Hey Good Lookin'! (And Other Notes On My Hair, This Strange Microcosm of Myself)

I love wearing my hair natural. Yes. I’m writing about my hair. This is a blog about attaining joy and I believe feeling proud of your appearance is an integral part of that.

My last relaxer (aka hair straightening chemical perm) was when I was 16, and I did the big chop cutting off the rest of my relaxed hair at 17.

That was 11 years ago when I was an outspoken (albeit introverted) teenager who spoke out about Euro-centric notions of beauty whenever I got the chance to express an opinion, related to hair or not.

Wearing my hair natural was a political statement more than a personal declaration of owning my beauty, though that was one of the many claims I made. I generally liked my appearance, but I didn’t consider my hair as a part of that. I thought of it as a fact of who I am, and trained myself to be indifferent, thinking that indifference is at least better than the prevalent dislike or seeming hatred for natural black hair that I was becoming so aware of.

And that is the way it has been until fairly recently. I never really thought of my natural hair as beautiful.

And then something changed.

I had been wearing my hair in long double strand twists for over a little over a year, and then I took them out in July.

And that’s when the change started happening.

Now for the first time in my adult life, I truly LOVE my hair. It strikes me as so much more than just a fact of who I am. I am utterly proud of my kinks, knots, and tightly sprung coils. I love the way it retains shape. I love that because of it I feel more deeply connected to nature and my ancestry.  I find it fun, sexy, and even attractive.

Since I went natural, I have worn my hair buzzed close to my head, in double strand twists (with extensions and without), and mostly I have worn a simple afro of varying lengths, but I have not put any sort of chemical straightener in my hair for all 12 years.

And then last week, I purchased a flat iron and straightened my hair. I was going to 2 weddings (see previous post), and wanted to look different. A part of me was also curious about what my hair would look like straight after all this time. 

I was not prepared for what happened.

During the lead up to straightening my hair, my mind flashed to all the years spent being taken to hairdressers by my mother to perm my hair. I hated it. I hated how my hair burned even if I was careful not to scratch it before my appointment. I hated the various styles that the stylist would put in my hair that made me feel as if I was someone else. And most of all, I hated how my hair was always talked about in degrading terms, as if it was only a problem to be solved.

I got my first relaxer around the time I was 6, so by the time I was a teenager, I was anxious and curious to see what my actual hair looked like. And so I did. It was liberating.

And then I started talking and wouldn’t shut up. I couldn’t stop talking about how absurd it was that most of the women I knew didn’t know what their actual hair looked like. I was mortified at the self-hatred we all seemed to possess related to our natural appearance.

But there I was, only understanding a concept cerebrally but not fully possessing the heart of understanding. It looked like I loved my hair, this strange microcosm of myself, (“Hey! I’m natural, right?!”), but really I didn’t. For one thing, I only did the bare minimum to take care of it. One of the main reasons I went natural was because I didn’t want to care for my hair, which is silly because you actually need to take care of your hair even more as a natural, especially in a market place that largely does not understand natural black hair.   

In the days leading up to straightening my hair, I felt myself become like a protective mother of my hair. I decided to only straighten my hair with the flat iron on a relatively low heat so the final product looked more like a blowout than bone straight permed hair. I just couldn’t bear to alter my hair so drastically, even if it was chemical free.

Over these past weeks I have become acquainted with lots of natural hair blogs, among which CurlyNikki is certainly my favorite. She gave me great guidelines for protective therapy (steps to take to protect natural hair from heat damage before straightening) for my hair before I straightened it. Bloggers like CurlyNikki are true sister champions, guiding women through making the transition to natural hair, offering advice for hair care, and even providing a forum for speaking about psychological trauma related to our hair.

It was through reading these blogs that I became inspired to be as fierce about taking care of my hair as I am about taking care of other parts of my being; not just as an act of necessary maintenance, as I usually do, but as an act of love-- more than just a mere fact of my being, more than just an intellectual concept, but as a sexy, interesting, fun, and attractive, part of my appearance.

This morning I moisturized my hair with unrefined shea butter and put it in protective leave in style of “flat” twists. When I started writing this entry, I was in a coffee shop. When I walked into the relatively small coffee shop, I was immediately blown away by the beauty of 2 other natural sisters with leave in do’s. Crowns of braids and bantu knots. I was struck by the beauty of our 3 different hair types. So healthy and natural. I silently toasted us and joyfully began this blog.

