The Flip Side

From the feedback I get, it seems as if people perceive me as a generally happy and upbeat person. That's a good thing, because I think it sucks when people come into your presence leaving you feeling worse than you did before they came. I would hope that I enrich lives more than I detract from them. I also notice that all of my posts so far have had an inspirational tone. That's ok too because that's a part of who I am. However, the truth of the matter is that I'm not always happy. Over the years one of my biggest pet peeves has been when people only see one aspect of who I am. I think that annoys everyone. With me the one that comes up the most is that I am somehow immune to pain, heartbreak, sadness, bad days, etc. I'm not.

Some days I just feel like......a lot of things I don't want to print in this space. Life is hard. There's no answer key. There's so many decisions to make with many of them leading to undesirable results. Bad stuff happens to good people for no reason. Good stuff happens to bad people. On a more personal level, there are challenges that each person faces. Some of them are public, but many of the most significant ones are personal. Often we interact with one another not noticing that many of us are carrying serious hurts in our souls. What feels probably the worst is when you're alone with yourself to face the parts of you that you don't like. I know what it feels like to be surrounded by the solitude of your own not-always-positive thoughts: What if I never fix (insert negative characteristic here)?How can I make (insert negative aspect of life) go away? What if I fail?

I hate feeling like you're not meeting your own expectations though others seem to be proud of what you've done. I hate when progress seems impossible yet people say "just keep pushing and you'll get there". I hate when everybody sees the hope and possibility that refuses to make itself visible to you. I hate feeling alone in a crowd. I hate insatiability.

I wish I had some type of anecdote or clever story to end this on a positive note. I don't. Life doesn't always end happily. Neither will this blog entry. Until next time....

Lessons from a Sausage Finger

I’m not much for cliché or false behavior. I sincerely try to be as genuinely truthful as possible. That said, this post is going to resemble several others around this time of year. The end of the year is a time when people reflect on life and all the changes they need to make. Take the way people’s Saturday/Sunday afternoon Facebook statuses get very holy even though their status from the Saturday night before talk about how they were “getting it in” and magnify that times about one thousand. The result is several end-of-the-year conversations, blog posts, Facebook notes, etc. In reality, January 1 is just another day. If you were ratchet and raggedy December 31 you will be ratchet and raggedy the next morning. The only difference is that you will probably have confetti on the bottom of your shoe. Still, this time of year does allow for some seemingly clairvoyant epiphanies. Perhaps it is because the entire world takes time to pause and LISTEN instead of going through the normal hustle and bustle. I have had one of these moments and decided to write it down. There’s going to be a disclaimer

It is amazing how much people will do to rid themselves of physical ailments! I am currently fighting some type of mysterious finger infection. This thing started as a very minor pain. One day I awoke feeling like maybe I bit my nails too low. Biting my nails is a nervous negative habit I have had for as long as I remember. It’s brought me nothing but trouble! At the least it has guaranteed stubby nails and strange tastes in my mouth when I put my fingers in my mouth after forgetting I just touched something gross. At the most I have had countless aches from the times I bit too low and braces from the way my fingers threw my teeth out of alignment. Yet I continue to chew my nails faithfully! I try to quit, and sometimes I genuinely am successful, but then comes the end of a semester, break up, or time when I have more month than money. I never even realize I’m back at it until my teeth meet the quick of my nail. All I can do is hang my head and sigh.

