Making Sense of It All

Red Tails, Golden Hearts

2012-02-07T07:24:00.000-08:00

Recognized by the red-painted tails of their P-47 aircraft, the Tuskegee Airmen were the first African American aviators in the United States armed forces. When the entire world was at odds during World War II, a group of young black men (mostly African American, but a few of Haitian descent) demanded to fight against injustice and inhumanity abroad on behalf of a country that was struggling with its own unjust and inhumane practices at home. After the War, the ridiculousness of their exclusion prior to it was apparent: the Tuskegee Airmen received eight Purple Hearts, an estimated one hundred and fifty Distinguished Flying Crosses, and three hundred Congressional Gold Medals as a result of their successful combats.

Red Tails, George Lucas’s 2012 film portrayal of these airmen, is noteworthy for many reasons. First and foremost, it is a film that was birthed from Lucas’s determination to see it hit the big screen. (It only took him twenty-three years and more than fifty eight million dollars to do it.) Second, the movie’s significance lies in its themes. The film shows what happens when a group chooses sacrifice over comfort. It depicts what happens when men choose team over self, and what happens when they choose themselves above all else. The movie shows viewers that actions, whether steeped in humility or pride, all have consequences. As a result, not all of the movie’s heroes live. Some die tragic deaths—results of their action, albeit courageous or self-serving.

Alongside the movie’s strengths are its weaknesses: characters that don’t seem quite so realistic, scenes that try to evoke the viewer’s emotions, and pop culture vernacular interjected for comedy, even though the sayings didn’t exist in the 1940’s. The movie struggles with how to tell the heroic story of the Tuskegee Airmen as a group with the individual stories of its members, leaving parts of it feeling contrived.

Like most war movies, it stars well-known actors (Cuba Gooding Jr. and Terrance Howard), but unlike most war stories, it doesn’t have the weight of fifty-eight million dollars, the doomsday predictions of Hollywood that says all-black casts don’t bode well for movie profits, and the hopes of a community waiting for its story to be told—all riding on its wings. Although Red Tails isn’t the best movie I’ve ever seen, it certainly isn’t the worst. It tells a story that needs to be heard, especially in a country whose culture favors feel-good, ahistorical accounts and instant, personal gratification above all else.

Red Tails + Black Pilots = A Good Film for Black History Month

Help Wanted, Help Needed

2012-01-30T23:22:00.000-08:00

Have you ever feel like everyone around you felt one way about something, but you felt another way, but were afraid to say anything? Well, that’s how I’ve felt about the movie, “The Help.” Lots of my friends and colleagues have raved about how good the movie is, but I haven’t been able to celebrate the movie. As a student who majored in Media Studies in college, (looking specifically at how women and people of color are portrayed in TV and film), I can’t help but notice the dearth of roles for women of color in Hollywood. And as a black woman, I can’t help but notice that when we are portrayed on screen, it’s often as a sexpot (hoochie or otherwise), or in a completely non-sexual way (like a maid or a grandma).

Although I could easily write a dissertation about this (and I’m sure that many have been written about this topic), I will keep this short: I’m tired of Hollywood telling the same stories about black people on the movie screen. I’m tired of slave narratives, stories about when we were oppressed, stories about the first African American to ____ (just fill in the blank with any first that you could imagine—like the first to ride a hot air balloon across the U.S. alone, while brushing his teeth). I’m tired of biopic, “Oscar-worthy” performances that show us as subservient, oppressed beings, or those who rise from the ashes of oppression to the heights of success. I’m tired of stories that focus on the bleakness of our past, while ignoring the brightness of our present. But more than this, I am tired of stories about black people, written by white people. (Hopefully I didn’t offend anyone with that statement.) What I mean is that the author of a story (whatever that story might be), tells the story from his/her perspective, even if it’s she/he is just the interviewer because the interviewer shapes and hence begins to outline the story even as she compiles questions. And then the editor takes those answers and edits the interviews to weave together a story. And while all voices are valid and needed, an anthology of stories about poor, oppressed, or otherwise marginalized black people written by white people feels incomplete and culturally biased.

