Every major "Aha!" moment that I have ever had has come to me through some form of pop culture, books, mags, reality TV, songs, catch phrases, you name it. That may mean I'm shallow and lazy like most Americans or that I manage to find depth in the most shallow of places...and that I'm lazy--there's no arguing that. I would much rather get my veggies in a juice and my enlightenment via YouTube than eating pounds of veggies a day and fasting and praying in the desert for 40 days and nights. I imagine if any one of the ascended masters were to read this they would agree.
As I sat on my couch doing my post-yoga TV catch up on New Girl and The Minday Project, an AHA fell right out of Mindy Kaling's mouth and into my head. Mindy was taking a ton of shit from Danny because she asked him to be her ob-gyn and he didn't want to do it ending with him pulling the ultimate low blow when talking to a single gal over age 30, ticking away her child bearing years. (You have to watch it.) Mindy goes to her office, throwing herself on the floor and seeking consolation in her bestie when the janitor bursts in to lend an ear and some advice. Most of his advice was horrible bu then he spit out this golden nugget, "give yourself a warrior name and let the person picking on you pick on the warrior and not you." It doesn't sound all that great but after Minday went back into the exam room and faced Danny as Beyonce Pad Thai it was on and she of course kicked ass.
The "calling on a warrior" thing works because all of us at some point or another feel weak and vulnerable, whether we're facing a bully or going to an event solo--I hate going to events on my own. It's part of being in a body, you feel frail, weak and easily hurt both emotionally and physically. Why else would we have so many super heros and saviors in our culture? The only person that can save you from your fears is you, not the scared little kid you afraid of being ridiculous but the bad-ass, higher you that is fully in yourself and tapped into the higher wisdom that says "Bitch, I'm fabulous and if you don't agree I'm walking away." It's like the Sasha Fierce to your Beyonce.
Thursday night when faced with going solo to an event where I would know at least 3 of the people present, I decided to try this "calling on a warrior" thing. I looked in the mirror and named my warrior BeyB Bradshaw. (Bey- Beyonce B-the Bride aka Beatrix aka Uma Thruman in Kill Bill and Bardshaw like Carrie because all three of these women look amazing, wield awesome bitch face and would have no problem walking into a room full of strangers and their exes.) Not only did I name my warrior but I decided how she would dress--like me when I put forth effort--what kind of music she would get ready to--M.I.A. and Jay Z--and put her on like a goddess armor security blanket and walked out the door. It didn't cure my every anxiety but I was able to relax enough that I could get out of the car, mix, mingle and enjoy myself with worrying about what anyone thought of me.
Now if only I could use BeyB Bradshaw to help me navigate those awkward moments when someone asks how my boyfriend is doing.
Creation always begins in darkness. Whether you are reading the Bible, the Rig Veda, the Popol Vuh or pretty much any religious or mythological text, they start with an all encompassing abyss. So too does our creation, unless your mother had a tap light in her womb. But aside from the moment when we went from a drunken night between two relatively responsible adults to a fetus, the moments that make us usually begin in darkness as well.
A year ago on this very day I was a nervous wreck that couldn't eat, sleep or move without falling to pieces in anticipation of the inevitable. I knew that my relationship, which up to that point was perfect in my mind, had done a complete 180 overnight and no amount of pleading, crying or talking could change that. I knew in my soul that my love could fix what was being held together with tape--me, him and us. I knew we were stronger than whatever had come between us. I was wrong. But then again, I was right.
This is not my ex...I don't remember this guy's name and this was from two weeks ago.
My relationship was not perfect, I spent as much time happy and in love as I did feeling clenched, unworthy and miserable. I wasn't in love with a person, I was in love with the way he validated my existence, boosted my self-esteem, made every other girl--and my shitty ex's--green with envy, and everything that made me feel better about me because of who he was. The ambition, drive, affluence, and success that drew me to him like a moth to a flame eventually made me feel small standing next to him. It wasn't all "I love you because of the way you make me fel about me", I still love and am inspired by who he is as a person--flawed, funny, and a shit talker--but I was wrapped up in finally finding my Big not how we worked or didn't work together. If you don't see the cracks in the foundation from day one, you end up buying a house that eventually sinks and I saw the cracks, and ignored them just to have my dream guy. Love cannot save a sinking ship. Ask Jack Dawson.
