1.22.2020

I will start off with two things.

The first being a slew of expletives. Then I will follow up with my half-hearted attempt to sensibly describe my feelings about the new year thus far.

Fuck, shit, damn. Shit, man. These last few weeks have been a bitch and a motherfucker.

I’m exhausted. I’m overwhelmed. I’m all over place and nowhere at the same time. I am indeed somewhere, just not in a place I want be. On that same accord, I’m everywhere I am supposed to be. Right when I need to be there. In the moment. At this moment. I’m good. No, I am great. But then, I’m not.

I spent last weekend in Durham, North Carolina, which has easily become my safe- haven. Whenever I need to escape, l can always count on this city leaving me better than when I arrived. This trip didn’t disappoint, but I found the moment I landed back in Houston all the woes I was trying to escape magically reappeared. It was good to be away, surrounded by positive souls, filling up the voids and returning the smiles and laughter to my spirit. Good people just have a knack for making an impression on you. I laughed enough to forget the numerous trips to the doctor I’ve been to since the week before Christmas. I saw just the right amount of love and support floating around the room, that it gave me the desire to keep moving forward. Friendship just hits different when you don’t have to question the motives, the loyalty or the genuineness. But I digress…

My body is truly my temple and I hate feeling like my sacred space has let me down. Considering my general feelings of self, I honestly didn’t think anything else could happen in my life to make me question my unsinkability. My homeboy told me yesterday that he didn’t think I realized how sexy I truly am. The weekend prior to my trip to Durham, I found myself sharing with friends that I didn’t feel like my full self. I felt as if I lost my drive, my sensuality, my ferocious thirst to get whom or whatever I wanted. I’ve never struggled to find the words to express my interest, never waivered in the face of any conquest. I’m a Scorpio for Christ’s sake. I am sex appeal personified, and lately that just hasn’t been the move. I know shaking back from heartbreak takes time and I can honestly say I have successfully made it through that part of my process. I’ve let shit go, and most assuredly moved on and no longer give too many fucks. But even still, there is my ego. That part of me still has bruises. That part of me has now betrayed me in a sense and left me with feelings of barrenness. I said I was going to erase that word from my vocabulary. Barren. It just sounds cruel and ugly. I want that feeling to leave me. Indefinitely.

This last week of January will be dedicated to healing. Physically, spiritually and metaphorically. Then, my focus will shift. February will take a new direction. In order to create, I must heal. In order to heal, I must honor my body and my soul. I must flow freely. It must be authentic. It must feel real and it must be right. I’m going to spend this next week visualizing the various ways I plan on returning to myself and then I plan to do just that. I’m excited about this transformation. It’s a reclaiming of sorts. I am reclaiming my fire. I am forgetting any moments in time that dimmed my light. My spark will reignite a flame.

I’ve felt so pressed to write another book, to plan another event, to start this, to invest in that… I did not want to lose any momentum. But now, I have realized that I have made my mark in this world. My trajectory will not change if I don’t keep moving and moving and moving. My body has chosen to force me to rest and reconfigure. I am grateful for that. Even if the thought of being still shakes me to my core. My course is already determined. I need to take a moment to myself before I start back moving again. And when I move, I will be fully me again… Probably, more.