But my problem with “The Help” doesn’t stop here. The author of the book wanted black women’s stories to be told in their own words, from their own perspective. However, when I looked at the film adaptation, I couldn’t help but feel that the story was told form the white protagonist’s perspective. (Was that just me?) Yes, we got a look at the lives of the maids, but I felt that the story was driven by the thoughts and actions of the white character. And if that’s so, doesn’t that go against the book’s purpose and premise? (Now, I only saw the movie one time, so maybe a second look would warrant a different response.)

What are your thoughts?

But For Real Though, God?

2012-01-23T23:57:00.000-08:00

Today, I had one of those, “I can’t believe I thought that!” moments. At 6:30pm tonight, the owner of my talent agency called me. He doesn’t call often (usually one of the other agents calls me), but when he calls, it’s usually really important. When he got me on the phone, he said, “You booked a job!” Then he proceeded to tell me about the TV show that I had book, a show that will be filming for two weeks in Sydney, Australia. Then he told me how much the job paid, but since this is the Internet and it’s best not to put all your business on it, all I’ll say is that it pays enough to cover my tuition for one year of grad school! He gave me all of the details, and I didn’t say a word. I just wrote down what he was telling me. He was shocked by my response. “You’re not screaming. I just told you that you’re gonna make $$$$ a day, and you’re so calm.” He was right. I was calm. But it wasn’t because I have a naturally calm disposition. I was quiet because I didn’t believe him. He asked, “Well, what do you think? How do you feel?”

And do you know how I responded? I said, “I feel like I’m being punk’d.” And then he told me that I was not being punk’d. But thinking back, of course he was serious. Agents don’t waste their time calling their clients to pretend that they booked gigs.

Once I hung up the phone, I allowed the reality of what he had told me to sink in…I began to cry. Could it be true? Could I have booked such a big gig? Could I have amassed, in one phone call, a year’s worth of tuition? I had prayed that God would give me tuition money, and I wanted to believe it, but it felt unreal. So, I decided not to get my hopes up. In the world of entertainment, it’s common to book a job, only to find out the next week that they decided to hire someone else, or that the project got cancelled, or whatever. I told myself not to get too excited because it could change at any moment. “Celebrate once you get on the plane,” I told myself.

While praying a few hours later, I saw that I was really reserved in how I thanked God for the job. Normally, I would have jumped up and down, and maybe started to sing a song of praise, but I just sat in my prayer chair, praying quietly. And that’s when I realized that I didn’t believe it. Yes, my agent had told me that the job was mine (once I passed a physical), but I didn’t believe him. A part of me feared that the deal would fall through—that the other shoe would drop. Believing would only cause me unnecessary pain once I found out that the job wasn’t mine. Suspending belief, however, would enable me to evade pain and disappointment.

And then I realized that this is how I’ve been relating to God as of late. I haven’t believed what He has told me. I have listened quietly, and I have suspended belief because I have wanted to protect my heart from believing, just in case God doesn’t come through.

While this is hard for me to write, it is the truth. I find that I struggle now more to believe God than I ever have before. But I know that God is not a liar. “God is not a man, that he should lie; neither the son of man, that he should repent: hath he said, and shall he not do it? or hath he spoken, and shall he not make it good?” (Numbers 23:19)

My challenge is to believe what is promised, but is not-yet. I figure that if I can choose to trust my agent, who is a man, then surely I can trust God, who is God. I must remember that “faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.” (Hebrews 11:1)

So today, as an act of faith, I declare to all reading in the blogosphere that I am going to Australia! Yippee!

King Day Every Day?

2012-01-16T21:32:00.000-08:00

Today I had every intention of celebrating the life and legacy of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. by doing something special to commemorate him. I planned on going to a museum to learn more about the Civil Rights Movement, or viewing a play written in his honor, or perhaps singing Negro spirituals in my bedroom. I didn’t want today to feel like just another day off. But none of this happened. I ended up going out to brunch with a friend in Los Feliz, I drove to an audition in Beverly Hills, I went shopping for sweaters at Marshalls (where I wished the black saleswoman a Happy King Day), and I ended the day by making crafts with my good friend Larissa. It hardly felt like a celebration of Dr. King’s life, and honestly, how I spent the day didn’t seem noteworthy for such a significant day.

