Today I walked into a starbucks and sat down to get some work done. Directly across from me were two older white women. I took one look at their bleached roots and expensive handbags and threw them into a box of my own making. It was a small box, but one that obviously I was comfortable throwing people into.

Now ..before I finish this quick story..let me tell you a little bit about me and boxes.

I hate them. I hate stereotypes. I hate when people lump me into a group based on anything that isn’t the most pure representation of my character. Which of course is impossible. And because I’m hyper-sensitive about these stereotypes I’m constantly trying to figure out what boxes people are heaping me into and trying to expand and tear open their boxes like Godzilla inside a strip mall.

Which makes this stereotyping that I was doing all the more ironic.

So back to these white women, with their bags and their sensible shoes. I had totally thrown them into a box. And not a big box. Or a particularly pretty one. In fact it was a small box, and as usually these boxes have less to do with the people inside them than with their creators; I cant say I took the time to really inspect the box that I had created for them. Until..

I started to overhear parts of their conversation.

The many men names I heard dropped temporarily shrunk the box into a smaller, even more unappealing one. Then as I overheard more (alot of overhearing huh?) I came to realize that the men names weren’t the names of their last flings or drunken fantasy. No these were the names of children. Sons.

It was at this realization that I realized that I had put them into a box. And started to dislike them because lets face it, their box was ugly. So I quickly tried to bedazzle the box I had put them in, so that I would feel better about myself. And as I listened closer, I overheard words like “tests”, “spectrum”, and phrases like “he’s learning to identify emotions in others and learn how to be empathetic”..

Wow. So not only had I put two innocent, hard-working, mothers into the wrong box. I’d managed to stuff them in a box while they were sharing ways to successfully raise children on the autistic spectrum.

Needless to say, I felt like a million bucks. *__*

Anyway..I realized that for all my reading and insights into becoming more/better human being..I still had some huge steps to take when it comes to learning to really love others.

Fly or Fall.

OFO

…I mean why is blond such a popular hair color anyway.

Yea I’m an 80’s baby.

What can I do to make this year count?

How can I change my life for the better this year?

Why am I not who/where I want to be?

Who is holding me back?

Who do I need to say no to in order to say yes to me?

So today at work I got the opportunity to give a flu shot to a 14 year old black kid. Could have been me. Except he was “cool” at an age where I was knee deep in books and back street games of basketball; girls were a land that I longed to visit but had no idea how to get to.
Anyway while prepping him for a flu shot I got the chance to talk with him.
Of course, with my preoccupation with dreams, I asked him what he wanted to be. His reply which I don’t fault him for was “A pro” ..”Pro-what?” I asked. “Professional Football player.” ..Now I didn’t want to down his dream, and Lord knows that dreams are individual so who am I to impose my expectations on him. But it made me think. At his age, I think I wanted to be a rapper. Yep..I’m pretty sure. A rapper. I might still want to be one, depending on whether a good beat is in my presence. Anyway. It made me think about the life-cycle and strength of dreams.
When your young..your dreams seem right around the corner, just about to be realized. If you just work a couple more months, or a couple years at the max..we’re all sure that we’ll be discovered, found, appreciated and thrown onto the world stage. As you age..If your dreams aren’t broad enough to find a connection to your real world it can be easy to get discouraged.
I think that parents have the all-important job of feeding and broadening our dreams. Especially if a child has a dream that is super-specific and or super-difficult to achieve. If I can’t look at my current situation and see the seeds of a dream then, I think life can feel purposeless. With a dream to serve as the fuel and the map, life is more of an adventure and less of the completion of a checklist.

If I had money like Oparah..I’d take all the children I could around the world and introduce them to all the fabulous people doing fabulous things. I’d also show them the kids who were less well off…let them know that’s its their responsibility to their particular gifts and talents/God to become the best version of themselves that they can.

Btw: The Roots album is the truth!
http://www.npr.org/2011/11/28/142873013/first-listen-the-roots-undun <— First Listen (Do yourself a favor!)

Wale.

“nobody see you when you being humble”

Yo. Sometimes I feel like Jay-z on Ignant shi*.

“Y’all niggaz got me really confused out there
I make ‘Big Pimpin” or ‘Give It To Me’ one of those
Y’all hail me as the greatest writer of the 21st century
I make some thought provokin’ shi* y’all question whether he fallin’ off” – Sean Carter

When you try to do the right thing and be a gentleman/upstanding citizen/someone positive, turn the other cheek, and so forth – certain people take you for a joke. Not understanding that this is a choice. That you’ve been the other dude. Disrespectful. Selfish. Short-tempered. Cold as a ice-cube in a polar bears coke.

Guess you can’t throw pearls before swine, and whatever other cliche fits. My patience grows thin however, and ever the investor – I’m wondering about the return i’m getting on being a “good guy”. Still trying to find the balance that works for me.

Day by Day.
Fly or Fall.

OFO