Body Aches

My body aches.

My body aches, my head hurts, & my heart cries 'cause I can't process it all:

Nonsensical killings.
Police brutality.
White fear being unleashed on black bodies. legally. lawfully. immorally.
unchecked.  unseen by news outlets.
invisible crimes perpetrated on invisible lives.

Bloated bellies atop Mountains being painted red from the blood of beheaded boys and girls.

It's easier to ignore, I know, than to bother to read the lengthy atrocious accounts.  It's easier to open up People Magazine to see what North West is wearing than to look at the little black girl in Missouri who is terrified by the armed policeman outside her apartment.  It's easier to laugh at a Robin Williams' movie and focus on the torture of one individual than that of thousands.

I know.  I get it.  You don't want your body to ache, your head to hurt, or your heart to cry.

Birthday Confessions

August 29^th ushered in another year of life for me, and I’m not afraid to admit that I see my body changing.  When I turned 25, I noticed that my body’s natural lean was disappearing, and that the only way to make it reappear was to torture my body with consistent gym workouts.  Since then I have watched black hairs turn grey, (sometimes overnight), noticed small lines around my mouth, and observed teeny tiny black marks plop themselves on my face, foreshadowing where moles will emerge.

But I’m not upset about any of it.  It’s a sign that I’m growing up, proof that my body is maturing, just like the rest of me.  It suggests that perhaps a little bit of wisdom resides in my no-longer-twenty-one-year-old body.  What I’m upset with is what I didn’t know about aging; I’m upset about all of the stuff that people didn’t tell me.

I didn’t know that grey hair can come as early as your mid-to-late twenties…until it happened to me.  Turns out that most people either dye their hair or get cellophanes to cover these hairs, which is what I did this year for the first time. (The TV camera doesn’t like grey on people who aren’t “old.”)  And it was only a few years ago that someone told me that some women become slightly incontinent after birthing children.  As the older women in my life experience menopause, I’m learning that hot flashes aren’t the only symptoms; Thinning hair and fatigue are too.

Last week, while typing away on my laptop, I caught a few minutes of ABC’s The View.  In the middle of the show, Whoopi Goldberg laughed and then said, “Whew!  I just had a hot flash. My underwear are drenched!”  I laughed and appreciated Whoopi’s honesty.  Who says stuff like that?  And on TV?

As I mature in age, especially as a woman who works in entertainment, I wanna appreciate all of the changes and be honest about them, so that the women who come after me can embrace these changes when they experience them, and tell themselves, “Happy Birthday, Girl!  You’ve earned every year.”

Mullings on an American Holiday

It's unfortunate that the most I think about veterans and the men and women who have fought and died for my country is when I watch reruns of the TV show, Army Wives. But this weekend, I made a conscious effort to really think about how much U.S. veterans have sacrificed on my behalf.

Although I've never personally known anyone who's died in war, I thought about families who have, and for the first time realized that for them, Memorial Day is not about barbeques, beach picnics, and a day off work. To them it's a day of remembering a slain life.  While we spend the day with our loved ones, they spend the day grieving the loss of theirs.  And while we bring sodas to picnics, they bring flowers to gravesites. 

The disparity is unfair, yet real, like war itself.

This Memorial Day, may you remember not just those who were slain, but those who were left to mourn them.

Hoodie or no Hoodie?

I first learned about the Trayvon Martin murder not on NBC news, or CNN, or any major news channel. I first heard about his death via facebook.  Some of my friends were posting about it, and that number grew exponentially day by day.  But I noticed something odd:   only my black friends were posting about his death. None of my Asian, or white, or other friends mentioned it. I wondered why.

As the weeks progressed, more details about the incident emerged…

The 911 called showed George Zimmerman telling the operator that Trayvon was black. Why did it matter? Was he racial profiling?

Perhaps… but NBC later announced that one of its producers had edited the 911 tape so that it seemed that Zimmerman offered Trayvon’s race voluntarily, when in fact he had been asked by the operator.

During the last two months, before any charges were filed, a trial emerged in the court of public opinion.   Zimmerman’s relatives issued statements, civil rights groups called press conferences and organized rallies.  Facebook users posted pics of themselves in hoodies, and sermons about the need for justice were delivered in black churches throughout the country. 