But as I began to think about Dr. King’s life, and how I could emulate his sacrifice in my own life, I realized that my life is a reflection of Dr. King’s dream. For the last two years, I have worked for a non-profit that teaches youth (primarily those who are economically disadvantaged and ethnic minorities) how to find success in school and business. Each week, I send role models of every hue and color into classrooms, where they teach young Latino and black kids. And when I visit these classrooms, I stand in front of the students as a college-educated African American woman who can show them from experience that opportunity and success are within their reach, despite their color and class.

Tonight I realized that when I find myself in front of the camera as a spokesperson or actor (my side-hustle), representing a local company or a national corporation, I am living out King’s dream.

Dare I say that even today I lived out King’s dream? The friend whom I had brunch with is Chinese-American, and we ate at a restaurant with mostly white patrons, and no one blinked when we walked in. And when I went to purchase my discounted sweaters at Marshall’s, I didn’t have to stand in a separate line. Also, the friend whom I made crafts with—Larissa—she’s married to a white man named Steve, and their son, like so many children in the U.S. today, is bi-racial.

Dr. King’s work changed everything.

am privileged to celebrate his life, not just today, but every day.

A True Facebook Friend

2012-01-09T22:31:00.000-08:00

Technology has changed more than how we communicate with each other; It has changed the composition of our relationships. Facebook has caused me to really think about what makes someone a friend, and what characteristics friend display--in cyberspace and beyond. Wondering if your facebook friends are real friends? The following are signs that he/she just might be a bonafide friend:

They post the pictures that you took together.
They only tag you in photos that are appropriate for your co-workers and family to view.
They "like" your status updates, regularly.
They don't hesitate to comment on your updates.
They are often one of the first to comment on your posts.
They take the time to send you messages, versus only posting to your wall.
You don't hear about major events in their life via facebook first; They tell you directly.
When you're out with them, they don't disclose your location via Foursquare because they value your privacy.
They don't need facebook to remind them that's it your birthday. They already know it.

Post this link on the pages of everyone you consider to be your true facebook friends...

No, not really. True facebook friends don't pass on cheesy messages and ask you to repost to prove your friendship fidelity.

Lessons from 2011

2012-01-02T23:04:00.000-08:00

While everyone’s talking about what they’re leaving behind in 2011, I’m thinking about what I’m holding onto. 2011 taught many lessons that I want to bring into 2012 with me. Here’s what I want to remember throughout 2012:

It doesn’t need to be perfect, but it does need to get done.

Often, the biggest obstacle is the belief that I can’t.

Now is precious. Take advantage of it.

It’s better to work on something for just 10 minutes than to not work on it at all.

If your home isn’t together, it’s hard for the rest of your life to be together.

Chopping. Running. Walking. Cooking. These things are good for me.

15 minutes of play a day makes me happy.

Artist’s dates keep me happy.

God doesn’t just give us what’s good for us; He gives us what’s good-tasting to us.

In fact, in Him is abundance. I just need to walk in it.

Love, however short-lived, is always worth the experience.

Everything will happen--in its time.

Happy New Year!

My L.A. Bucket List

2011-12-26T23:07:00.000-08:00

It’s true. Most residents of a city don’t visit its attractions until guests come to town. Today, per my visitor-cousin’s request, I hiked to the Hollywood sign. It was great. What wasn’t so great was the realization that I hadn’t even known that it was possible to hike to the Hollywood sign, and I’ve lived in L.A. for a decade.

So, I’m creating my L.A. Bucket List: things that I want to do in Los Angeles before I die, or at least before I leave L.A., whichever comes first.

Here’s a draft of my list:
• Catch a full moon at Griffith Observatory
• Ride the zipline on Catalina Island
• Hike in Rancho Palos Verdes
• Run in Runyon Canyon
• Bike along Venice Beach (& check out the muscle men)
• Take the Metrorail somewhere—anywhere

What’s on your Bucket List?

Putting It All On the Line

2011-12-19T14:53:00.000-08:00

Young children are the most honest creatures that exist. They say exactly what they think, and shout out exactly how they feel. They don't know any better! They haven't yet learned how to be evasive; they haven't learned how to bite their tongues to avoid hurting others' feelings.