This time I thought was just like the others: I bit my nail too low, but in a few days it would grow back and all would be well. SIKE! The next day I noticed my finger was a little swollen. I thought it odd, but thought maybe it wasn’t swollen and I was seeing things. The first step is denial. The next day I noticed there was a dark spot. I began to rethink my original theory. Maybe I had hit my finger and not remembered it. As the spot got bigger I was convinced: I definitely hit my finger and this dark spot was a busted blood vessel. Feeling pretty confident with this I sterilized a safety pin and stuck it. I found the skin was a little tougher than I thought so I tried again. No blood. Nothing. I went to sleep to wake up and find that the swelling and bruising got even worse. I thought, “oh no, this is a full blown situation!” Fearing the worst, I went to Walgreens to get a finger splint and Ibuprofen. I did not have time that day to get it examined, but it was hurting something fierce. The next day, I went to the MinuteClinic at CVS thinking it was minor. The nurse examined me and she said it is probably celluitis, but she was not able to give me the best treatment for it at the moment. I asked for something to hold me over until I returned to D.C. (I’m in Nashville visiting my family by the way). So, she gave me a topical antibiotic, told me to soak my finger in water with Epson salt twice a day and to take ibuprofen. Ideally I would receive an oral antibiotic to fight this type of infection, but for whatever reason she could not give that to me. So I got the scrip, bought the Epson salt (sidenote: CVS has lavender, green tea and chamomile, and vanilla Epson salt. Lavender is the business!), and began the process of trying to patch myself together.

As prescribed I have applied this topical antibiotic three times a day faithfully. It should be stated that normally I do not do things regularly or on time to save my life. I loathe taking pills (save maybe natural herbs), but you would think this ibuprofen is Pez the way I’ve been knocking them back. I have ground my teeth as I endured the uncomfortable heat of the salt water on my sensitive skin. I am serious about getting rid of this thing! Feeling like it was not healing fast enough, I Googled for supplementary opinions. I found that indeed my symptoms do fit a diagnosis of celluitis, but I figured I might as well continue to follow instructions and watch it until I can go see a doctor for a follow up in D.C. I found that Echinacea, Goldenseal, and raw garlic are natural herbs that help stimulate the immune system and aid the fight of infection. My mom has some Echinacea/ Goldenseal complex pills, so I popped two of those. Then I chopped three cloves of garlic and took it raw. That’s when I knew I was willing to do anything (within reason of course) to get healed. **Light bulb moment**

Here I was swallowing a hefty amount of garlic, an herb not particularly known for its fragrant aroma, with no problem and ready to do it every night until I was healed. Yet if someone had told me the first day that I needed to swallow some garlic and I would be ok, I cannot say with much assurance that I would have willingly complied without question. I had to get to the point where my pinky is bruised to the first joint and swollen to the second where I was ready to do whatever it takes to get me healed. Did you hear God speak to you as clearly as I did in that story? If not, let me keep going.

I had been doing a negative habit I have done my entire life without intolerable consequence. I have said I was going to stop biting my nails for years, but I keep running right back to it. I have even had accountability partners and bribes to serve as coaches and incentives, respectively, to ensure success. Even when I reach my goal, I always seem to fall into the same pit. It had gotten to a point where I stopped consciously fighting it and decided that I could handle stubby nails and that braces weren’t as bad as I originally thought. Can you relate? Go back about 5 sentences and replace “stop biting my nails” with “gossiping”, “lying”, “feeling sorry for myself”, “making excuses”, “drinking”, “smoking”, “making unwise relational decisions”, or whatever else fits your situation. We tend to revise the narrative we once authorized which condemns whatever negative behavior we have allowed to become a fixture in our lives, making said behavior now acceptable. Then, we take our revision a step further by convincing ourselves that the consequences are not only tolerable, but in some cases, enjoyable. What insanity! It takes us to get to the point of undeniable sickness for us to even acknowledge a problem exists. If I showed anybody my finger right now, I bet the reaction would be to make the hissing sound by sucking their teeth followed by and “ooooh what happened?!” It takes no expertise to know that I have a problem now. However, a month ago the untrained eye would not have noticed that I’m a nail biter. Days ago, I didn’t know that I had an infection brewing under my skin. That doesn’t mean the problem did not exist!

Now that I see fully probably the worst consequence of my negative habit, I’m desperate to be healed so I can “go and sin no more”. I mean I will try just about anything. The nurse told me if I’m feeling froggy I could try and lance it again to drain it of the goodness that has appeared in the midst of the bruising. I’m about two seconds off from saying “ribbit” while reaching for the safety pin and matches. I have become a Google-certified scholar on the subject and I will take just about any sound advice I can get on how to heal myself. What if I applied that same zeal to my spiritual life?