Through it all, I haven’t known what to do.  Should I post a picture of myself in a hoodie to show my stance against injustice, like many of my friends?  Was choosing not to turning a blind eye to injustice?   

I decided that I didn’t know enough to snap a pic of myself donned in a hoodie.  Instead, I decided to read about the killing, and to pray—for the Martin family, and for the hearts of those disillusioned by justice that is often elusive to those in black bodies.

I don’t know what happened the day that Trayvon Martin was killed, but I do know there is great room for suspicion and alarm when an unarmed teenage boy is shot dead.

Curiosity Killed the Culture

It fascinates me that in today’s culture, we feel that almost everything we need to learn, or see, or read, is just one click away.  Need a new book? Click on Amazon to buy it.  Or, click (or touch) on your Kindle to order it there.  Want a new hairstyle? Upload a pic of your face and click to see what new styles will (and won’t) go with the shape of your head.  Dissatisfied with your church? Most churches have websites now, so a new faith community is only a click away as well!

As clicking offers a convenience never before known, and we can easily click from our desktops, laptops, netbooks, phones, and other devices, I’ve started to think that perhaps I should give a little more thought to what I choose to click.  If you’re an avid reader like me, then you probably often scour the Internet, facebook, and perhaps even a real, live newspaper, for your news.  And you’ve probably, like me, noticed a trend in today’s news—that there isn’t much news in it anymore.  Sure, there are lots of stories, stories broadcast 24-7 via cable news channels and web outlets, but a lot of them are stories about celebrities—what they said, did, wore, or conjecture about all three.  (January and February are big months for this, especially due to all of the awards shows.)  What I am not saying that all of these stories should be banned—that none of them are newsworthy.  What I am saying is that in today’s culture, what the news media and advertisers choose to publish and broadcast is based on what we choose to click on.  If we choose to click on a story that discusses the famine in the Sudan, then more advertising dollars go to the site that published that article, and if we choose to click on the story that shows the picture of Beyonce and Jay-Z’s daughter, then TMZ gets those advertising dollars.

Resultantly, news editors begin to say that no one cares about stories about the Sudan (or stories about Africa, or stories about war, or famine), and before you know it, the only time we have the option to click on a story about the Sudan is if Beyonce decides to visit it, because that will be deemed newsworthy.  As our culture moves to in-taking most of its news (and everything else) from the Internet, I encourage you to think before you click.  Is the story, or video, or picture that you are about to click something that you think the world needs more of?  Less of?  Do you really need to satisfy your curiousity, or can you choose to click on something else—something more uplifting, something more important.

From first-hand experience, I know that it’s hard to resist clicking on things that you know won’t at all add to your intellectual capital. (I did it when I clicked on the picture of Blue Ivy Carter. She is beautiful, just like her mama.)  But I’ve been making it a point, as a reader and as an emerging writer, to consider the power that I exercise with each click.

One of my friends—a wife, mother, and writer, recently lost her son Logan to cancer.  She decided to document their family’s journey through a blog.  Here is a link to her tribute to him:  http://voices.yahoo.com/tribute-big-hearted-little-hero-10971802.html

Please click on it, and if you find it important, pass it on to others who might feel the same.

King Day Every Day?

Today I had every intention of celebrating the life and legacy of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. by doing something special to commemorate him.  I planned on going to a museum to learn more about the Civil Rights Movement, or viewing a play written in his honor, or perhaps singing Negro spirituals in my bedroom. I didn’t want today to feel like just another day off.  But none of this happened.  I ended up going out to brunch with a friend in Los Feliz, I drove to an audition in Beverly Hills, I went shopping for sweaters at Marshalls (where I wished the black saleswoman a Happy King Day), and I ended the day by making crafts with my good friend Larissa. It hardly felt like a celebration of Dr. King’s life, and honestly, how I spent the day didn’t seem noteworthy for such a significant day.

But as I began to think about Dr. King’s life, and how I could emulate his sacrifice in my own life, I realized that my life is a reflection of Dr. King’s dream.  For the last two years, I have worked for a non-profit that teaches youth (primarily those who are economically disadvantaged and ethnic minorities) how to find success in school and business. Each week, I send role models of every hue and color into classrooms, where they teach young Latino and black kids.  And when I visit these classrooms, I stand in front of the students as a college-educated African American woman who can show them from experience that opportunity and success are within their reach, despite their color and class.