Guess no one told Jack to secure his life vest before attempting to help others.
While all the love I had for him and us couldn't save anything, the love I had for myself eventually won out. There were days when I literally could not get out of bed and wanted to kill myself, obvs I did and did not. Then throw in losing your job on top of going through the most difficult breakup of your life and you get me circa January. In that vacuum, no job, no man, no money, I began to feel more free than I had in years. (It's funny what hanging at home and collecting an unemployment check can do for you.) For months I devoured self help books, checked into therapy--long over due, did a 4 week group coaching course, started doing volunteer work and a fuck ton of other shit. My life was a nothing like he life I'd spent the past 3 years building, one that would have ended with me and my ex as a strange hybrid of the Obamas, the Clintons--not really but really--the Gates, Bey and Jay, and basically almost any bad ass, smart, talented, revolutionary couple ever to have a documentary made on them. There were few martini circuit events to attend, no tiki Tuesdays and my calendar looked more like that of a yogi/new age/ hippy than a bad ass fashion blogger/writer. I'd gone from Carrie Bradshaw to Lisa Bonet over night and I wasn't mad at it.
Lisa aka Lilakoi Moon & her daughter Zoe make one bad majama mother-daughter duo.
In between all the manifesting, meditating, cleaning, and starting this blog, I landed a job that I wasn't even looking for--that my psychic connection predicted months before--and my life changed back to what I always wanted it to be. I am way closer to financially independent than I ever have been, I have a pretty decent job that is not a major life drainer, I can afford to shop at Whole Foods, I have successfully married my Carrie side with my Lisa Bonet and Beyonce sides--it looks and feels as amazing as it sounds--and I have reconnected with friends that I abandoned when I started my relationship in 2009. My life could only be more phenomenal if I were engaged to Alexander Skarsgard....dreaming is good for the soul.
He is really, really ridiculously good looking.
The point is, everything begins in darkness but it does not stay that way. I mean first there was darkness and then God was all like "let there be light" and darkness peaced out. Everything changes, all the time. Change is the one constant in life. If I have moved form wannabe socialite, shop girl balled up on the floor crying herself to sleep because the one thing that made her worthwhile was someone else to a badass creatrix ready to run shit in 2013 in only 365 day--was it leap year this year? Imagine where I can be in another 365 days, or rather where you can be.
She may be naive and old fashioned but this Kappa Kappa Gamma was fiercely loyal to her friends, knew how to tastefully decorate a penthouse and never was caught dead in a bland twin set--well maybe in the first season when the budget was $0. It also doesn't hurt that I've finally embraced my inner Charlotte. Without any more chatter from the peanut gallery, here are the 5 things I've learned from Mrs York-Goldenblatt aka the former Mrs. Agent Dale Cooper.
1. Never marry a man who says "okie dokie" no matter how perfect he is, how great his family's house is or how sick he looks playing tennis in his boxers. Okie dokie men are probably only okie dokie.
2. Mr Right may not look the way you want him to or have the right pedigree, as long as he makes you feel like the shiksa goddess that you are. Let's not forget she gave up Jesus for Harry. Jesus.
3. Be a lady in the street...Charlotte was no Samantha, but she did hang out with her. Enough said.
4. Relax, relate, release. After pulling all kinds of tricks to get married and have a baby, Charlotte met her man while she was going through her divorce and had her baby after adopting. In other words, the minute she let her guard down and chilled out, she got everything she spent 6 seasons stressing over.
About 4 years ago I picked up one of my favorite quotes ever from little film called The Women, 2008 not the one with Joan Crawford. In it, Meg Ryan's character goes to Saks for a manicure where a chatty nail tech unknowingly gives Meg the goods on her cheating husband. Just as the chatty nail girl, played by Debie Mazar, realizes she is putting her foot squarely in her mouth Meg Ryan drops this line "please stop telling that story." (or something to that effect) While I drop this line at least once a week, today it has a special meaning because not only has this message come up several times today but I have realized that no matter how much I tell it to others, I need to start talking to the woman in the mirror.