What is your journey with self acceptance in regard to your appearance? Is there something about how you look that you secretly hate? Let that go. Find a new way to love every aspect of how you look, whatever that may mean for you.

Believe me, you are a part of the world’s endless beauty. And on this clear summer day, with the wind whispering the secrets of autumn, I can see your beauty all the way from over here.

 Shortly after I took out my twists:

 

And this is me today smiling at you:

 

Brush Them Haters Off! Go On! Brush 'Em Off!

I had been enduring weeks of negative self-talk. You know that booming voice that goes off in your head sometimes that insists and demands that you don’t deserve any of the wonderful things that are happening in your life (or that you want to happen in your life, for that matter). For me this voice has a tendency to creep up right when things are going beautifully.

I’d been ecstatic over the amazing developments in my personal and professional life. 2 films screening, one of which is making festival rounds, completing my first play (as a writer), enjoying the process of being in a play (as an actor), domestic bliss with my partner, fun times with friends... My life couldn’t seem more perfect.

And then lo and behold, I began to look at myself with the eyes of the cruelest critic…the kind who would put Ben Brantley to shame and make him seem as tender and sympathetic as a teddy bear. The voice that points out every failure, every embarrassing moment, every seemingly insurmountable struggle that I have ever faced, and says,

“You don’t deserve this happiness.”

“Who do you think you are?”

“Don’t forget you’re…” 

And then the voice wouldn’t quit for days. It dragged me around. We fought.  And then I slowly began to allow it to have its rants without engaging with it in mental battles. It would rant and I would silently glare at it, as gently as a loving parent allowing a child to talk or cry itself silent. And gradually it shut the hell up. VICTORY!!!!!  Sweet sweet victory.

I wonder how many of you read the title of the blog entry and assumed that I was talking about other people hating on you. Sometimes we don’t realize that the biggest hater is our self. For all the loving self -talk, the critic never seems to completely die. It pops up right when everything is splendid, right when you think you can relax a bit and enjoy the fruits of your labor.

The critic isn’t all bad. Every part of the psyche is there for a purpose. The critic is there to make sure that you stay on your “game,” to make sure no amount of success makes you stop striving. Most importantly, it keeps you cautious. But we also know that the critic can be excessively negative and sound eerily like a parent, or some other authority figure that you were afraid you could never please as a child. That’s where the critic oversteps its bounds: when it no longer serves you, but seeks to keep you small and afraid. 

Not only does it keep you small and afraid, it utterly sabotages, and steals, your joy.

In a few days 2 women who have inspired me and blessed me with their friendship will be getting married to the men of their dreams. It is beyond belief that they happen to both be getting married on the same day, that I was invited to both, and that I am fortunate enough to be able to attend both ceremonies. This Saturday, I will attend 2 weddings and the man who I will be happily marrying in the presence of our friends and family in 2015 will accompany me.  

This is the time of our lives.

In the coming years, I will witness my friends get married, have success in their careers, find love, have children, deepen their hearts, and be all around amazing. These things will most likely happen for me as well. This is the joy that can’t be missed. I want my eyes and heart wide open for this. I want front row seats.

Now, as we know, sometimes as happiness and success come about, there also arrives our friendly critic, full of fear, full of panic, wondering if it really is possible for all of this to be so good. There must be a catch somewhere, right? You can’t possibly deserve all this goodness. 

Wrong. Dead wrong. Brush that hater off. Tell it to get lost. You don’t have time. I know saying these things is one thing, but how does one successfully quiet this voice of negativity?

I just discovered a few ways that work for me. Maybe they will work for you too?

1.     Do not engage in mental tug of war with the negative voice. Somehow arguing with it validates it. Just have the courage to do what I like to call the “stare down.” Stare it down. Develop an inner gaze that watches it peacefully and silently. Soon it will know who is bigger and dissolve.

2.     Want something bad enough and pursue it with so much heart, passion, and drive that you simply don’t have time to listen to negativity. Every time I do something physically demanding I hear a small voice of negativity somewhere. But my eyes are so glued on what I want and I have so much passion that I barely hear it.

3.     Do something simple that makes you feel fabulous. Yesterday I made a homemade deep conditioner for my hair and just pampered myself. My hair was amazingly soft and I felt like a queen. (Ask me for the recipe! It’s great!) I had swathed myself in so much love that, even if there was any negativity around, I was too busy feeling good to care.