As I enter 2012, I am tapping into my inner-honest child. I'm seeing how much I impede my progress and hence my life, when I'm not honest. When I fail to acknowlege what I really want, or how I really feel, for fear of how it will sound or whom it might unintentionally hurt, the person who gets hurt the most is me.
So, I'm being completely honest with myself, with God, and with those around me about what I want in life. Some might be hurt, and others disappointed, but I'm willing to live with those consequences.

I do recognize that once you say what it is that you really want, you chance not getting it and being really disappointed. That's okay. The part of me that's a grown-up can handle disappointment. If she doesn't get what she wants, she will cry, and then cry some more, but she will regroup, recover, and charge ahead again, her hand placed securely in God's. That's what grown-up children do.

I'm Thankful For

2011-11-28T19:38:00.000-08:00

Friends who make me laugh and think
Family whom I count as friends
Julia Cameron's book, The Artist's Way
The gift of creativity and the joy that it brings
Coffee shops that house comfy couches and apple cider
Advent
My netbook that travels with me almost daily
Work that I adore
The possibilities that the future holds

Has the NBA Lockout Left You Bored?

2011-11-22T21:29:00.000-08:00

If so, here are 5 things to do in the meantime...

Call a friend to chat. You know your friends--no, not the ones on facebook; the others ones. Give one of them a call. And if they're close enough, call to see if you can drop by to visit.
Read a book. Once upon a time there were these things called books. They consisted of pages, and people read them... I bet that if you read one, you'd feel noticeably calmer after just thirty minutes.
Walk to Starbucks or to your favorite local coffee shop. Reason #1: You'll burn more calories walking than you would watching Kobe run. Reason #2: You're gonna need to burn those calories 'cause your favorite coffee drink probably has more calories than you care to count.
Play a game of pick-up basketball at your local community park or gym. Or maybe join a league. My cousin joined a league to lose her baby weight, and she's becoming a lean, mean, baby-slinging baller!
Think...of something else that you could do. What would you like to do with the two hours that you won't spend watching grown men dribble balls for millions?

Aging Gracefully

2011-11-07T22:27:00.000-08:00

This week I decided that I want to be a cool old person. When I do finally decide to become a card carrying member of the AARP, I want to do it as a vibrant, fun loving senior citizen.

So, I'm working on a plan to maintain my youthful vibrancy and physical flexibility so that I am able to move, shake, rattle, and roll throughout my olden years, without any problems.

Last night, I took a dance class--my first in nearly a year. I learned that break-dancing is exponentially more difficult than it looks. Now I know why most breakers are male; it takes a lot of physical strength!

That may be my last break-dancing class, but have no fear, I haven't given up.

Next up...gymnastics! Surely old ladies can conquer the rings.

Portrait of God's Love

2011-10-31T22:02:00.000-07:00

I grew up going to church, so for my entire life, I’ve heard how much God loves me. But still, as an adult, sometimes I find myself grasping to feel God’s love, although I know it’s there, ensconcing me.

I’m always delighted when I encounter pictures of God’s love, brief snapshots of his grace. Here’s one:

2011 Is Almost Over!

2011-10-24T20:40:00.000-07:00

Can you believe it? 2012 is fast approaching, and next year we will all be another year older.

Are you prepared for the New Year? Did you accomplish what you wanted to this year? Did you lose that weight? Save more money? Get rid of that bad habit?

If you haven't, it's not too late...

I will spend the remaining two months of 2011 playing Set-4-Life, a game designed to help people accomplish their goals. The game, created and led by my friend, George B. Thompson, author and financial advisor, teaches participants how to accomplish their goals using a four method system: 1) Desire, 2) Focus, 3) Consistency, and 4) Accountability.

I played the game in 2009, and it changed how I think and how I operate. This year I’m playing again, but I’m coaching participants as well. I'm more excited for the last two months of 2011 than I was for the last ten months!

There are 68 more days left in 2011. What have you set yourself to do? If you need some help, play Set-4-Life. The game started today, but it’s not too late.