You see we all have stories that we tell ourselves over and over that do not serve us. The stories range from "My grandmother got a divorce, my mom got a divorce, I'm going to be divorced" and "I have to have a certain job to be an adult" to "Money is the root of all evil." No matter what sob story you tell yourself and everyone else, I guarantee that it is not helping you in any way. Those Color Purple--as my mom calls them--stories do nothing but ensure that you constantly stay in a woe-is-me state, since we all know the thoughts you repeat become your beliefs and eventually create your reality. So by telling yourself that "Money is the root of all evil" ensures that you will never have any money unless you want to be evil. Not only does repeating those stories that do not serve you drag you down but tehy also drag down everyone you tell them to.
Don't be that girl...not cute.
Everyone knows a Debbie Downer, no matter how awesome your day is she manages to piss all over it with one story. Now imagine that your co-workers are chilling by the water cooler talking about life and such then you walk in and start telling them about how horrible your last date was and launch into your story "All men are losers and I'll never find a good one." If I were your co-worker I'd walk away and never talk to you again, unless it was absolutely necessary. For the record, not only does repeating your story drill it in to every cell in your body but it also makes people want to avoid you like the plague. No one wants to hear those sad stories and the people that are tasked with listening--your friends and family--aren't buying that poison you're spitting.
Like I said from the beginning, I know all too well about the need to stop telling that story like a broken record. The things I tell myself are off the charts, Britney Spears when she shaved her head crazy but I have told myself those stories for so long that it is taking therapy, self-help books, life coaching and meditation. Brick by brick I have been outting the stories I need to stop telling and guess what? The minute I become aware of one story another one bubbles up, letting me know that I'll be telling myself stories for the rest of my life hopefully they'll get better.
So in the effort of being transparent, here are the stories I need to stop telling:
"Carrie Bradshaw had to have been a hooker because writers don't make that much money" Truthfully, Carrie Bradshaw is a fictional character so her life has to be over the top so we buy into it enough to buy the movie, the DVDs and the books. TV is not real life nor is it an accurate mirror of real life, even the "reality" shows and that HBO's updated hipster version of Sex and the City, Girls, are far from real. That said, it is reasonable to think that an established columnist in her mid-30s could be making an adequate living off of her work. As an aspiring best selling author who writes a ton online and is tackling print one article at a time, it is counterproductive for me to repeat that you can't make money as a writer especially when I know at least one real life freelance who does. (FYI she is at least 10-15 years older than I am with an extra 10-15 years experience on me so I shouldn't be making her money...yet.)
"I'm weird so it's hard for me to find a guy" To be fair I am pretty "different," however the main reason people see me as "different" is because I do not entirely fit the singular story that has been told about African American women. Is it my fault that only one story has been told about black women in America throughout history? No. Is it my fault that people believe that one story? No. Is it my fault that people see me and immediately try to cram me into that one story? No, but it is my fault that I allow their issue with who I should be make me feel inadequate. Growing up I was teased because Jagged Little Pill was my favorite album and California English was my preferred method of speaking-- hello I grew up in the 90s on a strict media diet of MTV, Seventeen and Clueless and like everyone else in my generation I added like to every pause and made every statement a question. Again, not my problem until I made my problem.
"I need new clothes every season." Actually that's not a story I tell myself that's just life, you need new clothes, especially when you work in fashion.
"Money is a struggle. If you don't work hard you'll never make bank." This isn't a story I told myself, it's a story I saw growing up. My dad constantly spoke of sacrificing time at home so that we could have a certain standard of living and my mom constantly fought an uphill battle with finances, so I learned that money was something you had to bust your ass to get....NOT TRUE. Yes you have to work but earning a living does not have to be a thing of sacrifice, toil, struggle, working three jobs just to get by. That is not necessary, trust me I know people who work hard, enjoy their life and make what they need and then some...and their parents aren't filthy rich.
Those are all the stories I could think of now, but if I think of any more I'll share for sure. More importantly, I want to know what BS, I had to walk 10 miles in the pouring rain, sob story are you telling?
Although I'm mostly a Carrie with Charlotte tendencies-- I blame it on being southern--I have to say that Ms. Samantha Jones is full of juicy lessons. I mean you don't get to be as fabulous as she is without taking home a few frogs, racking up a ton of life experience and knowing the number for a killer plastic surgeon.
Who you are in bed is who you are in life.
Men may come and go but your girls are forever.
