right or privilege to judge her and the life she lived.

I know a little something about experiencing the loss of a celebrity.  It has been almost 4 years since my father passed away. And I can honestly say that has been the most devastating moment in my life.  I wish I didn’t remember the exact moment as well as I do.  He passed away in the middle of the night before 3 am.  By the time my mom and I made it back to my parents’ home,it was all over the news.  Every channel was broadcasting the news of his death, along with other celebrity’s reactions.  The phone rang off the hook with every publication wanting an official family statement. Throughout my dad’s career, we’d never been harassed by paparazzi, yet on that day there they were camped out across the street from my parents’ home. It was such a surreal experience.  Never before in my life had I become so aware of the phenomenon of celebrity as it pertained to my father. He was always simply Daddy, and it was so awkward to have to publicly grieve, and deal with the petty remarks and opinions of others. I remember watching Larry King debate Ashton Kutcher over whether or not my dad was a good actor and I remember thinking “Who the hell cares?!  He’s now dead! Do you think I care if you thought he could act or not? No, I just care that I lost my father!”  There were rumors that he died of AIDS. It pissed me off because I felt like I had to do crowd control instead of simply grieve the loss of my dad. Then there were the people who would come up to me and tell me things like “You’re not grieving alone. We lost him too.” Depending on the day, I would find comfort in those words, and other days I would want to pull a Roland Martin and smack the ish out of them.  No you didn’t lose him! You didn’t even know him! I, on the other hand, am the only person in this world who lost Bernie Mac . . . her father!   I know that those people meant well, but they had no idea how I really felt. 

I really do get that they were fans and when it comes to celebrities who we invite into our homes through their music, jokes, movies,shows, etc. we begin to feel like we know them. They become to a certain extent, an extension of our families. We talk about them during family get togethers, over the dinner table, at social functions. And we do it as if we’re talking about another family member.So when they show us just how human they are—especially by doing something as human as dying—we’re left feeling the emptiness their death has left us.  However, we need to remember that the person was more than a celebrity. They are, in my father’s wise words, ordinary people with extraordinary jobs.  What you miss is the fact that you’ll never hear them tell a new joke, or sing a new song, or sing your favorite song again.  You miss that there will never be a new movie with your favorite actor.  You don’t miss the person.  How could you? You didn’t even know them.  Which is why you have no business making any kind of judgment about the way they lived their life. 

That is why I feel so for all of Whitney’s loved ones who have been left to tend to their gaping wounds so openly—particularly her daughter, Bobbi Kristina.  I was 30 years old when I lost my dad and it utterly devastated me.  But at least I had grown into adulthood and was able to share in some major milestones with him. This young lady is only 18 and has to deal with the loss of her mom.  On the day she gets married, her mother will not be there.She will not be able to go to her mom for advice during her pregnancy or watch her mother joyfully play with her grandchildren.  When she graduates from college, gets her first job, has a bad day, she can no longer call upon her mom to help her through.  Essentially, each new experience in her life will be a constant and painful reminder of what she is missing.  She’ll of course begin to heal a bit,but the pain will never ever go away. And she has to endure this pain publicly.  Now people want to criticize Whitney for her drug addiction,her friends, Bobby Brown, and anyone else they can just to be able to blame someone.  Blame is a monstrous beast that only increases an already existing problem. It never takes into account that at any given moment, most of us in this world are really doing the very best that we can.  Ms. Houston is no exception. 

I get it though. That’s part of the deal when you become a celebrity. Opening yourself to the public makes them privy to details of your life, which wouldn’t be open for discussion if you were the average citizen.  And since you will make more money than most will ever see in their lives, you’ll get very little sympathy when you complain about your lack of privacy or empathy from the world.  Fame is a most titillating yet harsh suitor.  It is proof that every single thing is both a blessing and a curse.  People love you as long as you do what they want.  However, they’ll rip you to shreds when you have the audacity to show your human-ness.  I said this the other day, and I'll say it again. I really wish we understood that death is not a punishment that is solely dispensed to those who are imperfect or act in what we consider the more heinous of ways.  We are no better than a person simply because they reached the end of their earthly journey before we did.  One dying at what we deem an early age is not indicative of them being a terrible person.  It is simply a symptom of being human.  Whitney Houston is more than her drug addictions. She is more than a golden voice. She is more than a troubled singer. She is a mother, daughter, girlfriend, cousin, best friend, lover, and human being who just completed her human journey. She has left behind a host of fans, but more importantly, loved ones who are forever scarred by the painful loss of her life. Let’s try to remember that when we remember her.