Doesn’t all of that sound simple and obvious? It is. But it takes time and—I think—maturity. So next time some negative inner critic comes knocking at your psyche’s door, running its mouth, talking your ear off, stealing your joy, try one (or all) of the above. The time is now. Brush off the haters and enjoy the ride.      

 

Rage That Moves: Thoughts On The Next Step After Trayvon

Hey there, Joy In The City readers. How are you holding up in the wake of the terrible news that’s rocking the country lately?

At the forefront of my mind is obviously the Trayvon Martin crime. Yes, it is a crime (and I mean both the verdict and the act), not a “tragedy.” “Beware of dismissive language” one of my facebook friends cautioned, referring to the media’s use of the word “tragedy” in relation to the case…“this only diverts our attention away from the call to action that must be taken.” At first I thought that was maybe a bit extreme (opting to not use the word tragedy), until I remembered how important a mindset is when it comes to deciding action, and how the language we choose to use may seem like a mere detail, but that it actually forms the fabric of the information that we consume and ultimately digest.

I have been overwhelmed by the news. I have consumed articles (opinion and otherwise) about Trayvon Martin voraciously. Every moment of free time has some allocation of time for following the case. The verdict depresses me. On Saturday night, I cried, and I didn’t want to get out of bed on Sunday. Of course this is nothing compared to what Trayvon’s parents and loved ones must feel. What must the past 18 months have been like? What will the following days, months, years entail as they carry out daily life in a state that has laws that did not serve them in the hour when they needed it most? Of course this is not only a state issue. This crime has brought to the surface the pressing need for the entire country to address its secret racism. We who have been on the receiving end of racism know that it is no secret, but I call it “secret” because the nation is in denial about it’s racism (i.e. use of the phrase “post-racial America”).

On Saturday night, I had dinner with 2 white men, one of whom is my fiancée, a French man who has lived in the states intermittently for 5 years. I had just learned the verdict and we (the 3 of us) needed to talk about it. I knew the conversation would be valuable to them, as are all conversations where people can openly talk about racism or classism without being judged, but I wasn’t prepared for how valuable it would be for me.

Over the next few days, including today, I had the experience of 3 different white women (2 of whom were perfect strangers) unloading and talking to me about how, in their words, frustrated, sad, and angry they feel about the injustice towards Trayvon and his family. These conversations were initiated by them and they seemed to feel the need to apologize, to get something off their chests. These conversations were valuable to me as well.

All of the experiences I had in having these conversations helped to clear my mind of the media coverage and remind me that there is a next step to the story of Trayvon Martin (and not just the DOJ investigation). The night that Martin was murdered was the end of his time on this earth, but maybe it was also the beginning of positive change on a social level to address the insidious racism in which our laws and daily interactions are steeped.  

My obsessive information consumption over the details of this case had stirred up a sort of blind rage in me, a fury that had bound my mind and spirit in a way. Don’t get me wrong. I obviously believe that being informed is necessary. Information strengthens community and fosters compassion in addition to “stoking the fires of rage”. But sometimes we can get lost in the plethora of information and forget that perhaps the highest purpose of information is to inform action. In other words, what does the information you are consuming cause you to do? What action will it move you to take?

The manner in which I was greedily reading every little news article and opinion editorial that came out related to the case inundated me and I was effectively lost in it. And lost is a good word because that’s exactly what seemed to happen to my mind when I read news of the verdict. I felt as if I had lost my mind. Nothing made sense and I was enraged. But now is not the time for losing one’s mind. Rage is good so long as it moves one to action that may alleviate its cause.

So I urge you, if you have become consumed with media coversation to the point of forgetting that there are next steps to be taken, take a moment to evaluate what change that you would like to come about as a result of the Trayvon Martin crime. Open the door to conversation, sign petitions, attend rallies, pray (if you do), send positive energy (if that’s your thing) and, most importantly, work in whatever way you can towards being the change you wish to see.  Yes, there is work to be done on a political level, but it always starts on the personal level.

I hope these words remind you of any area of your life that could use some positive action. Take care of your mind, first and foremost. Let nothing weigh you down, blind you, or isolate you. You are the one we are missing.

Get Some Headspace- Finding Simplicity Through The Clutter

I recently discovered a website that I already find invaluable to my growth called www.getsomeheadspace.com. The slogan is, "The world's first gym membership for the mind."  

The site features courses in guided meditation that are set up as things like “10 minutes a day for 10 days” or “15 minutes a day for 15 days” (courses called Take 10 and Take 15), etc…

I am 3 days into Take 10, and I am already blown away by its effectiveness.