Tonight I realized that when I find myself in front of the camera as a spokesperson or actor (my side-hustle), representing a local company or a national corporation, I am living out King’s dream.   

Dare I say that even today I lived out King’s dream?  The friend whom I had brunch with is Chinese-American, and we ate at a restaurant with mostly white patrons, and no one blinked when we walked in.  And when I went to purchase my discounted sweaters at Marshall’s, I didn’t have to stand in a separate line. Also, the friend whom I made crafts with—Larissa—she’s married to a white man named Steve, and their son, like so many children in the U.S. today, is bi-racial.

Dr. King’s work changed everything.

 am privileged to celebrate his life, not just today, but every day.

A True Facebook Friend

Technology has changed more than how we communicate with each other; It has changed the composition of our relationships. Facebook has caused me to really think about what makes someone a friend, and what characteristics friend display--in cyberspace and beyond. Wondering if your facebook friends are real friends? The following are signs that he/she just might be a bonafide friend:

•  They post the pictures that you took together.
•  They only tag you in photos that are appropriate for your co-workers and family to view.
• They "like" your status updates, regularly.
• They don't hesitate to comment on your updates.
• They are often one of the first to comment on your posts.
• They take the time to send you messages, versus only posting to your wall.
• You don't hear about major events in their life via facebook first; They tell you directly.
• When you're out with them, they don't disclose your location via Foursquare because they value your privacy. 
• They don't need facebook to remind them that's it your birthday. They already know it.

Post this link on the pages of everyone you consider to be your true facebook friends...

No, not really. True facebook friends don't pass on cheesy messages and ask you to repost to prove your friendship fidelity.

Lifelong Learners

Tonight, I was faced with a question:  What do you do when it feels like you're trying to put out a raging fire, but you all you have is a squirt gun?

That's how I felt tonight while tutoring two siblings. They are years behind and falling further and further behind each day.  I tutor them only a few hours a month, but they need much more than that, and more help than I can offer them.  I am not one to quit, but I question my effectiveness.  Last month, a local elementary principal told me, "If a kid doesn't know how to read by the 4th grade, he/she is almost guaranteed to drop out." My students are in 4th and 5th grade, and they struggle with reading and comprehension.

I know that I can't rid our nation of its high drop out rates. I pray that I can, however, help two bright kids beat the odds and love to learn.

Imagine

Sometimes, I wonder what our culture would be like if things were different--if we as individuals and as a society became disoriented, and then oriented--anew.

What if we valued time with friends more than our facebook chats with them?  What if we valued time with our familes more than making extra money for them through overtime?  What if we valued women's natural bodies over the photoshopped ones plastered on the covers of magazines?  What if we valued patience more than convenience?  Working hard more than playing hard?  Justice over retribution?  What is we valued our relationships more than being proven right in them?  What if we valued healthy eating over just grabbbing what's convenient while on the go?  What if we truly valued and esteemed a woman's decision to be a stay-at-home mom?  What if we valued God's Word over our opinions?  What if we valued equality in gender differences versus exalting one gender above the other?  What if we valued giving over getting?  Giving more than loaning?  What if?

Growing Something New

I am growing a small herb garden. Well, actually I am trying to grow a small herb garden. I say "trying" because I am not at all sure if I am doing it correctly. Where's a mentor when you need one? I know that there is a lot of information on the Internet, yes thousands of pages devoted to teaching overwhelmed stay-at-home moms and retired persons how to become semi-professional horticulturalists, but I learn best by seeing and then doing. I miss the days where you learned how to do something by learning from someone who had mastered it. I want someone to be my apprentice.

So, like I said, I started this garden. It's new. It's so new that it hasn't even seen daylight because it was planted thirty minutes ago. I'd like to share a few things that struck me as I planted.

First, I was amazed at how teeny, tiny the seeds were. I mean you could mistake them for drops of dirt if you didn't know better. If I saw them on my kitchen counter, I would undoubtedly think that they were crumbs, wondering which of my housemates had failed to wipe off the counter... Holding the seeds in my hands carefully, so that they didn't fall, it was hard to fathom that herbs and plants could spring forth from things so miniscule in size.

