Table Negotiations: How Much Do You Bring to the Relationship?

This year seems to be all about clean breaks.
Some of them, such as my lay-off, were thrust upon me. Others, such as the decision to end a long-time relationship that wasn't working, were completely of my making.

Unfortunately, endings aren't necessrily the same thing as beginnings.

For months, my friends have been telling me it's time to get back into the dating game, to get out there and find the person that I'm supposed to spend the rest of my life with.

But I've hesitated.

When I worked as a secretary for a local non-profit in my early-twenties, I got to talking about relationships with a guy who worked in the department. He'd been married a couple of times, but had definite ideas about the male-female dynamic.

Him: It's all about what you bring to the table.
Me: What do you mean?
Him: A lot of times, women come talking about what they want a man to have - a good job making good money, bills paid, a car. But it matters what she brings too. So before you go asking what he's got, be sure that you also have something to offer.

Now that I think back, that guy seemed kinda like a poor-man's Steve Harvey. And while it's been almost 20 years since I had that conversation, the simple logic behind his thoughts has stuck with me: don't ask for what you don't have to give.

I'm feeling good about my efforts to re-shape my career and life, in general, I wonder, though, how I would react if a guy that was interested in me said he was doing the same.

It probably wouldn't be good.

For all you single women out there saying you'd be cool with it, get real. Being on your own is fine, even great, most of the time, because it usually means that you've made mostly good decisions that have made it possible for you to thrive on your own. The thought of taking on someone who isn't there yet or no longer there can feel like a threat to your own accomplishments.After Hypothetical Guy explained his situation and plans to strike out and do something different with his life, you'd probably nod and say how nice it sounded, while secretly wondering when he was gonna start trying to borrow money. I don't expect men to be much different. 

They're already paranoid about what a woman wants from them almost from the moment she speaks, and both sexes usually set about getting as much as they can before they decide to announce how little they plan to give.

That may sound cynical, but it's also a pretty fair description of the atmosphere out here.

I've been told not to underestimate the intangibles I bring to a relationshhip - humor, compassion, openness and positivity. But in order for those qualities to have designated value, the other person has to fairly and accurately assess their worth.  If they're thought to be worth little by the other person, then he obviously isn't the right guy.

And that leaves me where I am now: working on me, but postponing the establishment of a new "we."

For now, I'm going to do what my mother advises: "Get into yourself," and believe when it's the right person, everything I have to give will be all he wants.

What do you think?  Feel free to leave comments and feedback below.

Space Invaders: Natural Hair & the Erosion of the Three-Foot Rule

Full Disclosure: I've never been a super touchy-feely person. But before you get to analyzing the why of it, I'll tell you that, according to my mother, I've always kind of been that way.

"You know how alot of kids cry to be picked up? You used to cry to be put down," she once recalled.  "You would get up in a chair and rock yourself to sleep."

Through the years, my twin cousins have run up and touched me to tick me off (GRRR!!) and my admonishment "Don't be huggin' on me," is a running, loving family joke. I've also had to explain my policy to the natural huggers in my life, those who have to hug hello, good-bye, when something is funny, when they think I'm upset, because it's Tuesday. You know the type.

I've come to realize that for me, it's about controling who I let into my space. Tthat feeling flies in the face of a society that believes that boundaries are really no more than suggested guidelines.

And while I like to think I've mellowed over time - I now just go with the flow and let my favorite huggers have at it - I have a new challenge that I've chosen to meet with a mixture of annoyance and amusement.

People have now taken to touching my hair.

Within the past few months, I've had my hair touched at social events, the unemployment office, in Chicago at a conference and at a rehearsal.  It's not the end of the world; all of the events happened in connection with a compliment and I REALLY appreciate that.

But consider the following exchange:

While at a wine-tasting event in March, I was really enjoying the night - great music, laid-back atmosphere, fun people, good conversation. As I approached the bar to get another glass of wine, I wasn't sure which kind to try next and was musing over what I'd liked best thus far.

As I leaned on the bar trying to get the attention of the bartender, I could feel something on the right side of head. I turned and a guy was petting my hair. He didn't even take his hand right away when I looked at him.