I'm Too Busy Going to Really Get Anywhere!

"Doing nothing is better than being busy doing nothing."

~Lao Tzu

I’m sure that on any given day, if I stopped and asked you about your schedule, you’d probably tell me about how busy you are.  I know I could.  I feel like my whole life is now on my iPhone and I heavily rely on it to get me through my day.  But I must admit that I have been beyond exhausted for the past three weeks.  I’m so tired I go to bed tired and wake up tired.  And the time!  Oh my, the time! Where does it go?  I feel like there are not enough hours in the day to get things done.  I know I have the same 24 hours as everyone else, but I swear mine are on the accelerated program.  I have all of these plans and yet somehow I don’t get to most of them. And it’s not like I’m just sitting at home doing nothing.  I’m on the go . . . always.  I’m busy.  At any given moment, I am on the go, either for my daughter or for myself.  Between her ballet, swim, Spanish, my exercise, coaching classes, and let’s not forget our quality time, I am booked every hour of my day.   I tip my hats to the people with more than multiple children.  How in the hell do you people do this more than once?!

Yet with all of my going-ness (yes I just made up a new word) and busy-ness, I never feel accomplished.  I get it.  I do a lot in the day.  But at the end of the day I still have to ask myself, what have I really done? I journal every day and the other day I decided to list some of my short-term goals.  One such goal is to manage my time more effectively.  While I was quite proud of myself for coming up with this insight, as my daughter would say, “all by myself” . . . Excuse me, while I get that spot on my back I missed).  . . OK, I’m back.  As I was saying, while I was indeed proud, it did give me a chance to pause for the cause.  I don’t think I’m alone. And I don’t say this because I feel freakishly abnormal and I just don’t want to be the only one.  I say this because in this society we don’t feel worthy unless we’re just busy.  Yet, this busy-ness only seems to perpetuate the feeling of not being good enough.  So we do more so that we can be/have more, and yet we end up feeling even less than.  There’s something wrong with this cycle here.  Think about it, we literally run the invisible human hamster wheel of life.  We are so busy striving, working, doing, and achieving, to get more, more, more.  We’re the Energizer bunny rabbits—we just keep going and going, yet I have to ask, are we really getting anywhere?

Somehow most of us have bought into this notion that we’re no good if we’re not DOING something.  We forget that we are human beings, not human doings.  And we deem lazy anyone who isn’t going or doing.  For many of us, it’s hard for us to just sit down and relax. I know I have a hard time just sitting and quieting my mind.  When I had my surgery a few weeks ago, I felt completely useless because I couldn’t DO things for myself as I normally do.  And maybe I’m overcompensating for the time I was benched due to my surgery because I feel like I haven’t taken a moment to just sit my arse down since my doctor gave me the all clear.  And the result is that I’m tired. I’m beyond tired.  And I think I’m paying for it right now.   I’m now coming down with something (cold or flu I’m not sure which), which I know is going to require me to saddown (which means I should have already been sitting down).

I get it. I really do.  We all want to matter.  We want to know that we’re doing something of value.  We want things.  Nice things.  We want to provide and sitting on the couch or lying down doesn’t make you feel like you’re close to any of that.  But if we’re honest, are we really getting anywhere in life?  We have bigger homes that we’ve filled with lots of stuff, which requires us to work harder and longer hours, yet we don’t have a lot of things that are truly valuable.  We have more technology that has allowed us to do so many things, yet we’re not connecting with one another.  In any given day, if you say you’ve talked to a friend or family member, did you really talk with them? Or did you text them, or Facebook them?  I for one think one of the greatest tragedies of life is that we’ve bought into this notion that we need all of this stuff in order to be happy, and that there is no other way to get this stuff without doing and becoming busy.  Then we get to the end of our lives only to realize that none of those things really made us happy and they really don’t mean as much as we once thought. 