I have been meditating on and off, in some form or another, since 2003. Ever since I discovered meditation as a way to clear the mind, I have seen it as necessary for my life. I have gone through various struggles keeping meditation in place, as far as maintaining the necessary discipline, keeping the right mind set, and also experimenting with different forms.

When a person has a long relationship with a practice, things can become a bit muddled over time. You can lose the core of why you started doing it in the first place and it can easily become just another thing on the to-do the list. In a desire to finally “get it right,” you can become rigid and stiff, get lost in your ritual, and completely lose sight of the state of present peace of mind that is the gem of any practice.

What I love about this sight is that it is helping me return to simplicity and ease, not just in meditation, but in life. I feel my mind being cleared of all the weeks and months and years of struggle and saying, “Just be here.”

Space. Lots of space is being created.

Have you ever gotten lost in the thick of a practice, a project, or a new skill you are trying to learn? Have you tried lots of different techniques, but nothing really seems to stick? Have you prayed about it and talked about it, only to have it come kick you in the gut when you’re down for some other reason?

Maybe the “it” for you is your inner critic; maybe it’s your meditation practice; maybe it’s finding the right romantic partner; or making peace with a family member; or forgiving an ex. I’m sure you have dealt with the proverbial “thorn in your side” at least once in your life by now.   

I have always thought of simplicity in terms of material possessions. Every time I hear of the notion of simplifying I immediately think I’m being told to give up some clothes or to organize my papers. I often forget that simplicity is, more than anything, a state of mind.

So if you have a long struggle with something, think in terms of going back to the root of why you wanted this particular something in the first place. Clear away some of the clutter that may have built up around that initial, pure, simple wish. If the residue of failures and setbacks has settled heavily upon you, do what you can to wash it away. Find a sense of gratefulness for the setbacks, knowing that they have served to bring you to where you are right now—alive and still trying.

If you have been searching and searching for solutions, throw away the voices of advice that don’t work for you. Too many voices complicate things. Try to distill everything you have learned into one clear, simple voice—a voice of compassion, that moves you both to action and to stillness.   

Find your own simplicity. Clear away the clutter. I promise you’ll find a clear space waiting for you, and you’ll feel much better.

If you're reading this blog, please take a moment to leave a COMMENT on some ways you've found simplicity and gotten some headspace in your life. 

Engagement: The Action That Sustains Your Passion- On Love, Lust, and Sustainability

A few weeks ago my boyfriend of almost 2 years, asked me to be his wife. It was late at night. He had just flown in from France. As he came through the door of our apartment he began to speak about what an adventure it has been since we’ve known each other and how he’d like to keep having wonderful adventures together for the rest of our lives. Then he got down on one knee and pulled out a simple, custom made, non-traditional ring, made of 2 concentric circles. Perfect. I said yes! I am overjoyed.

Despite all the excitement and romance of this new phase of our relationship, I am also processing the prospect of a lifetime of loving someone. This is really happening. Am I up to the task of being a lover and life partner who brings joy, humor, and unconditional love, who consistently challenges him to be a better man, for the rest of my life? What will it be like when we are old? What about when the fire isn’t as strong? Will there be days when we are sick of the sight of each other?     

Considering the fact that I’ve been mad about this man ever since the moment I saw him (seriously. not just saying that.) and that our entire story has been a rush of fury and passion that happened in the blink of an eye  (seriously. also not just saying that. The story of how we met is for another day, though.), it is hard to imagine a day that I’m not completely gaga over him.

But that is neither here nor there. A few days before the proposal, a very good friend of mine sent me an excerpt from a writing from Buddhist philosopher and monk, Thich Nhat Hahn. In the piece Hahn introduces 2 Vietnamese words:

There are two Vietnamese words, tinh and nghia, that are difficult to translate into English. They both mean something like love. In tinh, you find elements of passion. It can be very deep, absorbing the whole of your being. Nghia is a kind of continuation of tinh. With Nghia you feel much calmer, more understanding, more willing to sacrifice to make the other person happy, and more faithful. You are not as passionate as in tinh, but your love is deeper and more solid. Nghia will keep you and the other person together for a long time. It is the result of living together and sharing difficulties and joy over time.  

This is some sort of variation of what we usually call “love” and “passion.” We all know the difference between those things, and have probably had countless conversations about the distinction. Now that I am at the helm of legitimately spending the rest of my life with someone, this idea has become all the more nuanced for me.