Me: Annd....why are you petting me like a dog?
Him: I had to. I couldn't help it. I love your hair.
Me: Thanks. But petting me? Really?

I didn't make a scene. He was a pretty cool dude and I was still pretty new at dealing with that kind of intrusion.  I also didn't make a big deal out of it when the employee at the unemployment office asked "Can I touch your hair?". While her hand was in my hair. I didn't dig that. At all.

Three-foot rule, lady. Three-foot rule.

I've been working on handling these invasions tactfully. Not always with a lot of success.

For example, last week, I took my frustration out on a really nice guy who didn't mean mean to offend me at all. I'd just leaned in for a pic on his phone during rehearsal, and next thing I knew, I again felt something in my hair.

Me: Did I give you permission to touch my hair?
Him: No, but I love it. It's great.
Me: Thanks, but you were petting me like a dog. No, dude. You didn't even ask.
Him: Can I touch your hair?
Me: (joking) Hell no!

I think at the end of that exchange, he either thought I was a bit uptight, or a bit wack-a-doodle. Either way, I felt bad.

So, I'll continue working on being gracious in these situations. Baby steps.

Strangely, the people I wouldn't mind letting touch my hair never ask. Which, I guess, why I would mind. :) I also think half of the touchers are still fascinated by natural hair - the texture, the look, the behavior of the stuff. Still other think I'm wearing a wig or some weave or whatever. Just meddling.

Someone at rehearsal who overheard our exchange offered, "It's like walking up to a pregnant woman and putting your hand on her stomach."

Exactly. 

If you want to touch ask. And if I (or that random pregnant woman) say no, be cool about it.

In the meantime, I'll still get a kick outta incidents like this:

After realizing I'd left my USB cord at home, I stopped and hurriedly searched for a replacement in a shop at the O'Hare Airport in Chicago:

Woman: WOAH! (all caps doesn't exaggerate. She was pretty loud.) I LOVE your HAIR!
Me: (with a smile) Thanks.
After finding my grossly overpriced item, I stood at the counter with the clerk, waiting to be checked out.
Woman (on her way out): Love it! WHOO!
The clerk and I looked at each other and laughed.

Feel free to comment below. What do you think? Am I overreacting? Has something similar happened to you? How would/do you handle these types of situations?

Objects In This Mirror Are Larger Than They Appear

Soooo.....I'm 10 months into this lay-off thing.

When I first found myself jobless, I wasn't that freaked out. Strange, I know, but I really thought that I was on the cusp of a new chapter of my life and that the sky was the limit.

"God has something for me to do," I've been telling folks. "And I guess he felt that my job was getting in the way."

Almost immediately, I began making plans. (What can I say? I'm a planner.)

Finally gonna make a full-time go at my Mary Kay business, I said, get loads done around the house, lose the 50 lbs that I've been wearing like a fat suit for the past decade and run my first mini-marathon.

But last week, as I noted the  looming birthday of my unemployment, I was frustrated.

Status Update:

Mary Kay career: progressing, but not as fast as I'd hoped.
Home improvement: Ummm...yeah, there's been none of that happening. In fact, the list of to-do projects has actually grown.
Weight loss:  Stuck at the halfway mark and off the training wagon. I've missed - count
'em - TWO marathons since last summer.

After throughly enjoying my pity-party, I had to be a big girl and own my ish.  It would seem that, despite thinking that I was moving on, I have, in fact, been in a holding pattern.

Finally, I know now that at no time should I expect a movie-like scene to unfold where my old boss comes knocking at my door and, in the midst of sobs, explains that thousands of my sources and those touched by my work are picketing the paper.


"We've promised to give them free subscriptions, gift cards, even let them come inside to watch the Pegasus Parade from the fourth floor conference room. Nothing has worked. After all this time, we're afraid they're gonna tear the place down." he says. "We made a horrible mistake. Please come back."

Faith the Dog has always hated weepy displays. Embarrassed for him, she heads into the kitchen. The cats, Robert Earl and Mia, stay put, waiting to see how it all plays out.

I hesitate. "Well....."

"With a promotion and pay raise, of course!" he says.