With joyful visions of basil and oregano filled dishes dancing in my head, my excitement began to wane once I read how long it would take for them to grow. I wouldn't see any results for 1 1/2 to 2 months! Now while I recognized logically that this is not a long time, I was disappointed emotionally. I wanted an herb garden NOW! And if not now, then at least in two weeks!

Although still fairly young and definitely young at heart, I consider myself to be "old school." I like R&B more than rap, and I prefer having Ebony magazine delivered to me versus reading it online. But I felt like I was acting like one of my adolescent students when I became frustrated that something that takes months to cultivate wasn't happening instantaneously. I guess I'm not as mature as I thought.

Now I realize that this garden will require a new kind of patience, and maybe even a little perseverance. I say perseverance because I know myself. I will water the seeds day after day wondering if anything is  happening. After three weeks, I will question if I planted them properly.   Did I space them out enough?  After four weeks, I may allow myself to be convinced that I did something wrong. By week five, I will be tempted to abort my mission, convinced that I should focus on projects where success is guaranteed--like writing an article or performing before a packed auditorium.

Yes, all of this might transpire because I feel like I don't know what I'm doing. I've never done this before, and so I'm doubtful (yet still hopeful) about success. Perhaps this is because vestiges of perfectionism linger in my being, like microscopic leeches waiting to deplete the joy from my life.

I need a little faith. Not a lot, just a little. I know that one seed of faith, although small in size, will be great in presence.

My prayer for my garden is that it grows to provide nourishment for my friends and family. My prayer for myself is that God would grow my faith as I follow Him into new ventures, producing fruit from now until eternity.

What I Miss About Our Pre-9/11 World

Yesterday marked the ten year anniversary of one of the saddest days in U.S. history, the September 11 terrorist attacks.  It's hard to believe that ten years have passed. I remember getting ready for work Monday, September 11, 2001, stopping suddenly as I watched the Twin Towers collapse in smoke and fire on TV.  I remember my eyes being glued to the screen.  I remember speaking to close friends, just happy to have contact with those I loved.  And I remember praying.

But more memorable than the day itself is the aftermath that ensued. Life in the United States hasn’t been the same since the attacks, and life will never be the same. Here is a list of what I miss about our pre-9/11 world.

I Miss:

• Being able to walk loved ones up to their airport gates to say goodbye.
• The word “terrorist” being a nebulous term heard only when discussing distant countries, versus one I hear frequently at home.
• Free meals on airplanes.
• Knowing that my Indian, Pakistani, and other brown skinned friends can travel without the public fearing that they are terrorists.
• Being able to take a full tube of toothpaste through security.
• Having September 11 feel like every other day in September.

I Owe You!

Everyone’s been talking about the U.S.’s credit rating spiraling from an AAA to an AA rating. Stocks have slipped; People are fearful. But what does going from an AAA credit rating to an AA rating really mean?

Well, I’ve come up with my own personal answers:

 

Going from AAA to AA is like going from driving a lamborghini to driving a BMW.

It’s like going from living in your own house to living in a townhouse.

It’s like going from being the Principal to being the Vice Principal.

It’s like being downgraded from bff to facebook friend.

It’s like scoring second place, from now on.

It’s like going from being totally reliable to usually reliable.

 

Let’s put it this way—I was about to invest in some new stock last week, but held off because of the new rating.

It means you’re going to lose money because you’re not trusted as much, and that sucks.

 

 

 

 

 

A Little 'Ole Thing Called LOVE!

I'd dare to call it the 8th wonder of the world--this four letter word that is talked about and written about in more books, movie, and loves songs more than nearly every other word, except one big three letter word.


Recently, I had the pleasure of seeing one of my closest friends get married, and the honor of standing by her side as she pledged her love to her betrothed.  While celebrating that beautiful 4th of July weekend with her and a loving consortium of family and friends, flown in from around the world, I began to ponder marriage, and what makes a strong marriage.  How do two become one and stay one forever?


As I look around at the high divorce rates in the U.S., I know that being in love just isn't enough.  Romantic feelings ebb and flow, like the tide; While indicative, they can't be relied upon. 


Is choosing to love one another the key? (Choosing to give, when you're tired of giving, being kind when you want to be curt, being selfless in your service?)  Is a successful marriage dependent on both partners living out this choice?


Some folks would argue that our ability to love unselfishly is a result of the agape (unconditional) love that God displays towards us, and that a strong marriage is built on this.