I am willing to lay myself on the operating table in the observation room because I believe there is a lesson for all here. Anyone who has known me for any length of time knows that when I do something, I go hard. I have been the Holy Roller, the good girl, the rebel, the wild child, the sailor, the vixen, the minister, and the liar. Sometimes, I have been all in one week. The apostle Paul wrote in 1 Timothy 1:15 that he was chief of all sinners. I might have stolen his crown. Some of the struggles are new: life moves faster than I ever imagined. An old song says, “time is filled with swift transitions” – understatement of a lifetime! I find myself having to make decisions I didn’t think I was ready for yet and often I choose wrong. However, some of these battles are the same old thing I’ve dealt with for years. It has even gotten to the point where I have run to the problems for security. I figure that I’m good at being bad, or at least mediocre, so why strive for excellence? This is the kiss of death! STRIVE FOR EXCELLENCE!

We are not so mangled that we are beyond recognition. God doesn’t make junk or mistakes. We each are gifted with unique attributes that are to be used for something wonderful! The negative forces in the world seek to erase this truth from our memories. If we can get distracted from the goal and stop pressing toward it, then we wont achieve it. We’ll revel in the foolishness, failing to conquer that which impedes our progress, and ultimately settling for less. This is unacceptable. We must get to the point where we are willing to do anything to get or stay on the right track. I believe getting our spiritual selves in order is a major step.

The last piece of this puzzle is that when you get to the point of undeniable sickness, it often is going to complicate or impede the progress to your goal in more than one way. In addition to the obvious discomfort, financial investment, and drain on my time, this thing goes a little deeper. In case you don’t know, I’m a professional student. As a history major, my whole life is dedicated to reading and writing. More specifically: typing. An infected finger could really screw that up quite a bit. Luckily, it’s the pinky on my left hand and I don’t type with my pinkies much anyway. This time I was spared, but I could have easily had a bruised and swollen thumb or index finger on my right hand. That would have been the worst!

Of course nail biting is both literal and symbolic in this parable. I wish it did not take a swollen pinky to make this revelation clear, but “it beez that way sometimes.” What is the bottom line? It is our responsibility to keep each other and ourselves on the straight path. This is done through relationship, honesty, transparency, and love. If you see me biting my nails after this heals, don’t talk about me – help me! You should know what the appropriate course of action is based on the type of relationship we have. Some people just need to give a gentle reminder, others a jarring admonition. If you’ve conquered nail biting, be honest with me and tell me what helped you. More than your help, I have to get to the point in my own growth where I determine that enough is enough! I don’t have all the answers. In fact, I don’t have hardly any. I just know that God is real, God has a mighty work for us, and it’s high time we get more serious about it. I hope my story helps you in some way. Please don’t wait until you have a sausage finger of your own to decide to seek healing at all costs – do it now!

Blue-Eyed Soul: Entertainment or Mockery?

On Friday, November 19, 2010, the Howard University community gathered for the 50th annual Christmas Tree Lighting Ceremony. It started out as a lovely gathering where friends and colleagues huddled over chicken noodle soup and apple cider in efforts to keep warm in the brisk night air. However, this cozy atmosphere was soon interrupted by a rather disturbing performance by a man named Yohann from France. What is the most upsetting about Yohann’ s presentation is not actually something that he did. It was the way the crowd received the foolishness masqueraded as entertainment with open arms. As students of “ The Mecca” , the phrase we often throw around with haughtiness in our voices, we should know better and have a higher standard. As a student body we tend to be perpetually unsatisfied with our staff and administrators due to the conditions of our alma mater. However, the burden does not lie with them alone. It is OUR duty to sharpen each other and ourselves. We must be keenly aware of the great responsibility that comes attached to the privilege of walking these hallowed grounds. The knowledge we gain in the classrooms is not to be abandoned on our desktops every Friday afternoon and picked up again with a hangover Monday morning. No, the point of this learning experience is that the lessons permeate the students’ everyday lives. This is not what was demonstrated on Friday evening.