You can be 35 for as long as people will believe it.
"A guy can just as easily dump you if you f**k him on the first date as he can if you wait until the tenth."
Enjoy your life, love who you are and NEVER apologize for it. "I will wear whatever and blow whomever I want as long as I can breathe and kneel."
A few weeks ago I was on the phone with a good friend in the middle of the night trying to comfort her and give my best "advice" on her relationship woes when she dropped this bomb, "Most people our age are married or in committed relationships." First of all, not only did I find that to be a gross overstatement of a fact--I know a ton of girls all over America who are my age and are happily single, statistics prove it--but I also found it to be a highly insensitive thing to say to someone who is going through a breakup. (Remember before you speak wait and say Why Am I Saying This, I guarantee it'll save you many an embarrassing, foot in mouth moment.) This sentiment expressed by my friend--and secretly held in the heart of many a single or relationshipped girl that I know--that everyone our age is married or on the way to being married got mt to thinking some pretty deep thoughts. After a few days of thinking and talking to another friend with some equally skewed views on why we go down the aisle I came to the only sane conclusion, we have all been brainwashed! I mean, who says you have to be married by a certain age anyway?
Does no one else think June was a bit ridiculous wearing pearls 24/7?
When I was 21, anything over 25 seemed old. Now that I'm two years away from 30, give or take a few months, I don't think 25 is old at all. I mean 25 is older than 21 but it isn't as old as 40, and everyone I know over 32 thinks I have all the time in the world to get messy, make mistakes and find a husband. The only people who think I should be looking for a mate are some of my friends and me--about 80% of the time. Actually most of the women I know who are in the older, wiser age range, aka my mom's age, have repeatedly told me that getting married before turning 30 usually ends in divorce because most 20 something girls have no clue who they are which incidentally is supported by science with tons of research saying that the part of the brain that governs complex cognitive behaviors, personality expression and decision making are not developed until about 25 give or take a few years. Most older, wiser women also agree that most of us 20s girls get married for the WRONG reasons.
Before I delve into the wrong reason pile, let's do a brief super short history of marriage in the 20th Century as illustrated by our grandmothers and mothers. Our grandmothers who were in their 20s during the '40s, '50s and early '60s existed in a strange Stepford like time when they were expected to marry largely because they didn't have many career prospects and pre-women's lib societal norms held over from previous ages when women had no voice in politics and weren't expected to be educated told them that their place was at home. Thankfully society also knew that no man wanted a dumb wife who couldn't manage the household budget, make dinner from scratch, wrangle the kids and look like June Cleaver or Lena Horne while doing it, so off to college to earn their MRS our grandmothers went. Along the way they became secretaries, teachers and nurses but if they weren't married with a baby by 25 their lives were incomplete. Fast forward to our moms who thanks to changing societal norms were able to take control of their reproductive systems thanks to birth control and Roe v Wade, could earn a living wage thanks to their educations in something other than how to be a great woman behind the throne and were not doomed to stay in loveless marriages where they were abused, mistreated or just unhappy thanks to divorce become more normalized. As a result our parents who got married when "society" told them to, between the ages of 19 and 24, found themselves divorced by 35 (hint, hint). Due to the pioneering efforts of our foremothers, many of the gals of today are as well educated and finically (in)secure as their male counterparts making the need to get married before your prefrontal cortex has fully developed a thing of the past. Unless you live in the South like me where girls are expected to get married fresh out of college like it's 1955.
All single, all over 30, all fly as all out doors!
The point of our little history lesson is that the reason for marrying young that held up in the past have been obliterated thanks in large part to the feminist movement--which actually asserts that woman have the right to be who they want to be whether that mean's a housewife or the next President not that we have to stop shaving our armpits unless we like that sort of thing. You don't have to get married because society thinks you're deficient if you aren't married by 35, or because your eggs are going to go bad, or because your knocked up, or at all if you don't want to. There is no need to find a man for security, hell in this economy there is no such thing as finical security at any age let alone in your 20s when most of us are underemployed or getting so many degrees it's crazy in an effort to wait out the seemingly dismal job market's eventual uptick. Oh and as for having kids, I checked that one out and your eggs do go bad but not as quickly as I thought, making it perfectly OK, to have kids in your 30s. I mean, my mom had my brother at 30 and he didn't turn out THAT bad.