"Let's try it out and see how it goes," I say.

And......scene.

Reality check: for all intent and purpose, my career as a traditional print journalist is over.
Done. Finished. Gone.

I loved what I did for a living. Okay, not always the environment or all the people I worked with, but the job itself. Most journalists worth their salt don't do the job to get rich. They do it because they're idealists who believe that being a watchdog for the public is a job that makes a difference.

I too believed that. Still do. Guess that's why I've been so nostalgic. It's hard to let go of that sense of purpose.

Another Reality Check: SCORES (and yes, I know how many people consitute a score) of people have commented on  how much better I look, sound and act since leaving the pressure-cooker that was my gig. Some people actually haven't recognized me. Some know I've left the job, some of them don't.

All of them see change - the future.

So now, I've decided to look forward too. Full-time.

It sounds cocky to say that I'm sure of my success, but oh well. I am sure of success.

As part of that effort, I will be a much more diligent blogger. I want to write more, in part, because it's cathartic. Also, because I want to share this journey with you.

How about it? You game?

Cool. I'm looking forward to telling my story. :)

Hard for You to Say You're Sorry? You're Not Alone

Generally speaking, I am an apologizer.

When involved in some skirmish, I'm usually the one to break the ice and either say I'm sorry or jump start a conversation that allows us each to lay out out stuff and resolve things by either mutually acknowledging blame or agreeing to disagree.

That doesn't make me noble, and don't get it twisted. I'm also not a pushover. It means that, like most people, I hate conflict. Even with people I just don't like, lingering disagreements bother me. If I have to dislike you, then I will, but for the most part, it's not a natural state-of-being for me.

But what amazes me (and occasionally pisses me off) is the lengths to which people go to while avoiding an apology. Even when they're DEAD. WRONG.

Here are the three main types of "apology" I find particularly annoying:

The FAKE APOLOGY: You know this person, the one who kinda does a smart-ass kinda thing while telling you they're sorry. It's not "I'm sorry I did that," it's "I'm sorry you feel that way." I had a girlfriend who used to do that so often that we almost had new arguments based on that raggedy mess she gave me.

The DELAYED APOLOGY: This person tries to give the impression that they're thinking about your feelings when really? They don't care. With them, you pour out your feelings and how you were offended by what they've done, and they give you....nothing.

You (after bearing your soul): I just think that what you did was wrong.

Them: I understand what you're saying. That's a lot to take in, though. Let me think about what you've said, and I'll get back to you.

Seasons change, children grow old...Still nothing. You get no resolution and they have moved on to bigger, better offenses.

The PIGGYBACK Apology: This apology is not so much an apology as a deflection. It goes like this:

You: You know you were wrong!

Them: Well, I didn't say anything when you (insert past imagined offense for which they sought no resolution and didn't care about at the time)

You: What does that have to do with now?

Them: I didn't make a big deal out of it, so you need to just get over it.

Real talk: refusing to apologize in the face of your obvious wrong is immature, prideful and disrespectful to the person for whom you claim to care. What's the worst that could happen if you say you're sorry? You'll be vulnerable? Weak? Well then, that's where you are facing trust issues. If you can't show that side to someone, is that person really someone you want/need in your life? Heavy stuff, I know.

According to Marsha Wagner, longtime Ombuds Officer at Columbia University, these elements make up the anatomy of a EFFECTIVE apology. Look for them in the apologies you receive and are given:

Not all elements apply to all situations. Some of the most common considerations

include the following:

1. A common understanding of the exact substance and nature of the offense, or

perceived offense. (Example: “Yesterday on the telephone, I said…”)

2. Recognition of responsibility or accountability on the part of the one who offended.

(Example: “I could have chosen other words.” “I spoke without thinking.”)

3. Acknowledgement of the pain or embarrassment that the offended party experienced.

(Example: “It’s understandable that was upsetting to you.” “If someone had said that

to me, I would not have liked it, either.” But not, “I’m sorry you’re so easily hurt.”)

4. A judgment about the offense. (Example: “I was insensitive.” “What I did was

wrong.”)