The audience was treated to the melodious sounds of Howard’ s own GWN as they began to accumulate and lay down the burdens of another week’ s worth of work. After a brief welcome, our reigning Mr. & Miss Howard University, Jeffrey Pugh and Adrian Pruett led the audience in the singing of “ Lift Every Voice and Sing” . Fists raised in symbolic solidarity supposedly signifying the rallying cry of “ Black Power!” across the audience. Not long after this, Yohann graced the stage. He greeted the crowd with a warm smile and said, “ My name is Yohann…I’ m from F-F-F-France.” It was clear that English was not his first language and was still difficult for him to speak. The hesitance and delay soon faded as he began to sing “ Amazing Grace” . A mellow tenor voice sounding like it belonged to Robin Thicke or Tonex emanated from his mouth. Jaws dropped and faces began to show disbelief across the crowd. It was amazing! How could that voice come from that body? The audience began cheering him on and Yohann reveled in the adulation. Soon he got bold. He began to change keys and add all kinds of vocal manipulations in his song. The cheers got louder. Yohann took it in stride and went further. By the time he was finished, he had led the pseudo-congregation in a chorus of “ When I think about Jesus/ what he’ s done for me/ when I think about Jesus/ how he set me free/ I can dance (6x) all night” . At one point, he had the audience singing along with him.

The idea of so-called blue-eyed soul is not new. Jerry Lee Lewis, Elvis Presley, David Bowie, Average White Band, the Bee Gees, Michael McDonald, and Teena Marie all fit into this category. In recent years, this tradition has been carried on by acts like Joss Stone, Adele, Amy Winehouse, Jon B, Duffy, and Justin Timberlake. What separates these artists from their mainstream counterparts is the clear influence on their vocal presentation by Black culture – notably the Black church. Either directly or indirectly, they draw several elements of their styling from one of the bedrocks of Black society. So it was with Yohann. As he sang, he transitioned from a modest showcasing of his talent to an ostentatious display of his novelty. With each riff and growl it was as if he was saying, “ Look at how Black I can be!” Quiet murmurs transformed into heavy grumbling. Some audience members walked out and others talked amongst themselves in disbelief. Still, it seemed liked the majority of the witnesses enjoyed his performance or, at the very least, were not bothered by it. That is troubling.

Have we forgotten our history?! Perhaps Al Jolson, Amos N’ Andy, and similar

performers are too far removed from this generation. So let us not consider the exploitation

and denigration of Black culture that has taken place in the entertainment industry for the last

hundred years or so. Let us just focus on this one performance as an isolated event. The fact

remains that students hooted and hollered as a European man mimicked and mocked some of

the most sacred features of our heritage. The emphasis of the chorus that begins “ When I think

about Jesus” is not to be placed on the dancing that takes place at the end. That is missing the

point. What the chorus is saying is essentially this: “ a reflection on the wondrous works of the

God I have come to know and love causes such a large outpouring of an external manifestation

of gratitude that I choose not to control it.” For Yohann to diminish its value to little more than a silly gimmick is a slap in the face to our ancestors. What is worse is we encouraged it by our praise, laughter, and/ or our silent observation. Adding insult to injury is the realization that someone must have paid him for his time, as he probably did not come to Howard out of the goodness of his heart. Sadly, the same enthusiasm awarded to Yohann’ s selections was nowhere to be found when Howard’ s own Shacara Rogers displayed advanced vocal ability that easily outranks that which may be heard on the radio. How tragic.

The point of this article is not to bring reproach upon the event organizers or castigate Yohann. Other than this low point, the event was quite nice. The organizers should be proud of themselves for a job well done. Yohann was simply trying to make some money. He seems keenly aware of his standing as a novelty act: the Frenchman who can barely speak English but sings like a Black man from the Bible Belt South. The point of this piece is to raise some awareness. We as scholars and hopefully, activists, must resist the scavenger mentality: we must not accept everything lain at our doorsteps. There must be a point at which we draw the line. We must do better. Our ancestors and children require it.

The Ph.D. student who hates to write...

