Written August 2007


The beginning.

So many people have asked, and so I feel that the first entry must encompass my decision. I do this not because I feel I need to explain myself or my actions, however erratic they may seem, but because I want (and maybe need) to voice why I am heading in this direction.

I could say this has been building my whole life, subconsciously, but that might be an untruth. I went to Nigeria in January, not kicking and screaming but definitely not willingly. I hastily threw outfits together and braced myself for what I perceived to be yet another interruption in my own personal rat race. ; A disruption of my day to day activities. Get up, pick an outfit, get in the car, go to work, come home, pay bills, eat, gym, TV, phone, friends, and sleep. All tasks completed with blinders on (black, leather blinders with chrome studs) got to be half-way glam… or at least as glam as I could afford.

The point is, the unwelcome, uninvited interruption turned out to be a head clearing rush. It's akin to being completely color blind for years and then one day seeing a vibrant blue sliver of sky. Naturally this leads you to have ideas… internal revolutions in which you might realize that there are other colors to be discovered and/or made by your newfound hyper vigilance. I came back seeing colors I never knew were there.

Once the mind has discovered something, that something is indelibly etched; you can never forget its there, you can't just go back to the way it was.

There is a whole other world out there that I know nothing about. I could know Nigeria better. I don't really speak the language.. I understand little more. I cook some but not a lot. I know the culture I grew up with, but I know pieces are missing.

So, here is where I found myself on January 26th, crying uncontrollably on Virgin Atlantic watching the sun recede into the horizon and remembering my autopilot life. My father, a relatively short man with a loud laugh and shaking belly stared at my crumbled visage. Never one to acknowledge emotion, much less talk about it, he grabbed my hand over a plate of pommes frites and ribs in London Heathrow airport just as my tears were drying and asked, "What's wrong?"

These two words cracked something open in me that I'd been too afraid to break down myself. How could I tell him that the optimistic, bright and happy young individual whom he sent away to college was not the person who sat across from him now? How could I explain that he and my mom were the litmus test for what individuals can accomplish and that I didn't feel I would ever reach that one decisive mark?

I began at the beginning… Everything is just alright. I find that my job is not mentally stimulating…nor does it pay enough and I have been languishing in Maryland for the last three years battling this mentality that "its too late for me to do what I really want" which is crazy because I'm only 25 right?

Then there's my 'purpose' I haven't discovered it yet. But I know it involves helping the world. (I know I know, let the eye rolling commence). But I am not contributing ANYTHING great to society as it is. And I am so deep in the rat race right now that I can't think straight. I exist in a benighted state.

My fear is that this is how life passes you by when you're not looking. I know the fabric of life is not composed with flashy buttons or shiny pins. It is composed of the threads that weave everyday life the seemingly mundane the ordinary that weave together to form something tangible. The days pass by and suddenly, you have a cardigan… (eh… make it a Michael Kors cashmere sweater, black please).. and you have no idea how it got made.

The move, possibly the scariest and most brilliant thing I have ever done in my adult life is my answer. It's my salvation, and weirdly enough, it was suggested by my seemingly unobservant Dad.

Since the decision was made, strange things have begun to happen. I went on an 'eliminating the fear' kick. I cut my hair. (a little background for those to don't know, I formerly suffered from undiagnosed hair neurosis. I was obsessed with growing my hair by any means necessary, so imagine the stylist's shock when I took the braids out, saw my natural hair snaking down my back and instructed her to cut it all off.)

The hair cut…. was a huge step for me. Hair is security… an affirmation of womanhood and being without a LOT of it for even a short time is nerve-racking. Its just symbolic of the last few years of my life, stuck in neutral afraid to take risks afraid of what will happen, only doing things I KNOW I'm good at, instead of giving something else a try that might actually be a challenge… who I'll upset, who won't really want to be around me anymore because I chose a different path, afraid of waking up the next day and thinking, "I made a terrible mistake".

For now, I'm willing to take that risk.

The friends who have fed my soul for the past eight years, held my hand when I didn't want to walk alone, sustained me when I had nothing left will be my friends even through this latest development of mine. Those women and men who have literally helped mold me into a worthy individual by breaking off pieces of themselves and patching up my holes will never really be separate from me. I am pieces of them and they are pieces of me, figuratively speaking.

:::Warning! Preachy-ness ahead. Cease reading if you simply cannot DEAL:::

And who could forget the grand master of my destiny? He's walked with me all the days of my life and will continue to walk with me until those days are over and I am with Him. He's been there in my darkest hour and on my brightest days. When no one else would come, He was there for me offering unconditional love and acceptance and friendship. Although I can't see His grand plan, I have faith that I will be sustained, watched over and protected. I am ever so grateful for this gift, and hopefully my gratitude will manifest itself in ways yet to be seen. Thanks JC, for everything.