I began to realize that this is a principle that essentially runs through everything. Have you ever heard that expression? “Life is 99% perspiration and 1%inspiration.” That’s what this about!

If you think of your work or anything (or anyone) that you love passionately, can you clearly map out a plan for sustainable action? That is, action that can be sustained even when the initial fire may not be as strong. The grit of the everyday, that must continue necessarily, even when “the going gets rough.” And mind you, this is not only when the going gets rough because people generally are able to kick into high gear when a challenge is present. This is also through the humdrum.

What I love most about the nuance of these 2 Vietnamese words is this:

“With Nghia you feel much calmer, more understanding, more willing to sacrifice to make the other person happy, and more faithful.”

That element of peace, of surrender that is present with sustained love. If you are an artist and you read this blog, you probably already have an inkling of how important this sense of peace is throughout your journey. This is a part of owning your flow. If you own your flow, this peace will remain even through the hardest of times. Even through countless rejections and personal failures. Yes, through sickness and health.

I believe that if we can balance our burning passion and fire (for someone or something) with sustained action and surrender, a clearing will take place. Take a moment to identify the aspects of your life that are filled with one or the other (action and passion), and see if there is room for a balancing act. Isn’t it wonderful that we have the capacity for both?

Even if you’re like me and are only at the point of acknowledging it, this is a miraculous place to start.  

Seeing the Forrest For The Trees: How To Work Even When It’s Hard and Master The Joy of What You Do

At long last, my friends, I do believe it is here: The official start of a long stay of warm weather. Is your body and mind opening up to this warmth? Are  you embracing the good vibes rippling through the streets as people seem to be in a better mood? Are you keeping light on your toes even as the heat pulls your body down and slowly zaps your energy seducing you into lazy afternoons?

I have been busy with a capital B for the past few weeks. Getting into the thick of rehearsals for a show that opens tonight, 5 long days of shooting a short film, beginning rehearsal for the next play I will be in, and working both of my survival jobs has kept me away from writing you, dear Joy In The City Readers. 

Tonight, the first of the 2 plays I’m doing this summer opens. As the afternoon moves on, my spirit is feeling lighter than it has for the entire month of May. This is the first afternoon I’ve had to myself in weeks. It is giving me a chance to reflect and hopefully I can articulate what I am seeing.

The process for this play has been hard. We were beset with a whole compilation of difficulties early on. I play the lead role and carry the bulk of the show. For the first time, I am realizing that performing in front of an audience is also a part of the process. I will meet her (my character) again tonight as if for the first time. She is not complete, and I cannot imagine that she will be by the time the play closes.

This scares me. You (hypothetical you, that is. God? Spirit? Universe? Whoever…) mean I will be working even as I perform? Well, yes and no. I won’t be working as if I am in rehearsal. That work is mostly over. But I will be learning. There is so much about this woman that will be found each time I speak the words she was written to speak. She is alive each time we gather to witness her. So she will be growing as I grow to merge with her.  Yes, I’ve known this for a long time as I’ve heard fellow actors, “masters,” and teachers speak about process. But right now, this idea is real to me in a new way.

Gosh that sounds all metaphysical and spiritual and mushy. You can’t be serious. But it is what is.    

So what does this all have to do with you, dear readers?

Well because things surrounding the play have been so externally difficult, I was hit with a hard truth this morning: I have not found my joy in the process.

 Don’t I act because I love it? How could I not be immersed in utter joy with just the opportunity to share my art with others?  Isn’t that a given? Well, not always.

Sometimes we become so tied up in the “getting it right” or, what I will call, the “pain” of the process that we forget about its intrinsic joy. Has this ever happened to you?

Have you ever caught yourself scrunched up over something you love because it is giving you a challenge, and realize that you’ve forgotten to breathe or laugh, and that your body is tied up in knots because you’ve failed to remember the flow and fun of the task?   

Don’t get me wrong. Human beings need challenge to feel fulfilled. Recent studies show that we actually do experience more happiness in process than we do in reward, something we’ve said forever but just didn’t have the actual science to back up.

We need the struggle.

But we must not ever forget the joy.  

Thankfully, I have had the company of my dear friend, Nicole Beharie, for the past week or so. In our conversations, she has given me much wisdom about remembering that for which you were called.