Alas,

I am the poor soul mentioned in this title. It's funny, huh? There's something about writing that just annoys me. Assignments in school seem like huge barriers that I never seem to have enough energy to overcome. When I think about writing I start to get sleepy. I always felt like, "Can't I just say it?!" However, this is not the case. I just read some advice to Ph.D. students that said the only way to get better at writing is by doing a lot of it. The author recommends that new students write a blog - even if no one else reads it - to practice the art of writing. Clearly, I fit the bill here. I have one follower and I neglect this thing anyway so I'm lucky to have him. I'm actually supposed to be writing a paper right now and I just don't want to do it - at all. My mind is tired.

The great thing about being a Ph.D. student is I get to analyze and debate all the time. It's expected of me. I hear horror stories of people leaving the wonderful world of college to enter environments that rival Office Space and Dilbert cartoon strips. In these dreary workplaces, they trade free-thinking and constant self-discovery for conformity and learning the art of budgeting. Not to be mistaken, grad school definitely has not spared me from all of the harsh realities of adulthood. However, I kind of get to kick back a bit more. For one thing, I definitely do not have to be anybody's anything anytime near 8 am.

This life is cool and I am undoubtedly grateful for it. However, one of the main drawbacks is that the thinking NEVER STOPS! You want to kick back and enjoy life, but there's always another article or book to be read. Your mind is constantly analyzing and entertaining debate. Soon, all conversations seem to find their way to your dissertation topic - the one that you really haven't identified and keep changing in your head. On one hand, you love what you do. On the other, it seems to take you closer to the brink of insanity daily.

Then you have moments like I'm having right now. You need to finish writing so you can attempt to get a little sleep before you have to start a new day. (Note: There are no definite boundaries of days for the graduate or professional student. It's just periods of time that seem to be one big blur. Distinguishing moments include papers, tests, class periods, meal times, and the occasional social outing. However, they all run together.) However, the writing seems soooo....ugh. There's really no word for it - just ugh.

Enter Facebook and Youtube. These twin time wasters provide the allusion that you are "sharpening the saw" and loosening up yourself so that you'll be refreshed when you return to writing. SIKE! When you return to the writing you want to do it even less. This time you're even more sleepy and it's now hours later. Where did the time go? Now you're frustrated at yourself for wasting more time.

The fact is: there is no getting around the writing. It's inescapable. So it's actually very simple. if you want to get past this assignment, class, semester, phase in the process, and ultimately get the degree you MUST write. *sigh*

So I'm taking a deep breath while trying to limit my grumbling and fighting the sleep that threatens to overtake me. I MUST WRITE! Ta-ta for now...

People Always Fail, God Never Does

I was told one of my posts was too long. So here's the short and sweet version. In the past few days, I've witnessed what happens when people fail other people both in my personal life and in the public spotlight. The problem is not that someone failed somebody, but rather that the somebody had too much faith in the someone. If you catch an unsavory character doing an unsavory act there won't be too much surprise. Perhaps one would still be disgusted or even offended, but not shocked or appalled. However, if you catch a righteous person doing an unsavory act you're going to be floored! Both scenarios include unsavory actions, but only one ends in devastation.

I have to KEEP learning this lesson the hard way. I keep letting people get too much access and putting them on pedestals that are way too high. Eventually winds blow or the ground shakes and it all comes crashing down to the ground. The humanity is shown, wrong is done, and hurt it felt. What's worse is that I KNOW I take things to heart and am somewhat sensitive. So while I'm processing whatever emotions and many times getting physically sick, the other person is living their life carefree. At the very least, they are not thinking about me and our strained relationship.

What does this mean? Realistically, I cannot change the part of me that has a sensitive heart. I tried and failed. Plus, there's a reason why God made me the way I am. On the flip side because my heart is the way it is, sometimes God allows me to feel empathy for those that no one else sees. Since, I can't change my characteristics, I can change the way I manage myself. If you're anything like me, perhaps these words will bless you too.