I recently visited a friend and she was telling me about all the things that have been going on in her life for the past few months.  I can’t even remember everything she said but I know I was exhausted just listening to her tell me about all of it.  But towards the middle of it, she actually stopped and said, “I mean we’re always going.  But it’s not like I’m doing a lot. It just feels like it.” I think that’s how we’ve become accustomed to living.  We do a lot of driving, but we’re not really taking the time to enjoy the view (no, not Babs and the girls).  It’s a struggle to take that quiet time and recharge, but I know it’s necessary for my well being.  And when all is said and done, I want to know that for all the going I have done, I will be able to say that I have enjoyed the scenery. 

What say you?  Are you constantly on the go and not feeling like you’re getting anywhere? And where are you going? Do you even know the way to San Jose? (I love Dionne Warwick by the way!)

What Can I Say to You?

What I see today when I look at this girl is completely different than what I saw back  then.  How delicious it would have been if those eyes could have seen what I see.

I’m approaching my 34^th birthday this week.  I really don’t feel any way about it except grateful.  Perhaps a little bittersweet as I definitely wish my father were still here to witness me reach another year, as I think he’d be very pleased with present day Je’Niece.  But honestly, I’m not one of those women who’s intimidated by growing older.  I consider it a privilege.  And to be honest, I’m quite proud of who I am today. I feel the best I have ever felt in my life.  I am physically fit. I am definitely spiritually enlightened, and most of all, I think I have finally come to love myself.  I’ve always kept a journal and I’ve been going over my journals and I feel good about how far I’ve come.  I especially feel this good when I look at my ex husband, as just looking at him makes me think “Damn girl you were in a bad way huh?” and makes me want to create a time machine just to go back in time to give myself a much needed hug.  But I digress.  Anyway, I must admit, I do feel somewhat saddened by my younger self.  I know that we are all at every moment doing the best that we can so I’m not judging my younger self—not by a long shot.  But I have wondered what I would say to my younger self if I could go back in time and have a conversation with her.  I’ve actually thought about this and here are some of the things I think I’d say (in no particular order)

1.     I love you.  ‘Nuff said

2.     Stop being a perfectionist.  It’s just a sign of your fear.

3.     Since we’re talking about fear, let me just tell you that you’ll waste more of your life in fear than you will spend really living it if you don’t get out of your head.  And really, Roosevelt was right when he said there’s nothing to fear but fear itself.

4.     `Stop worrying about what other people have to say about you.  All the people who are saying you’re spoiled, etc. are really only saying they wish they had what you do

5.     Trust yourself.  You’re wiser than you recognize

6.     When you have your daughter, you will want to line up your momma, grandmamma aunts and all the women who walked before you and slap the sh*t outta all of them for never telling you the real deal about what motherhood brings

7.     In spite of what your dad instilled in you, it is entirely ok to change your mind.

8.     You will not be a failure for marrying a man you knew you wouldn’t have a good marriage with.  You were simply operating in fear, and once you know better, you will do better.

9.     You are beautiful.  If you don’t believe me, go look in a mirror and don’t walk away until you see your own beauty.

10.  The day is coming when you will question everything you have ever come to believe in.

11.  I know you won’t like this, but you should listen to your dad more often.  He really is right about a lot of things.

12. Stop worrying so much.  Everything works out exactly as it needs for your own well being.

13. You know your heart is in love with the arts so don’t waste your time going to school as a Biology Pre-Med major.  You’ll hate every moment of it.

14. Boundaries are a beautiful thing! Do not be afraid to implement them in your relationships

15. You are so much greater than you recognize.  Start recognizing it.

16. Please stop looking for other people to tell you you’re worthy.  Love yourself.  Once you do, everything else will fall into place.

17. Please stop looking for other people to tell you you’re worthy.  Love yourself.  Once you do, everything else will fall into place.

18. Failure is a man made construct.  So fearing failure just doesn’t make sense.  The only true failure is never trying.

