Striking a Balance

Sometimes I struggle with the reconciliation of being both a woman who can stand on her own and handle hers while being one that is vulnerable and with whom a man can feel like an asset. My mother wasn't always breathing down my neck about how important it was to be strong and independent and take care of yourself. She didn't have to. She exuded it. And she admits that this may have been done to a fault, a result of her being forced to grow up at a young age and take care of herself. But the very idea of strength is something I’ve always associated with her. So I got that education just by paying attention. (Incidentally, I learned how to brush my teeth and cook in the same fashion).

But the speech I would get ad nauseam? ALL of the many things a man should do where I was concerned. I think that she's always been so afraid that I'll repeat her mistakes, that there’s been a sense of desperation in making me aware of all the positives, pitfalls and red flags. Still, it drove me crazy. (I hate repetition. Tell me once and I'm good. Anymore than that and you're on my nerves). Once, when I was 16, I went on a double date with my boyfriend at the time, his cousin and a friend of mine. When it was over, my boyfriend and his cousin left, in their car, with my friend and I waiting for my mom to come pick us up. When she got there and discovered that the guys had not only left, but did so in a car that they didn't use to drop us both off, she was livid. I heard about it all the way home, and then for a while after that. "You're a diamond," she would say. "Never let a man treat you like cubic zirconia."

I wasn't allowed to pick guys up. If we were going out, I couldn't be the one to drive. If we wanted to hang out, he had to figure out a way to get to me and how to get home. I couldn't be the one always trying to arrange outings or make things happen. Let him pursue. Let him plan. Let him do for you. I could never set a precedent where I was doing more or was more invested then he was. I found a lot of it extreme and biased, based on her experiences. Either way, it all stuck. But as I've gotten older, I've learned to appreciate it more, even if it has made things more complicated.

In my head I hear her rattling off these commandments I'm supposed to abide by, but then I can also see her - years of buying all the Christmas presents, but putting two names on the cards, or packing up whole houses and moving an entire family all by herself - and I’m confused. How do I merge the Independent Woman and “Cater 2 U” girl into one seamless package? I've yet to come up with a sensible answer.

I open my own doors. I'm always a little thrown off when a guy pulls out my chair.  I've approached a guy and asked him for his number several times in the past.I'm not looking for anyone's money. I take care of my own battles. (Only once did I ask a guy to take over a conflict for me. Yes, he handled it better than I ever could have and I was grateful, but I hated not being able to). I give off the "Candace can handle it" vibe by very nature of how I grew up and I tend to leave a guy feeling like he serves no real purpose…or so I’ve been told. I'm not looking for a knight in shining armor.

But then there's the flip side.

I like it better when you're the one to plan where we're going. I'm almost always happy with whatever the plan is, simply because you're the one who planned it. (This is not to say that I'm not good for an outing or coming up with an idea for us). I want you to be the one walking closest to the curb. I prefer if you drive. You should wait for me to go through a door before you attempt to. I'll open it for myself, but if you don’t wait until I'm done going through it, you’re a douche and I'm annoyed. I'll cry in front of you before I'll do it in front of my friends. When I'm sick, I want the soup and the tea and the care and attention. And when you do it, I'm thrilled. Something as small as recognizing that I haven't eaten all day, and picking a restaurant and a menu for me to choose from, goes an incredibly long way. I send the message that a man's presence is not only wanted, but needed. I'm looking for a knight in shining armor.

See why this is problematic?

I'm a sensitive thug, if you will. But I imagine that if all the inconsistency gives me a headache, it has got to do the same for someone else. I can't let you eat all of my food for ten months, but then get pissed during the eleventh one when you refuse to pitch in or help pay for some of it, when I didn't ask you to all along. Or cry on your shoulder, but then forget that you're walking with me, speed up and leave you behind. It's one extreme or the other. I'm looking for a happy medium.

I was told to be open and possess some level of vulnerability and sensitivity. But I was raised to be capable and self-reliant. And so, dear void, I am figuring out a way to be both, where the two can complement each other.

Making Me Crazy

"But maybe I'm crazy,

Maybe you're crazy,

Maybe we're crazy,

Probably." - Gnarls Barkley, "Crazy"

Because I'm not always so into tradition or protocol, we'll start off with the moral of the story: Good people of the void, don't insult your people's intelligence by feeding them bullsh*t. If they're smart and actually know you, they'll see through it and be offended. And if they're actually dumb or just don't know you well enough to fall for it, and you know this and take advantage of it, you lose an infinite number of cool points.