5. A statement of regret. (Example: “I’m sorry I used those words.”)

6. An indication of future intentions. (Example: “In the future, I will try to think about

the impact of my words before speaking.” “I hope we can have a relationship of

mutual respect.”)

Wagner adds that sometimes it is helpful to include an explanation of why the perceived offender acted in this way, but says that it’s important not to reiterate the offense, give a flippant excuse or a defensive justification. (Example: “What I did was a poor attempt at humor.” But not,

“When I’m mad, I can say anything but I don’t really mean it.”)

There are also times when an apology isn't enough; nothing is enough. Usually the longer things fester, the worse the offense seems. I have exes that have never apologized to me for past wrongs, and while I've let things go (for the most part), I will never forget that when they had a chance to make things right, they didn't.

I say all this to say: apologize. At the end of the day, I guess the reason I tend to apologize is because it makes ME feel better, keeps my slate clean, so to speak. I don't feel compelled to intentionally hurt others, and reconciling wrongs is my way of living my life honestly. Even those things that you feel you never forgive or never make right - make the effort to resolve them.

I know. Right about now, you're probably saying, "Well, no one worries about apologizing to me when they've hurt ME." That's petty. Treat people how you want to be treated. Again, keep a clean slate.

Life is too short to do otherwise.

Dreaming Big

"Don't let anyone keep you from achieving your goals."

Surprised, I looked up at my father, who'd spoken while quietly watching me use his home office computer to surf the web. It was early July and I was in Sacramento for a week-long visit. During his afternoon naps. however, I hopped online in search for a job to replace the one I lost last month to lay-offs.

I hadn't even heard heard him moving around.

"Huh?" I asked, smiling briefly before looking back at the screen.

He repeated the comment, paused, then added: "Do whatever it is that you really want to do."

"Yeah," I said, tapping the keys. "I know."

Everyone's heard the wistful platitudes. Follow your passion, be true to yourself, love what we do with your life...blah, blah, blah. But I felt I'd followed my bliss. My co-workers drove me crazy sometimes, but I LOVED the people I got to meet and the stories I got to tell.

I didn't get to say good bye to nearly enough of those great people before I left.

So here I was, without a job for the first time in 20 years. And here was my dad, speaking the simple truth of God's direction.

God's grace is infinite.

My upcoming DREAM BIG bash is a part of that truth, in that it represents the first step toward living out my potential to positively impact the lives of others. A real stepping out on faith. And the support I receive through that even will motivate me surely more than even I realize right now.

But only tonight have I realized that a lack of support for anything I do within God's will won't be enough to ever again stop me from reaching for my dreams.

God's hand is on my life right now in a way that I've never felt before. That doesn't mean that my faith is perfect, or that I'll will never stumble. That's never been what faith has ever been about.

What it means is that I couldn't turn back now, even if I wanted to. Forward is the only direction that will lead to peace and to my destiny.

I don't remember much of the rest of that conversation with my dad; I think I mentioned something about how to program music into the iPod nano he bought himself for Christmas and that he fussed briefly about needing to find a charger cable for some other gadget he was fooling around with that afternoon.

But what I will always remember is that comment. And the ultimate source of its wisdom.

Thanks, Dad.

Thanks, God.

Bin Laden's Dead - O Happy Day?

With increasing regularity, I find myself gleaning my breaking news from Twitter.

And Sunday was no exception. As is my habit, I got into my car after church and checked my phone for messages. I usually try not to pull up Twitter or Facebook at those times, because I'll end up sitting in my car laughing or pissed off about things that I read far longer than I should, and hey, that's time you don't get back.

But anyway, I broke my rule and popped up Twitter. And there it was.

Osama Bin Laden was dead.

"What???" I said aloud. "Daaamn." (Yes, I did mention just leaving church, but Christians aren't perfect any more than anyone else. But that's another topic for another blog post.)

I drove home with the radio on NPR, just trying to pick up tidbits of info. By the time I pulled into my garage, I was hearing news of the celebration gathering outside the White House and speculation over the details of Bin Laden's death.