Another group of fab single ladies that didn't get married until they were in their LATE 30s
So the next time someone asks you when are you getting married or asserts that there is something wrong with you because you'd rather be single than stay with your jerk ex-boyfriend who stole from you, hit on your friend in front of you in a bar, forgot your birthday and every holiday and was an all around ass (FYI this is not about my ex, he was and still is a great guy just not with me right now), tell them piss off. Would you rather be happy or following whatever "rules" society has set up for you? BTW society is pretty effed up in case you haven't noticed, so I don't think I would take life advice from whoever this society person is. And if you think I'm going to be an Old Maid or whacky Spinster aunt living in a house in Miami with my mom, a retired whorey debutante and some chick from Minnesota, not only do you not know the definition of old but you have no idea how awesome the Golden Girls were. I have at least another 30 years before I'm considered an Old Maid and that is more years than I've been alive, so odds are it's not going to happen.
The point is, it's perfectly normal to want to get married and have a family but it is perfectly insane to put a sell by date on it.
Waiting for the other shoe to drop is a phrase and concept that I never truly understood. I mean, what are you doing that your shoes are dropping? When I walk my shoes stay firmly attached to my feet at all times keeping me far from the danger of dropping one shoe let alone two. Perhaps this phrase was coined by someone who didn't wear shoes with straps or laces that was too big or something. Origins of the phrase aside, I do understand what it means to constantly be on the look out for something bad to happen, I spent a whole school year in therapy explaining my fear that no goo experience goes unpunished. While it's painful enough losing a shoe, or whatever the other shoe that is being dropped is supposed to represent, what happens when your other shoe is a Choo?
Jimmy Choo's Marlene feather platform sandal rings in at a whopping $1995 (no decimal between the 9s) and is a work of art to be treasured by any fashionphile. So imagine how gut wrenching it would be to drop one of these babies! Fortunately for you, I do know exactly how it feels to have a shoe of this magnitude drop. Not literally of course, I'm a writer who works in retail to keep her lights on and if you think I own $2000 shoes you really need to pinch yourself, or pinch me. My Jimmy Choo Marlene feather platform was my most treasured possession, my boyfriend.
My real shoes are Calvin Klein...on sale!!!
It's crazy to think of a person as a possession, but when you are in the habit of putting people on pedestals, making them more special than you are and trapped in a vicious cycle of fear you do not see people, places, things and experiences as they truly are, that's what you do. You see everything as a tool for hurt and attack, capable of being lost or stolen and eventually causing great pain. When you create this kind of special relationship between a person, a job, a situation or a shoe, losing it means losing your greatest most treasured possession and ultimately means losing a part of yourself. For me, that is exactly what happened after years of being afraid that my Big would figure out how less than special I was and leave me. (That's not quite at all what happened but bear with me on this.) And you know what, I was hurt, shocked and broken but I wasn't disappointed.
When you spend your time building someone or something up to grandiose proportions that nothing can live up to and you constantly replay over and over in your mind the way things will NOT work out, how dare you be disappointed when the other shoe drops? The whole purpose of hanging on to that shoe and then fearing that it will drop at any moment is to soften the blow of what will happen when it eventually does drop. It does not ensure that you will keep it. Remember, the thing you think of most is the thing that you bring into your life, so if you constantly think "OMG! This Jimmy Choo Marlene sandal is so special and magical that if it drops I'll be broken. When it drops I'll have to figure out how to piece myself back together after having had such an amazing shoe," you know what happens, it drops and you shatter. But you say, "I knew it! That's how life always works" and aren't disappointed.
NEWSFLASH!!!! That is sooo not how life works. You've seen The Secret, you know that life works like this, "Think it, feel it, see it come into fruition." So um, yeah if you don't want your other shoe to drop, STOP WAITING FOR IT! The definition of waiting implies that you know something is about to happen so you do the mental math. I'm not saying ignore your fears, what I'm saying is do not put your trust and belief in them. Fear is a like your favorite frienemy. It will tell you, that you'd look great in that dress if your ass weren't so big and that guy would marry you if you had the right job. It never tells you that you are enough and that you deserve to be happy with both shoes firmly attached to your feet. Be grateful that you have feet and shoes, and if you happen to have a pair of Marlene's be grateful that you look amazing in them. Be then again if you are like me, you have amazing legs and look good in any shoe!