"Man born of woman is of few days and full of trouble. He springs up like a flower and withers away; like a fleeting shadow, he does not endure." -Job 14:1-2

Lifelong Learners

2011-10-17T23:32:00.000-07:00

Tonight, I was faced with a question: What do you do when it feels like you're trying to put out a raging fire, but you all you have is a squirt gun?

That's how I felt tonight while tutoring two siblings. They are years behind and falling further and further behind each day. I tutor them only a few hours a month, but they need much more than that, and more help than I can offer them. I am not one to quit, but I question my effectiveness. Last month, a local elementary principal told me, "If a kid doesn't know how to read by the 4th grade, he/she is almost guaranteed to drop out." My students are in 4th and 5th grade, and they struggle with reading and comprehension.

I know that I can't rid our nation of its high drop out rates. I pray that I can, however, help two bright kids beat the odds and love to learn.

Imagine

2011-10-10T20:34:00.000-07:00

Sometimes, I wonder what our culture would be like if things were different--if we as individuals and as a society became disoriented, and then oriented--anew.

What if we valued time with friends more than our facebook chats with them? What if we valued time with our familes more than making extra money for them through overtime? What if we valued women's natural bodies over the photoshopped ones plastered on the covers of magazines? What if we valued patience more than convenience? Working hard more than playing hard? Justice over retribution? What is we valued our relationships more than being proven right in them? What if we valued healthy eating over just grabbbing what's convenient while on the go? What if we truly valued and esteemed a woman's decision to be a stay-at-home mom? What if we valued God's Word over our opinions? What if we valued equality in gender differences versus exalting one gender above the other? What if we valued giving over getting? Giving more than loaning? What if?

60 Seconds

2011-09-26T22:08:00.000-07:00

Of late, I've realized how much I procrastinate. And it's not because I'm lazy. And it's not because I lack ambition. I procrastinate because I feel like I don'thave enough time, perpetually. If I need to write my blog, but only have 15 minutes, I put it off because I don't feel like fifteen minutes is enough time to write a decent blog entry. If I need to clean up my house, I may find myself neglecting it on a Saturday morning because I don't have at least an hour to devote to cleaning. Recently I've realized how many different things (both big and small, very important and not as important) I put off doing because I sense a dearth of time.

But, I've started experimenting with starting projects that I don't think that I have enough time to accomplish, just to see how much time it really takes to get stuff done. And, guess what? I'm getting a lot more stuff done. And you know what else? I'm realizing that sometimes, my perception of how much time it takes to accomplish a task is fictional. In fact, it's a fantastic fable told over and over in my head. And each day the tasks remains undone is another day the fable feels more and more true.

A few weeks ago, I had a conversation with a good friend of mine. He reminded me how much precious time is, and how much can be accomplished in a mere 60 seconds. So, started experimenting with how many things I could do in sixty seconds.

Here's what I concluded. In 60 seconds, you can:

Listen to the traffic report on the radio
Text a friend to see how they're doing
Pray the Lord's Prayer
Create a to-do list for the day, to maintain sanity
Call your grandma just because (they love this)
Update your facebook status
Water your plants
Take a swig (or many) from your water bottle
Take a minute to close your eyes, breathe deeply, and just relax
Clean your bathroom sink and counters (okay, it takes like 2 minutes, but you get the point)

There's SO MUCH that we can do (or not do) every minute! And every day, we get 86,400 of them!

Now I'm inspired to use my time more thoughtfully, considering carefully what I will and won't do with my daily minute allotment.

Growing Something New

2011-09-21T21:05:00.000-07:00

I am growing a small herb garden. Well, actually I am trying to grow a small herb garden. I say "trying" because I am not at all sure if I am doing it correctly. Where's a mentor when you need one? I know that there is a lot of information on the Internet, yes thousands of pages devoted to teaching overwhelmed stay-at-home moms and retired persons how to become semi-professional horticulturalists, but I learn best by seeing and then doing. I miss the days where you learned how to do something by learning from someone who had mastered it. I want someone to be my apprentice.

So, like I said, I started this garden. It's new. It's so new that it hasn't even seen daylight because it was planted thirty minutes ago. I'd like to share a few things that struck me as I planted.