At the time, I just couldn't believe what I was feeling - sadness, anger and dread. Sadness because people were celebrating the death of a person and anger that I felt that way - the bastard did plan the death of nearly 3,000 innocent men, women and children. Once you're grown, a decade isn't a lot of time and memories of watching the plane hit that tower are still fresh in my mind today.

I also dread the retaliation that I suspect is waiting for U.S. as a whole and Obama as an individual.

And that started the roller coaster ride.

Now, let me take a tick to share with you a little something - I hate roller coasters. They're stupid and dangerous - like football - and they don't leave you with too much to show for the ride, unless you have a weak bladder or stomach. I respect other's rights to ride them, but I take a pass at every opportunity. So the past 48 hours have sucked for me as I straddled the fence between being glad that Bin Laden is gone and deeply mourning the celebrating that just seems like another symptom of a loss of value and respect for life.

Then there are the posts from both sides of the issue (celebration/mourning) that say that Christians shouldn't celebrate death and that the Bible says that the crowd celebrated David's killing of Goliath.

Up. Down. Around. Under. Through the tunnel. I had eggs this morning and until about 20 minutes ago, I was actually feeling physically nauseated about the discourse.

Until I saw this post from another Facebook friend.

"Returning hate for hate multiplies hate, adding deeper darkness to a night already devoid of stars. Darkness cannot drive out darkness: only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate: only love can do that."

- Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.

Before reading this, I'd pretty much reached my saturation limit on King long ago. I begin dreading Black History Month weeks before Feb. 1 - usually about the time McDonald's cranks up its 365Black campaign and Budweiser pulls out its clip art of King to put in Ebony and Jet magazine so that blacks think they care. Again, another post for another time.

But like every true statement - spoken, written or otherwise - these words are ARE what they ARE. You can justify celebration of Bin Laden's death by saying he deserved it, and can even talk about biblical examples of similar reaction to the death of villains. But killing. Isn't. Right. Period. I won't become right just because popular opinion says it is.

Like india.arie says "You know the truth by the way it feels."

Thank goodness, this ride is over. I was more than ready to get off.

Finally All Grown Up

When I was young, then a teenager and then in college, I thought being a grown-up would mean paying rent, driving, paying the utilities bill.

I figured I might someday have a house, have a husband and kids and read Essence magazine and like it, because those are the things my mother did. I'd buy groceries all the time, mow the grass and definitely have pets.

I never imagined that being a grown-up could mean realizing that, at this point in my life, there are doors of opportunity and experience that health, time and circumstance have forever closed to me.

And as it turns out, being grown-up also means facing the eventual certainty of death.

Over the past 18 months, I've had two surgeries, a biopsy, and now prepare to have a third surgery over the next few weeks that most likely won't kill me, but could also change my life forever.

All this for a person who at best, stumped her toe or caught a cold. I believed I would always be able to do anything I wanted when I got around to it. Wanna lose weight? Just get up and exercise. Wanna have kids? Just settle down with the right man and do it? Wanna travel around the world? Just save up and do it.

Nothing will ever be that simple for me again.

I'm 41 now, not 14, and while I was kinda right about the grown stuff - I do drive, own a house, pay utilities and have pets - I wasn't prepared to be alone and trying to figure out how to make sure I'll be okay.

After being told by my doctor about the need for the procedure that it hit me - I've wasted time.

I've wasted time waiting for someone I love to become worthy of that love. I've wasted time waiting for a world to improve that has no real incentive or desire to do so. I've wasted time worrying about the opinions of people who could care less about what I think. I've wasted time waiting for friends to remember to give as much as they take. I've wasted time believing that I was the only person, who really cared, tried, wanted, dreamed or suffered.

I'm done wasting time. Done believing that, apart from God, the calavry is coming around the bend. There is such joy in this world, and in my life that I've missed out on experiencing while I was thinking small and seeing the little picture.

That ends now. And just thinking about the possibilities of living life that way makes me so happy.

Mary Kay Ash once said:

"Some people drift through their entire life. They do it one day at a time, one week at a time, one month at a time. It happens so gradually they are unaware of how their lives are slipping away until it's too late."

In refusing to be one of those people, I'm taking true responsibility for the life God's given me.

Guess I am finally grown up after all.