I'm sure if I sat long enough this list could grow and grow, but I think this is sufficient for now.  But since I've showed you mine, why don't you show me yours?  What would you say to your former self if the two of you were ever allowed to meet?

To ask or not to ask for help; Is there really a Question?

       

                         " Asking for help does not mean we are weak or incompetent.  
                        It usually indicates an advanced level of honesty and intelligence."                                                              ~Anne Wilson Schaef

Well it’s official. 2012 is officially here.  Now I’m not sure if the predictions are correct and this will be the end of the world as we know it (whether it happens physically or spiritually), but I do know that with a new year comes the hope for new things, a renewed sense of motivation, and above all else, the resolutions. Oh yes . . . the resolutions.  Where we resolve to do the things we’ve never even tried to do before, or we vow to stop all of our bad habits, and become our bigger, better, brighter selves. I haven’t personally made a New Years resolution since I was a teenager. However, I love the way the Universe works.  It has a wonderful way of bringing the very things we need to work on to our attention. So while I didn’t exactly create a resolution, I did realize that there was something I need to work on.

Not sure how you spent your New Year’s. But I spent mine quietly and contemplatively.  I had a scheduled surgery that I can’t say I was really worried about, but I did have some concerns. I was told it was a “minimally invasive” surgery. However, my logic is anytime you’re being cut open and put under anesthesia, you are not being invaded minimally.  Thankfully, the procedure was successful and I am resting at home. But as I said, this experience made me realize that there was indeed something I need to work on.  This experience has brought a bad habit of mine to my attention; and that thing is that I need to do a better job of asking for help. 

I became aware that perhaps I might have a problem asking for help when I realized that I hadn’t specifically asked for help from anyone prior to my surgery.  I knew I would need some help recuperating, but I never asked anyone. If I relied on anyone for help, it would probably be my  best friend and god sis.  And to be honest, I actually didn’t want to rely on either.  I didn't want to rely on my bestie because she’s been dealing with her mom’s hospitalization for about a month. I didn’t want to feel like I was just another burden on her. I didn’t want to rely on my god sis because she’s young and on her winter break from school and I felt as if I was impeding her fun downtime process.  Then I just realized those were the excuses I was using so that I wouldn’t have to feel a certain way about asking for help because I hate that feeling. I hate the feeling I feel when I have to sit down and ask another human being for help.  I feel impotent and weak--as if I'm incapable.  And the reality is this time around, I really was incapable because all I could do after my surgery was lay down and sleep.  So I just realized that the ugly truth is that I hate asking for help because I hate the way it makes me feel.

Some of it is just who I am. I’m an introvert and an independent soul.  I suppose being an only child only enforced the independent streak.  I just naturally do things alone. Some of it has been ingrained in me since I was a youngster. My father constantly instilled in me that I need to have my own, stand on my own, be self sufficient, not rely on others.  And while I understand what he was trying to accomplish, and even appreciate his effort, I do wish the conditioning that has taken place had leveled off many moons ago.  I recognize now that no man is an island. And no matter how wonderful the island may be, it still needs more than a few inhabitants. 

But Je'Niece why do you find the feeling of asking for help so difficult?  My god sis asked me this when instead of asking her to bring me a bottle of water, I decided to waddle over to the water case myself and struggle to bend down to grab a bottle.  Clearly I must have looked ridiculous--seeing as how I’d just been cut on my abdomen, therefore unable to bend.  I was beyond struggling. I was in pain, yet instead of calling a flag on the play, I just kept trying to maneuver and re-maneuver myself--of course to no avail.   But did I give up? Never! I was caught, and not even red handed because my body was lame and unable to allow me to get away with the booty. After she had a deservingly hearty laugh at my expense, she asked,  “So you’d rather struggle than ask me for help?”  Wow . . . what a hummdinger of a question.  And sadly, the honest answer was yes.  As ridiculous as that sounds, it’s the truth. I would in most instances rather sink all on my own than have to ask another person for help and as I write these words, I recognize how trivial and silly that is. 