As someone who is still single and naturally a marriage expert, I believe that the mundaneness of marriage can be infused with marriage's magic when all three are in place.


Ebony and Dedric,


I wish you a wonderful life together. May you always be in love, choose love, and love God's way.  And may your love for one another be eclipsed only by your love for GOD.


Love,
Chante

Ten Years In the Making

Osama Bin Laden dead?  I felt like the last to know.  While the story of the decade broke on national news channels,  international news outlets, and facebook, I was baking chicken.   When I emerged from the kitchen, after a nearly three hour date with my oven, it seemed as if everything had shifted. Bin Laden was dead?  Yes, and America was reacting.

Some, like myself, exhaled an elongated sigh of relief, grateful that the search was over, and hopeful that it would signal the end of myriad wars, some sketchy from their inception.

Other people displayed their excitement by ululating shouts of joy.  Others gathered in the streets, waving the U.S.A. flags clenched in their tightened fists. Some even threw parties.  Reactions varied, but were strong.

But as celebrations have ensued, and presidential approval ratings have improved, I have been left feeling more un-American than ever.  I see no cause to celebrate death upon death.  I see no point in celebrating "justice" after injustice.  Do I think it's better that Bin Laden is dead rather than alive to continue to kill? Absolutely.  But I can't rejoice.  I can't today. I won't ten years from now.

Dinosaur Dynasties

The other night, I felt disappointed while watching the nightly news.  The newscaster was reporting an event that had happened two days before, and the story felt stale and almost irrelevant as a result.  Ten years ago, reporting a story two days later wouldn’t have seemed problematic, but in 2011 it is.  I couldn’t help but feel that that news program, like many institutions created decades ago is old, outdated, and headed for extinction.  Here’s a partial list of institutions, inventions, and ways of living that are on their way to the cemetery:

• The local evening news
• The Yellow Pages
• Home land lines
• Plastic grocery bags
• Paper newspapers
• C.D.s
• Gas Guzzling S.U.V.s
• Books
• Speaking only one language
• Magazines
• Handwriting?

R.I.P.

It's Only An Emergency!

Here’s another driver’s confession: Tonight I was driving to church when I heard the slight sound of sirens. I looked in my rearview mirror and saw an ambulance, far away, but approaching.  I won’t need to pull over for a little bit, I thought, still driving.  So, I kept driving, and it kept coming.  After about a minute I did need to pull over, but then I thought.  Do I really need to pull to the side?  Couldn’t I just stop in this middle lane?  Surely the ambulance could still get by.  Quite a few other drivers must have thought this too, cause I saw only the car in front of me pull to the right, (and I followed suit).

In that moment I witnessed insensitivity that is disappointingly familiar.  How could we—I—be so insensitive to the needs of whoever was in that ambulance or about to be placed in that ambulance?

A city creature, I have become so accustomed to seeing and hearing ambulances, police cars, and fire trucks that the experience doesn’t carry any emotional weight to me anymore. When my pupils are dilated by the flashing red lights, I don’t think about the person or people who might be saved by the paramedics on board.  I don’t think “emergency.”  I think "inconvenience."

Tonight, though, was a self-inflicted slap to the face.  I don’t want to be the selfish driver who thinks only of herself.  I want to be willing to miss a light, or a turn, or a freeway exit if it means health and safety for someone.  And I want to do it without thinking about it, as instinctively as a mama bear protects her cubs.

So from now on my name shall be “Mama Bear Chante.”

It's SO Easy!

Reebok’s ad for its new EasyTone tennis shoes caught my eye on TV last night. Like SKECHERS Shape Ups, these shoes promise to help strengthen your legs, while increasing tone in your legs, thighs, and butt. Only they’re cuter. “Ooh!” I thought immediately. “Maybe I should get some.”




Then, just as quickly, another part of me countered with, “Here’s another product to help me fix something that’s ‘wrong’ with me.” And then my mind became flooded with a long list of products designed to fix women and make us beautiful, finally. There’s Revitalash, guaranteed to grow your eyelashes, LipFusion, guaranteed to plump up your lips (or Maybelline’s Volume XL Seduction Lip if you just want them to look pumped), there’s Botox, guaranteed to reduce your wrinkles, and the LAP BAND Surgery, guaranteed to permanently control your waistline. And it’s all scientifically proven!




