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She is, indeed, my favorite girl.
It’s 2:30 a.m., and I just woke up about fifteen minutes ago thinking about her. And now with the sound of my downstairs neighbor’s snoring vibrating throughout my bedroom (imagine your cell phone set to vibrate laying right next to you constantly going off; no, I’m not exaggerating in the slightest), I don’t think I’ll be able to fall back asleep for a while.
So, what’s got me all bright-eyed, you’re wondering? A slight panic attack. For the last two days, I have been trying to plan a small afternoon tea for today for my mom’s birthday. Being as though, I am not in possession of my mom’s friends’ phone numbers, I’ve been just trying to invite who comes to mind. Well, at about 2:15 a.m., the names of everyone I’ve forgotten to contact suddenly began to fill my brain, and now it’s pretty much too late to let them know. Oh, no.
Now it will be bothering me all day long. I just want things to be perfect for my mom’s birthday. I always want things perfect for my mom.
Believe it or not, her happiness so often means more to me than my own. But this early morning as I started praying that things will be perfect for my mom, I realized just how little control I have of her happiness. From this distance, all I can really do is pray that she’s happy, which is exactly what I imagine she does for me.
There’s just so much that we have total control over in our lives. But happiness, I suddenly realized, is one of those things. Yeah, things happen to us that aren’t always fair and aren’t always the happiest. But how we respond is totally up to us.
After living in Virginia Beach for about a year and a half now, I have yet to find myself well-adjusted. I haven’t even figured out where I fit into this place.
And while I don’t imagine I will figure all of that stuff out once the sun comes up, I think I can manage to still be happy in the meantime.
A word fitly spoken is like apples of gold in pictures of silver.
Proverbs 25:11
As I babbled on and on this weekend, talking my poor guest’s ear off about how everyone should read The Introvert’s Advantage and countless other things, I came to the realization something about words.
It isn’t quite the silence that is golden. It is, perhaps, the words that come after the silence that are so highly valued. Our words, whether they be spoken or written or sung, carry so much power.
And too often we are careless with our words.
After spending time with people who really listened to me, I started thinking about how other people around me don’t always value what I say. Everyone has those kinds of people in their live, but we shouldn’t let them have any kind of stock in our lives.
As thirty swiftly approaches me, I’ve been doing self evaluations almost daily. As one of the wise faculty members at the Maynard Institute editing program suggested, I’ve kept a personal journal of my thoughts, likes and dislikes trying to make sense of what exactly I want to be when I’m all grown up and how I should go about getting there. I continue to be a work in progress.
Another thing that continues to be a work in progress is my messy, ever-evolving closet. Seriously. I’ve cleaned out so many things I no longer want, things that no longer flatter me (if they ever did), things I can no longer fit (although I still struggle to part with some things I just keep telling myself I one day will wear again), and things I just know I’m too darn old to be sporting anymore. Yet with each What Not to Wear episode and page turn of my Lucky handbook (thanks, BFF), I know there’s more to purge.
Just look at it.
But where do I take it? All these years, I’ve been trekking to the good ‘ol Salvation Army, but honestly, I could use the extra change. To no avail, I’ve even posted some jewelry on eBay. I’m just scared of going to the consignment shops.
I’ve had bad experiences in the past. My ego was so greatly bruised when I took all of my designer stuff to Plato’s Closet and had it all rejected. I was told that I had all of the right labels, they were just too old. Stuff has to be from recent seasons and years for them to accept it. Seriously? There are people out there that go through their closets within a year or two? Alas, I’m nervous in trying other places. Does anyone else have any suggestions? I’m in need of help (and room for a new wardrobe fast).
After spending two afternoons at the DMV two weeks ago, I am one of Virginia’s newest drivers. (Well, I’m sure there have been quite a few people who’ve gotten their drivers licenses since I got my, but humor me.)
Most people dread spending any time at the DMV. Perhaps, that partially explains why I waited so long to get my new license. I’d been using on my Illinois license and car registration for as long as I could. But then my registration expired and I wanted to be sure to be registered to vote. So, alas, I did my time at the DMV.
It wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be—granted I did spend rough two hours there on each visit. But the people watching was stellar!
On the first trip, I encountered an adorable elderly couple. Belief it or not, they were on a date! Yes, the woman was there to get her license and her boyfriend was along to keep her company. How sweet was that!
As I listened to their conversation—I know that sounds intrusive, but they were across the room from me and I could still hear their conversation—I found out that they were actually at the beginning of their relationship. They were still asking each other the kind of questions you’re still asking in the first weeks. (Or maybe they were both senile, and they’d forgotten all of the answers.) It was so cute.
Then on the second trip, I entertained myself by watching a little boy, who had to be no older than three, in a wife beater with his mother in an itsy bitsy pair of shorts and high heels. What else amazed me was that the little boy had on more bling than his mother—earrings and chains galore.
And then, surprise, I had to make a third trip to the DMV last week. On my first trip, I got my new license but the woman neglected to give me paperwork for registering my car. Then on the second trip, I got my car registered, but found out they had not properly registered me to vote. The last trip came after I’d gotten a sticker on my car window saying my car would be towed if it wasn’t inspected. But no one had given me any information on where and how to get my car inspected.
So, finally, everything is squared away and I hope never to return to the Virginia DMV.
Apparently not as many people as I originally thought. While this year’s Unity convention as been great and really encouraging in that I’ve had a chance to meet and reconnect with a lot of wonderful people, it is also a bit discouraging in a few ways.
I can not give this blog the full length and in depth discuss it is worthy of at this late hour (I must write more at a later date). But before I go to sleep and rev up for another day of workshops and such in Chicago, I must say this. Unity is a very big deal. Every four years at Unity all of the minority journalist organizations get together. And it’s happening in Chicago, yet some of Chicago’s great media folks aren’t here. We got to here a taped message from Oprah at the opening ceremony. Seriously? I don’t know the circumstances, so maybe she has a good reason for not being here. I hope she has a very good reason, because I found it such a disappointment that she would not show up for such an event in Chicago, of all places.
Sen. John McCain has cancelled his appearance here. And he wonders why he only gets the JV journalists to cover him. This is only my second time attending Unity, but it has been my understanding that presidential candidates and presidents are always there. The last time they were. Basically, by not showing, McCain has shown that journalists don’t matter, especially those of color. Seriously, he has lost whatever cred he ever had with me.
There’s plenty more I can write about, such as why Mediabistro isn’t even represented here, but I must go to sleep now. Goodnight.