I’m still not really sure if I feel weak for having to ask for help, or if I just want to prove to myself that I’m a big girl who can do it all by myself. Either way, I need to get over myself and open my mouth. As the saying goes, “Closed mouths don’t get fed.” There is no way that I can make it in this world all by myself.  I know that even in the moments that I have felt alone, I really wasn’t operating alone. I did this to myself after my dad's passing.  I was in pain, struggling to breathe, yet I didn't open my mouth and say a word.  I struggled for air until I almost gave up my ghost and I thought I'd learned my lesson then.  I guess I gained the knowledge, but I know enough to know that the knowledge alone is not enough. Now is the time for me to prove that I do indeed know this by operating in a higher capacity. As Oprah reminds us, Maya Angelou has wisely said, “When you know better, you do better.”  It’s time for me to let go of foolish pride and ego and remember that weakness doesn’t lie in asking for help, it lies in the refusal.  If I plan to get anywhere in this life I live, I had better start opening my mouth and wisely and boldly asking for help.

Family and Relatives are not the same thing!

When I was younger, my father would find random moments to teach and philosophize with me about life, or as he called it, to spit venom. A simple request to go to the store could be met with "Let me tell you this", as he would then proceed to give me whatever was the lesson of the day. He would even tell me, "You may not understand what I'm saying to you right now. But one day you'll look back on things and you'll see." Well of course, tiring of him always being right, I vowed that I would never understand. And I swore to uphold that vow until my dying day. But today, I am happy to admit that I was so wrong.  My father was right. I do understand. I understand a lot of what he said to me and what he tried to instill in me.  One of the most memorable is one I've just recently learned. And one I thought made him so cold, but I now know better. And that is that family and relatives are not the same thing!

My father's version of this lesson went something like this: "Don't get caught up in the titles of folks.  Just cause somebody is your family doesn't mean they have your back.  Family will do you worse than a stranger on the street." Yikes! Sounds harsh doesn't it? I certainly thought so. I couldn't fathom someone in my family not being happy for me, not supporting me, or being there for me. Until one day, I found myself having to face this very truth. There are more than a few family members who I learned did not want the best for me. They are not happy for me when things go well for me, and they actually seem happy if things don't work out in my favor. The experience left me shell shocked because it went against everything that I thought I knew. I felt robbed. I felt cheated. I had been had, hoodwinked, bamboozled, and well you know the rest.  I went into victim mode: "How could they?" And I really did wonder how could they.  I certainly hadn't done anything to them.  I lamented over my pain and let my heart bleed. I picked at the scabs on my bleeding heart just so that it would bleed again.  I did this for a while until one day, I found myself surrounded by a group of wonderful people who were encouraging, supporting, and nurturing. They praised me where I was strong and offered loving reproof where I was weak. A couple of them have been around for many years and others were new additions to my life, but they shared the same thing: they all genuinely love me. I looked around and I I heard my father's voice telling me "I told you!".  I believe Oprah would call it my "Aha moment". I got the lesson: Family and relatives are not the same thing!! Oh!! So I've had it wrong all this time? So it takes more than a shared genetic link to make someone your family member? Having the same last name does not a family make?  Being born into a group does not necessarily make that group a family?  If not, then what does make someone your family? Well, as I mentioned of my group, a family is a group of people who come together in the name of love. And when I say love, I don't mean merely in words. I mean in action. It is very easy to tell someone you love them, but if you are not acting in love, those words are in vain.  Such is the case with my relatives. Family is the group of people who seek to understand you, love you, offer you support and encouragement, help when they see you need it and loving reproof to help you become better. 

Now sometimes, some of your relatives are also your family members.  But there are those relatives who just are not your family. And the thing is, that's ok. I know this is the time of year when we focus on love and family and some of us feel bad because we don't like being around relatives, or maybe we don't have too many family members to gather around. But if you have a group of people who you know love you and have your back, you can rest assured that you have a family. And sometimes those people won't have your last name or genetic link. And again, that's ok. Whether your group is as large as the multitude that Jesus fed, or as small as a party of 2, you have a family.  Most times, your family won't look the way you imagined.  (I certainly know mine doesn't.)  And while they may not be relatives, a family is much better than a group of relatives any day.