Recently had a conversation with a friend. The conversation revealed something rather important to me about how he sees me, especially in comparison to how I see him. He wasn't trying to be hurtful, just his usual upfront self, but what he said hurt. A lot. Every now and then, someone will say something to me and I'll get the sensation that I've just been sucker punched in the stomach. The wind is knocked out of me. I'm a little nauseous. (I tend to not let that many people in, so it doesn't happen all that often. I'm thinking that if I did, the shock value would decrease, but that's an issue for another day). But yeah, he punched me in the stomach. The conversation reached a halt very soon after. On my end, I couldn't very well be doubled over AND still be an active participant. And he knew. (Oke used to tell me all the time that you can't get a read for emotion through text messaging or online communication. I didn't believe that then, and I still don't now. When you talk to someone all the time, you begin to get a feel for them and their moods, even if there are many miles and various electronic devices between you. Plus, I'm not all that good at masking my feelings, so figuring out that somethin ain't quite right isn't calculus. [Calculus and I, or numbers in any format for that matter and I, have never been very close.]) So like I said, he knew. He usually does. So maybe that's why he stopped talking in return.

This kept on for almost two days. Not a significant amount of time under normal circumstances, but umm, we talk to each other like we get paid to do so, so yeah, it was strange. I was still a little nauseous, but I couldn't take it anymore, so I spoke up. I'm know I'm changing because I used to be Queen of the Freeze Out. Once one of my oldest friends had done something to really piss me off. I didn't speak to her for six months. Charge it to growth and maturity and all those other words that mean you're less screwed up than you used to be, but for the life of me, I just can't do it anymore. I LOATHE conflict. I'd rather lose face and be the one to speak, then to exist in some space where there's some underlying problem or general weirdness. I can't decide if that particular newfound quality is something I hate or love. Anyway, his silence puzzled me. Wasn't I the offended party? When I asked as much, it was met with "shock." Or at least what was supposed to be shock. I even got an "Excuse Me?" AND a denial of having done anything wrong. And then he was ready to just carry on, per usual.

C'mon son.

Didn't I say that I grew up in dysfunction on steroids? You think I don't know what crazy making is when I see it? Hear it? Smell it from 800 miles away? Puhleaze. I'm pretty sure I'm related to the man who invented it.

Now granted this is the wateriest of severely watered down crazy making cases, but still. Don't do me like I'm making it all up in my head. That your decision to not speak for two days was a mere coincidence and you got just super busy. I don't believe in those kinds of coincidences. And I don't particularly care for them being passed off as such either. Before it was just a sucker punch. This was a slap. And I've got a pretty good face. I can't afford to be hit in it.

So like I said, don't insult your people's intelligence. If they are actually even somewhat in tune with who you are, it won't work. And if they aren't, it's just triflin. Be upfront. Tell the truth...all the time...not just when it's convenient or easy.

Love them, but the fellas make my head hurt sometimes.

Getting There

"Searchin for that feeling, tell me where is the magic?
Let's stay together 'til we're ghosts
I want to witness love, I never seen it close."  - Drake, "Fireworks"

Tonight I had to attend an event for work, honoring the "Top Doctors" of New Jersey. In comes this Black couple. They were smiling as they entered. They went to hang their coats and were smiling and holding hands when they returned. They were doing the same when they left. Black love - quiet, intimate and amazing to watch. And did I mention that SHE was the Top Doctor, that they were there for her? Hubby wasn't busy whispering hurtful words in her ear, snapping at her everytime she said something or looking irritated by having to be where he was. There was no resentment, or any that I could see, over her success. He just looked proud, and very into his woman.

Right now my life is full of divorced parents who spent the majority of their time together in utterly miserable states, females who have the sense, but not the strength, to not sleep with guys with girlfriends, clueless women in "relationships" with guys who just aren't that into them, men who want your friend and then you when your friend's not looking, girls driven to obsession and borderline swimfan status over guys who use their desperation as a source of entertainment - the list could go on. And maybe it's just the age we're at or the company I keep, but these are the things I hear of and see on the regular. There is no romanticism, no grand gestures or overwhelmingly chivalrous moments, nothing said that makes someone blush through their melanin, and certainly no love. And it's usually not even something I think about. It just...is.

But that couple seems to have removed me, temporarily at least, from my world of the romantically jaded. They were refreshing; watching them be in love with each other was beautiful. It made me wish I could swap out some of the poor choices and hurt feelings for minor PDA and loving someone so much it radiates through your pores. Hmm...maybe that last one is asking for too much too soon. How about just a really nice date with a really nice guy that makes you smile when you think about him, to start?