In order to avoid further heartbreak I must:

Fully rely on God alone: Godly people are not God. It doesn't matter how sweet or on the path they may seem. They will fail me. Why spend time fussing with the creation when you can interact DIRECTLY with the Creator?

Realize that everyone else is in progress too. No matter how much I want people to be whole, they are works in progress just like I am. I shouldn't be so taken aback when their humanity shows through the cracks. God's not through working yet.

Hold firm to a godly standard of appropriate and inappropriate ways for people to interact with me. If I make it clear (to myself as much to other people) that I only accept certain kinds of treatment, hold fast to that standard! DO NOT say one thing and then change my mind trying to appease that person. Straight up: anyone who can't treat me right doesn't need to be in my life. There's only growth or decay. THERE IS NO IN BETWEEN OR STANDING STILL!

Anyway, this is already too long. I'm done for the day. Peace.

Jill Scott's "Nothing is for Nothing"

I love this poem. Unfortunately it hits close to home for a lot of women I know. Me included.

Video here:

http://www.goldmic.com/video/Def-Jam-Poetry-Jill-Scott-quot-nothing-Is-For-Nothing-quot/22020

Lyrics here:

I had been turning tricks longer than I actually knew it.
Being whatever they wanted me to be whenever they wanted me to be it.
A freak, inside, outside kitchen counters, laundry mats, two at a time,
hotels, motels, and backseats of leased cars, vans and jeeps.
Made myself like it ’cause they liked it and I liked that they liked it
and so I continued being the perfect image of a wet dream.
Nasty, wild, exotic, erotic.
Freak was they wanted so freak was who I was.
And everybody was walking around talking about me.
Like teenage pregnancy wasn’t becoming synonymous with being black and woman.
Like America wasn’t suffocating our thoughts.
Like there was nothing to talk about what was doing or screwing.
And I thought the whole damn thing was ridiculous, which it was.
‘Cause I was content giving my men a little heaven
between their struggle to breathe and contemplation of suicide.
Wasn’t I good for the cause?
Closed mind, open legs, making niggas forget why they’re so damn angry.
Wasn’t I good?
Then the mood swung as well the tempo and I became an ideal.
They want her pretty and docile, caring and stupid
and there I was on your Mark, Seth, Joe and I was Suzy Homemaker on the hunt for love;
Cooking and cleaning, ironing and faithful and a freak cause that’s what they liked
and I liked being what they liked so what they liked was who I was.
A prostitute, selling my soul for emotional gain,
struggling not to be the third generation of lonely women in my family.
Struggling to gain but gaining nothing but confusion, frustration, illusion, ’cause there was no love,
just empty condom wrappers on the floors to be discarded like me.
A prize performer long before I actually knew it too,
’cause I was faking me out of the me I would become.
The me that I see now.
The me that holds onto herself with both hands and all feet.
The me who must have love and give it.
The me who brings more to the table than good looks and a wet hole.
The me that is confident, and intelligent and filled to the brim with respect for me.
And a freak ’cause that’s what I like and I like being what I like and what I like is all a part of what I am.

Sometimes it gets lonely on the battlefield

Imagine you're a soldier in a large company assigned to overnight duty in preparation for an early morning assault in a strange land. (Disclaimer: I am not a military person AT ALL so if this is incorrect, just focus on the point of the story.) It's cold, dark, and wet in the trench where you're posted. You know that there are hundreds of other soldiers in the area doing the same thing that you're doing, but you're separated from them so the contact is limited. You may be able to occasionally check and see if they're ok and vice versa, but for the most part you're on your own. You can't fall alseep and you can't call home. You just have to be on guard with your weapons ready for the next order. You don't know what that order will be nor do you know when it will come, but the moment it does you must spring to action. So what do you do in between? You wait, make sure everything is in order, and keep an eye on your surroundings.

I've never been in the military, but I can completely relate to that scenario. I am in this particular space and time because I have a specific work to do. I'm not exactly sure what it is, how I'm to do it, or when I will know that I've completed the task, but I'm here. Like any war vet, I've seen my fair share of casualties and experienced hardships. This is what gives me the sense enough to stay put and not try and take the reigns. So now I'm (almost) content with the uncertainty, but sometimes it gets lonely on the battlefield.