Watching this Reebok ad made me realize that I’m tired of not liking parts of myself. (And I’m not talking about bad habits or poor character.) I’m tired of thinking that I need to be taller, that I need to have and legs that are more toned, plus a tight bottom, perfect for a pair of Apple Bottom jeans. I’m tired of freaking out about the newly emerging grey hairs sprouting in my otherwise brown-haired head. I’m fine to stop assessing my diet if my jeans start to feel a little tight. I’m sick of feeling that I should work out, not because it’s good for me, but because it will keep me looking like I’m 25. Perennially.




What I’m most weary of is the fact that I’ve allowed other people and institutions (mainly the advertising industry), to make me believe that something — no, lots of things, are wrong with me. Despite my instruction in feminist theory in college and my time allowing Scripture to help me see that I “fearfully and wonderfully made,” I have allowed myself to be victimized by an industry that has wreaked havoc on women’s bodies and psyches for decades, if not centuries. Scholarly critique and prayer have not immunized me from its toxic lies, presented in mirage-filled magazines and carefully-crafted million-dollar TV ad campaigns.




What’s even crazier is that a part of me kind of wants the EasyTones. Having them might eliminate the need to work out as much. But buying them would surely be another act of self-hatred, a clear message to my body (and myself) that I am not good enough.




So, instead today I choose to believe what is penned so beautifully in Psalm 139: that I am fearfully and wonderfully made. As is.

Friendship, 21st Century Style

On vacation with D & E, two of my best friends

"Have you voted for me online?" a friend asked me yesterday, as I was entering the bathroom at church.  "Uh...you haven't sent me the link," I responded.  "We're not facebook friends?" she asked, shocked.  "Well, I'll friend you and send you the link."

She walked out of the bathroom, and I didn't bother to tell her that she wouldn't be able to find me on facebook due to my privacy settings.  I wasn’t forthcoming because I’m not too excited to get her link.  It's not because I don't like her, and it's not because I don't think that her video would be vote-worthy.  The truth is that she's the fourth person to ask me to vote for them in their quest to host their own show on Oprah Winfrey's new TV network, O.W.N.

Her request, although benign, highlighted the dilemma I feel.  What if she isn't the best? Do I vote for her simply because she's my friend?  Or, do I vote for all four of them, distributing my votes equally?  But if I do that, then doesn't that pretty much nullify my votes for each of them?  Besides, there are thousands of people competing.  Will my few votes (and I'm pretty sure that I won't vote more than a few times) even make that big of a difference?

My brain gets tired trying to figure it out, and she's someone that I don't even know that well!  I'm not even sure if I know her last name, although I think it has two syllables and starts with a "W."

Recently, I've faced this same quandary with my closest friends as they have begun new ventures.  One friend started a small business selling granola.  Two others started working with discount travel companies. (You know the one where your friend is now a travel agent who can get you discounted travel.)  Other friends have started offering photography services and the like.

These friends have asked me to "like" their businesses, vote for their videos online, and even partner with them in their business ventures.

Sometimes, I have been willing to give a thumbs up on facebook or even vote once (or multiple times).  But other times I have felt cornered - like my commitment to them rested on my voting for them, or buying their product.  I've started to think that today, friendships aren't about spending time together or calling each other to share about a date or to dish out advice. They're about showing online support.  They're about votes, and likes, and tweets, and facebook suggestions.  And the truth is that I don't think I like it very much.  

I've always felt that my friends were like desserts - sweet treats that I looked forward to at the end of a long day or week.  They were the one group of people that I got to choose to be with.  They weren't the family that I was born into, and they weren't the co-workers whom I had to work with everyday.  It was a mutually fun, beneficial relationship.  But now, I'm feeling that cyberspace is putting an invisible, high-tech wedge between us.

Now, I care about my friends. And because I care about them, I will naturally want to find out more about their adventures and projects.  But, I just may not like them (the projects) enough to want to participate by voting, liking, texting ten friends, or whatever is being asked of me.

If I choose to opt out of participating, choosing not to be best buds with them in cyberspace, I hope that they will know that in real life, I am still their friend.  Hopefully they will interpret my regular phone calls and birthday cards (not e-cards) as testaments to that fact.