I know that I'll get there. I also know, or at least pray, that all the people I just put on secret blast (I realize this is an oxymoron, but this is my space, so deal) will too. I refuse to believe that we'll exist like this forever. But in the meantime, shout out to that happy, smiling couple fom earlier. I need them to hold me down until I can catch up.

Gratitude

Every so often my cousin starts the fam and some friends back on this daily email exchange. “Gratitude” gets written in the subject line and we write just that. Things we’re grateful for on that particular day, for whatever reason. It’s great, especially for someone like me, who has gone through a most interesting past year and a half. There’s always something I could complain about. I’m not where I want to be in a myriad of ways – geographically, spiritually, professionally, romantically, the list goes on. But I’m safe and comfortable and things could be much worse, and have been in the past. So for today, here’s my own personal “Gratitude” list.

A job. I get up every morning, blast whatever music I’m into that day and drive to work. I get paid enough to pay my tithes, my car note, and keep my hair done. (Not a lot of money for too much else, but at least I can drive around with my ‘do hooked even if I’m broke. Ha!) I’ve made friends with some very cool 20-somethings who keep me laughing and make the day go by faster. Not to mention that we’ve identified like 6 legit characters from "The Office" and that one of these 20-somethings has OCD and is literally from Scranton, PA. It doesn’t get much better than that. And there’s the routine and consistency. Everyday, I know where I’m going and there’s never the potential of being socked by a pre-teen and landing in the hospital. Which is wonderful.

An education. And the intellect to prove that all this book-learnin’ hasn’t been a waste of time and monies. Living in Montclair, the dichotomy between the educated and uneducated is scary and disheartening. You either went Ivy League after high school or had a bunch of babies, with very little in-between. I always did well because, umm….that’s just what you did. I didn’t even think about it. But I’m glad I did.

Friends. Who feel more like family. No one knows as well as I do that good friends, female ones especially, are extremely hard to come by. I’ve got the stories to prove it. But I can honestly say that I’ve got a handful of people that I can count on, for anything. Zach will pray for me in a second. (He’ll also make you touch and agree via computer for plane tickets, but I digress). Oke will run across campus through locked doors to get to me when I call having a panic attack. He listens and gets angry in my defense like a boyfriend, even though he was let off the hook long ago. Dr. Courtney will diagnose any ailment, listen to any problem and provide the love and advice needed, even if the problem is completely insane and self-inflicted. She never judges. Zetta is and will always be the best big sister ever. She offers sage wisdom with tact and a smile, gave me a fake ID to party when I was underage, a place to sleep when I had to be out of the crib, and kept me company when I was  handicapped. She makes me feel confident in myself even when I don't. The list goes on, and I can only hope that I’m half as good to them as they are to me.

Mr. Jones. He came back around at a very interesting time and in a capacity I could never have predicted. No idea how to fully identify him other than as….Mr. Jones. He’s an enigma, in a class all by himself, mostly because he put himself there, but in possession of all the bravado, brilliance and charm necessary to maintain his placement. He listens, offers insight and sympathizes with, we debate, poke fun and laugh at each other, etc. He makes me feel safe even when he's nowhere near me. He has become a constant, which I can appreciate even more so than his ability to keep up with my pop culture references, random musings and endless questions. He's not perfect, but he is rather amazing. But don’t tell him I said so. I'll just deny it.

Adam. I put money on the fact that my little brother is cooler and more composed than anyone you know. We grew up in dysfunction on steroids, but with all of what I had to deal with, I still think he might’ve had it worse. He was younger and saw a lot more, both in and outside of the family. But he is so strong and confident and smart. Fly. Not easily rattled. Loves hard. Genuine. Heart of gold. Bomb collection of music and J’s. In a lot of ways, I’d like to be like him when I grow up.

Gayl. Because she’s Gayl. World-class mother…who I can now drink wine with. What’s not to love? She’s that Black woman in poems and movies. The strength to deal with more than she should’ve ever had to, and the love and laughter to make it difficult to believe that she’d ever dealt with anything at all. No further explanation needed.

Fellow writers. Who make me want to pick up a pen because reading their words remind me how good it feels to do so. I swear, there are very few things that provide as good a feeling.

And rapper-at-the-end-of-an-acceptance-speech-style: I'd like to thank God, withot whom I wouldn't be here to be thankful for anything. I kid, but it's true.