Just over a year ago, I started a whole new life and moved 676 miles away from home. The transition was ROUGH, but a year later and I'm still surviving and thriving. One of the lessons I learned the hard way (several times I may add) was to let God do what He does. I often tried to fill my space with people and stuff when He wanted me to be quiet and listen. The more I rebelled, the more awful was the repentance and atonement process. This is ESPECIALLY true in the realm of male-female relationships! If I got paid for every time I hugged when I should have given a handshake (literally and figuratively) I would have enough tuition for all of the students at my alma mater. I spent so much time running to get to the destination that I didn't realize I was supposed to take a walk and enjoy the scenery. It's quite possible that after experiencing one too many set of repercussions that I'm scarred. It's also possible that scarring is what was necessary to get me to the place of optimal growth.

Today I said two different types of goodbyes. I had three friends visiting with me for the holiday weekend and they all left earlier today. I enjoyed our time together but we're all in graduate and professional school and our demanding lives require our attention. We knew that Monday would come, but it still sucked to bid farewell. It seemed like the weekend flew by so quickly! We know we're going to see each other again (hopefully sooner rather than later), so this was more of a see you later type of goodbye. Still, I felt a tinge of sadness.

The other goodbye I said was to a part of myself. I was having a "conversation" (can long text message exchanges really be counted as a conversation?) with a gentleman friend of mine. At one point there was romantic interest shared between us, but we realized that we would be better as friends. Nothing bad happened and all the factors that made us attractive to one another remain intact. However, we made a conscious decision to do what's best long term at the expense of short term satisfaction. I'm proud of us for doing it this way instead of vice versa. When I think about it, I still agree with the decision and so does he.

Still, my logical thinking doesn't eradicate the part of me that desires intimate companionship. Intimacy in this context does NOT mean sexual stimulation. I'm referring to someone with whom you can share your innermost feelings and thoughts. For a short while, this friend was that for me. In our "conversation" it became clear that in order to fulfill our personal shared and individual goals, our interactions would never be the same as they once were. Furthermore, I had to say goodbye to the part of me that likes to try and slowly veer over into the path marked "off limits".

Anyone who knows me knows I like to push the envelope. Testing boundaries is an integral part of who I am, but there is a time and place for everything. Now is a time to respect the boundaries both in this specific relationship and in my interactions in general. It's clear that this is not a time for dating. {Sidenote: The concept of dating should be completely erased from my mind and the minds of anyone else who is serious about their mission. Courtship > dating.} I cannot be an effective soldier if I am bogged down by the cares of this life including, but certainly not limited to, the opposite sex. Now is the time to focus my energy on the task at hand and be alert so that I may clearly receive and execute my next set of instructions.

BUT

Sometimes it gets lonely on the battlefield. Sometimes you want to have someone to talk to late at night. Sometimes you wish there was a way someone else could guard your post so that you could do something more fun. Sometimes you just want to go to sleep (and it would be cool if someone else were in the bed with you - let's keep it 100)! So what is there to do during those lonely moments? I would imagine that a soldier probably thinks of his or her family back home: parents who are both proud and scared, siblings and cousins who are missing their running buddy, and children for whom they sacrifice everything including their lives. If the soldier joined the war effort because they believe in the integrity and truth of the mission may remind themselves of the pride they felt the day they enlisted. Still other soldiers may remind themselves of other instances where they felt similar sensations of isolation and abandonment and persevered. All of these are great coping mechanisms.

This soldier has done all of the above. I realize that I do what I do not just for me, but for countless generations before and after me. I believe that the journey that I'm on will lead to a mighty end. I can endure a bought with skin hunger or depression because what I'm about to do is worth so much more. Finally, I can think back on other times where I felt overwhelming feelings of hopeless desolation and see how I don't feel that way about those situations anymore.

The battle isn't over and I still have a long way to go, but I'm encouraged. I hope the reader is too. Stay alert and be ready for the next set of instructions.

*salute*