You were not called to just be “so and so” or to do “this or that”. It is your task to, not only master the craft of your work, but to also master how to do it with the right amount of flow and joy.  Indeed, this is a part of the mastery. You were called to your life’s work to do it joyfully.

This is not always easy. This is especially true for artists, who work in a variety of mostly unpredictable circumstances, and who must, necessarily, work with a level of vulnerability.

I am learning. Perhaps we can learn together? If you are reading this, please leave your comments on what you to do to maintain your joy in the midst of challenges in your work.

For now, I propose this: Find something to laugh about. Enlist the help of your friends to remind you to see the forest for the trees. And, for the love of God, do enjoy this sunshine. It is waiting for us.   

Assata Shakur, The Internal Stuggle for Freedom, and Why This is Very Personal

Today I am feeling a quite visceral response to the political atmosphere of the country. Lately I have kept myself quite isolated from the political conversation. I go through phases, cautiously dealing with the internal and external, deciding what is most valuable for my growth.

With the news of Assata Shakur being placed on the FBI’s Terrorist List—the first woman, being black, nonetheless—I feel that there is an obvious correlation of my inner state and the state of the political affairs in this US.

I find it disturbing, to say the least, that a woman who was wrongfully accused of a murder that she could not have possibly committed, who has spent the past 40 odd years living in exile, is being considered as a dangerous threat to the US.

This reminds me of the fact that the feminine has time and again been considered dangerous to the powers that be—so dangerous that she must be repressed; so dangerous that her life must be squelched and put on hold so that others may feel more comfortable, more safe.

What does the fate of Assata Shakur have to do with me? I, who lives comparatively happily in a home of my choice in a crime free, diverse neighborhood in Brooklyn NY, in love with a non-American white man, performing in small plays and films, writing as my heart desires, working only enough to support my survival, and with enough freedom to have an opinion about what goes on the world?

The main problem with this new label given to Assata Shakur is that it supposedly is intended to send a message of fear to anyone seeking to live a life of revolution on American soil.

Anyone seeking to live a life of revolution? What does this mean? Anyone seeking to challenge the status quo, anyone seeking to speak out against systematic unhappiness, anyone who refuses to play small and live a life with anything less than the boldness of actual being that is the gift of existence.

In my life I have come into contact with many women who seek to live a life of freedom (freedom of expression, freedom to live a life outside of the mandate of tradition, etc…). Many of these women are my friends. I am sad to say that for them, more than any other group, this is a constant struggle.

The world for some reason always seeks to make these women fit inside some little box for which they are surely unfit. The world quite obviously fears them. Fears their ambiguity, their strength, their depth, their rich humor, and most of all perhaps, their unclassifiable beauty.

But these women continue. They continue to write plays of immeasurable eloquence that may never be produced on the scale they deserve, they continue to work in industries that will never quite accommodate them (because they know their presence in these industries is essential for others maybe?), they refuse to compromise their natural beauty, and sometimes they leave behind friends and lovers to live in “exile” and follow their bliss in radical ways.

Why are they feared? It is quite obvious: Because they are indefinable and will not accept the sundry pigeonholes that a male dominated establishment attempts to designate for them. They will not accept a narrow classification. So they are deemed dangerous.

Maybe I am not one of these bold indefinable women of which I speak. I still play small and grapple with ways in which to present my indefinable beauty to the world to make it more palatable. I still wish to be loved and seek approval. But maybe not for long.

I do not wish to live in a world where it is acceptable to fear that which is unexplainable, to imprison that which does not fit into the established mold. I do not desire to see my sisters and future daughters forever exiled to a life of constant battle for the right to exist with the freedom of being and expression that is equivalent with what it means to be alive--to breathe without explanation and to dally with the mystery that defies articulation.

I also must say that is important to watch where one places their trust. Though I had never voted before, I voted for Barrack Obama. This is the administration that labels Assata Shakur a terrorist and also the administration that supports the use of drones. I know he has made strides for much positive change under the most intense congressional opposition that any administration has faced.

But I am learning that some games are not in place for the highest good to succeed. No matter his wishes, it seems that the institution of the American government is only in place for the economic gain of this nation, the maintenance of a standard of comfort and luxury, and not for the overall wellbeing (internal and external) of its citizens.

We each must be more diligent in maintaining our own happiness, our own freedom of being and internal welfare. It may come at a high price, but it is the only thing worth existing for.

Find out what works for you. What is it that makes you blossom and carry out your fullest potential? Follow your bliss. No matter what don’t compromise.  Your joy (and freedom) await you.