(I couldn't find the Lost Choo clip but this was the closest one I could find...So sue me. You won't get anything but a closet full of size 7 1/2 shoes and a bunch of clothes.)
I know, I know. You stumbled upon this blog and you're thinking, "Ugh, not another riff on Sex and The City? I thought that phase ended after the movie came out. This girl must sip cosmos, think she's a Carrie, Charlotte, Miranda or Samantha and be super lame." Well, yes and no. I haven't had a cosmo in like 6 years, I would rather eat than buy shoes and I know that Carrie Bradshaw had to have supported her writing by moonlighting as a hooker in oder to afford a rent controlled spot on the Upper East Side with enough closet space to hold her Manolos, Choos, Louboutins and racks of pret-a-porter--writing doesn't pay THAT well future journalists until it does. But, in all fairness I have been called a Carrie since college because I'm a natural born communicator who can spot a fake LV bag from a mile away and often refers to shoes by their name not the brand, as in "Those are tributes right?" "No, they're YSL." "I know. But they're YSL Tribute pumps. I haven't seen that color, they're good." I also LOVE love and labels and support my writing with a steady part time mall gig to keep my closet full of brands I couldn't afford right now without a discount. Aside from those very surface level similarities, I am nothing like your average SATC lover....well I was until I wasn't.
College "It" Girl days captured in 225 Magazine
After graduating from college with a degree in Textiles and Apparel Merchandising--that's fashion merchandising fyi--I left Louisiana for Atlanta with big dreams of finding the perfect job and man. Cut to about three months in and I was working at the mall, living with my mom and miserable because I didn't have any friends--as a reformed party girl with the gift of gab, friends were/are my life blood. I tried moving back to Louisiana to relive my glory days pre-degree only to find that I'd grown to accustomed to the big city way of life, and Panera Bread, to ever call NOLA home again and moved back to ATL with the intention of eventually working my way to New York. Fast forward a bit again and I was working NY fashion week as an intern, kicking ass and making great connections, then my plan to move flopped because I was too scared of my own greatness to take a risk and leave this mediocre life behind. That decision to stay was the best and worst decision I ever made. Best, because I met the love of my life the New Year's Eve after I decided to stay and worst because despite making great strides in Atlanta and moving from blogger to writer and seeing my name in print I'm still exactly where I was in 2007 when I moved here, working in the mall. After two years and 8 months in the most loving, beautiful and perfect relationship ever, me and my Mr Big hit a road bump that left me broken, alone and pining for the one person that I know is destined to be a part of my life forever....we'll save that story for another day.
Hanging with Candace Bushnell and LohSki at the W Buckhead
My Big break up led me here, after much soul searching and a self help book or two, starting a blog based on a dream I had--I feel like that's something Prince would say--that marries my love of fashion and all things pop culture with my new found spirituality. Yes, I drank the Kool-Aid so to speak but I'm not at all cult like. I mix wisdom from my teachers Gabrielle Bernstein and Marianne Williamson with wise words from everyone from Russell Simmons, Jay Z, Iyanla Vanzant, the Dalai Lama, Deepak Chopra and my spiritual running buddies that include the baddest psychic ATL or San Diego has ever seen and a cray, dancer who sees 11:11 as mucha as I do. I also remix the vapid, shallow, anti-feminist comings and goings of Carrie and her crew to fit my daily struggles as a writer, reluctant stylist and student and teacher of A Course in Miracles. Yes, I drink green juice and try to squeeze in a round of sun salutations between my morning meditations and getting dressed. Yes, I carry amethyst and The Alchemist in my Alexander Wang Coco Duffel. Yes, I accessorize with a mala and BCBG pumps. Oh and don't forget I bump Jay Z while catching up on Deepak's tweets, but none of that means anything. Life is all about balance, and that's what this is all about. I can shop like Carrie, meditate with monks, drink red wine while I detox, gather together a power posee of spiritual gangstas and call in all kinds of amazing miracles all while outing my ego and using the F word, both of them, because I am not a body with a spirit, I am a spiritual being in a body and therefore I am inherently spiritual. Word to your mother!
