I was sitting at my desk, thinking about all the ---ain't no other way to put it but, SH*T I had to do. The list is so long, that I'm going to need to use an 8 1/2 by 11 sheet of paper. That sheet is either going to have double columns or an arrow pointing to the right with the words, "turn over" is going to be written in the smaller than normal last line of its margin.
All of this was after a virtual breakdown on the other side of my Facebook inbox messages with Keith. I told him what was going on with me and my mental and he did what he does, which I love. He offered a vague solution with in-depth reasoning behind it. The man knows that I am an overthinker and his conversations feed it just enough for it to build up momentum and then crash into a brick wall--that often generates a solution for me. My thought process then generates a vine of creativity that sparks a flame. When that flame is lit, my thought pattern blooms into colorful murals of words in my head, the fond memories of the highest pitch of laughter notes from my past, and the Tony-Award-winning reenactment of scenes from my childhood--which births my steps of healing; writing.
While checking my work emails, I began to write a recommendation letter for a student. I pulled up the link to access it. In order to complete the process, I had to go into an old system. While pulling up the old system, I saw another email that needed to be answered, I was about to reply to it, but I stopped. Then I remembered that I needed to check the response of another email I had sent earlier with a consult. Then my phone alert went off. I found myself inboxing someone and offering encouraging words. Then I remembered that I had to call someone back from yesterday whose call I missed. As well as check on an appointment for Kailee and me. Then I had a text message that I was supposed to write down a number that I needed to follow up with. And I kept on saying that I needed to call and check on so and so because I hadn't spoken to them in a while. And then I was supposed to check some personal emails that were left unanswered for over a week. Pure frustration, and lack of focus with a sprinkle of a hint of anxiety, would not allow me to figure out which to work on first, so I didn't do any of them.
After all of that two childhood memories came to mind. I turned away from my work computer and opened up my personal computer and began to write. I remembered being in the garden of my grandparents' house in Huger. That's pronounced Hue-gee. I can recall that Friday afternoon we had arrived. Something went on special at school that day, I couldn't remember what it was. Momma had my hair in some ponytails with navy blue and hunter green ribbons. I think every girl had that plaid skirt with navy blue, hunter green, and streaks of black. Mama had me coordinated with some navy blue knee-high socks and I rocked my navy blue hard bottom shoes that were purchased from Kassis and Brothers. All a result of having wide feet at a young age, that country barefooted life.
We somehow parked in the back of the house that day, instead of on the side of the house in the driveway. I remember mama's pale yellow Ford LTD with a few rust stains on the back, was parked strategically aligned with the tops of those sweet plum trees that I found myself under. I was feeling so cute, that I couldn't keep still. It had rained that day and it seemed that the sun peeked out to check out my fly. I could tell the ground was wet and avoided some puddles. I took one step after twirling around in my skirt, as soon as I was about to stick my landing, I lost my ground partially on my right foot. I thought I hit a soft spot when actually it was quicksand. Within seconds, my entire right leg was submerged. In my rage of panic, as I began sinking, I remembered that if you were ever stuck in quicksand to "be still" and not panic and you could escape. I stopped fighting and I was able to pull myself out. I don't remember all the details of how I got out, but I do remember my navy socks and shoes were a color that was not in my skirt. All I could think of was if I had just kept my balance, how I would still be cute without the mess. But it wasn't just the balance, it was the lack of preparation for the unknown.
Then my mind went back to my middle school years, after the death of my grandfather. M grandmother moved into the city and was a resident of Joseph Floyd Manor. Her sister lived on the 11th floor. She stayed on the 9th floor. My auntie used a cane or walker at times. I loved when my granny cooked and I took the stairs up to her apartment. She had left the south and stayed up north for some time. When she returned home she had adapted to her northern traditions and despised those of the south that she had left behind. I adored the decorations in her apartment. She was flashy for her age. I often wondered how her younger days were, her beauty was evident and flawless in the past and then present. Her favorite meal was smoked oysters and grits. I took her food to her one day. She was in her bed, I got everything situated for her. During our conversation, I said, "Yes Ma'am" as any preteen would do who was reared by God-fearing elders would. She told me not to say that and gave her reasoning behind it, as she felt it was a southern thing and this newfound northerner was not having it. I told my granny about it, and she assured me that would not fly with her. One of the many contradictions of life was introduced to me. Damn if you, damn if you don't.
The next time I returned with dinner, my trained southern mannerisms blurted out the word, "Yes Ma'am" again, and boy did I get it. I can't remember everything, but I remember her saying, "Stop saying Yes Ma'am, you ain't no slave and I ain't a master!" That interaction never made sense to me until today. The fact that my aunt was dropping real jewels of wisdom for me before I became a woman with a degree, a family, a career, and extracurricular activities. The fact that a little chubby chick with dimples lost her stature temporarily in quicksand was a precursor.
Keith's words of advice were to "slow down eliminate distraction and focus." He reminded me that on a daily basis, I'm being pulled in so many directions. All because of using those damn words, my aunt yelled at me for saying "Yes Ma'am" to the point that I am sinking. The more I say it, the more and more I step into a batch of quicksand. Thankfully, I have been able to be rescued time after time. But in order to truly rescue myself in this season, I have to "be still." Little did I know, that life would be based on many contradictions the older I get. Here at 45, the biggest contradiction of life is that as a black educated woman, I have to work hard, and show that I am capable of multitasking every plate handed to me, all while looking good at doing it, while today I feel like a complete mess inside. And the mere fact that if I don't do it, I'm considered lazy and that's far from the truth as I know it. One thing for sure, two things for certain; in any solution, a mess is evident. In this season, an external mess is way better than an internal mess. I have to protect my beauty inside. The external I can always clean up. I write this as I prepare my untheatrical thoughts for that recommendation letter for my student.
#quicksand #weblog #agirlworthfightingfor #yesmaam #beauty #cotradictions
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