First, I was amazed at how teeny, tiny the seeds were. I mean you could mistake them for drops of dirt if you didn't know better. If I saw them on my kitchen counter, I would undoubtedly think that they were crumbs, wondering which of my housemates had failed to wipe off the counter... Holding the seeds in my hands carefully, so that they didn't fall, it was hard to fathom that herbs and plants could spring forth from things so miniscule in size.

With joyful visions of basil and oregano filled dishes dancing in my head, my excitement began to wane once I read how long it would take for them to grow. I wouldn't see any results for 1 1/2 to 2 months! Now while I recognized logically that this is not a long time, I was disappointed emotionally. I wanted an herb garden NOW! And if not now, then at least in two weeks!

Although still fairly young and definitely young at heart, I consider myself to be "old school." I like R&B more than rap, and I prefer having Ebony magazine delivered to me versus reading it online. But I felt like I was acting like one of my adolescent students when I became frustrated that something that takes months to cultivate wasn't happening instantaneously. I guess I'm not as mature as I thought.

Now I realize that this garden will require a new kind of patience, and maybe even a little perseverance. I say perseverance because I know myself. I will water the seeds day after day wondering if anything is happening. After three weeks, I will question if I planted them properly. Did I space them out enough? After four weeks, I may allow myself to be convinced that I did something wrong. By week five, I will be tempted to abort my mission, convinced that I should focus on projects where success is guaranteed--like writing an article or performing before a packed auditorium.

Yes, all of this might transpire because I feel like I don't know what I'm doing. I've never done this before, and so I'm doubtful (yet still hopeful) about success. Perhaps this is because vestiges of perfectionism linger in my being, like microscopic leeches waiting to deplete the joy from my life.

I need a little faith. Not a lot, just a little. I know that one seed of faith, although small in size, will be great in presence.

My prayer for my garden is that it grows to provide nourishment for my friends and family. My prayer for myself is that God would grow my faith as I follow Him into new ventures, producing fruit from now until eternity.

Lots of Nothing

2011-09-19T21:31:00.000-07:00

It doesn't seem appropriate to write about the thing that I want to write about, but I don't have the energy to write about anything else. So, I'm writing nothing today--nothing of much significance anyway.

I did want to write something because I have committed to writing this blog weekly.

So, here's to writing something about nothing and avoiding writing nothing. Cheers!

-C

What I Miss About Our Pre-9/11 World

2011-09-12T00:01:00.000-07:00

Yesterday marked the ten year anniversary of one of the saddest days in U.S. history, the September 11 terrorist attacks. It's hard to believe that ten years have passed. I remember getting ready for work Monday, September 11, 2001, stopping suddenly as I watched the Twin Towers collapse in smoke and fire on TV. I remember my eyes being glued to the screen. I remember speaking to close friends, just happy to have contact with those I loved. And I remember praying.

But more memorable than the day itself is the aftermath that ensued. Life in the United States hasn’t been the same since the attacks, and life will never be the same. Here is a list of what I miss about our pre-9/11 world.

I Miss:

Being able to walk loved ones up to their airport gates to say goodbye.
The word “terrorist” being a nebulous term heard only when discussing distant countries, versus one I hear frequently at home.
Free meals on airplanes.
Knowing that my Indian, Pakistani, and other brown skinned friends can travel without the public fearing that they are terrorists.
Being able to take a full tube of toothpaste through security.
Having September 11 feel like every other day in September.

9 Lessons I Learned During My Island Getaway

2011-09-05T00:01:00.000-07:00

This year, I had the opportunity to vacation on Catalina Island. Here are 9 lessons I learned while on the island:

1. Contrary to what people may tell you, it's not okay to eat dessert twice a day just because you're on vacation. (If you choose to believe them, know that it's just as okay to exercise at least one time a day while on that same vacation.)

2. Deer are startled by sudden noises. Move quietly, though, and you can get pretty close to them.

3. An ocean view, lined with palm trees, never gets old.

4. There is such a thing as a chorus of crickets. (I heard them!)

5. This earth truly is God's creation, His handiwork.

6. Modern technology in its many forms (cell phones, fb, email) is so overrated. De-pluggling periodically is so necessary.

7. Eating, reading, praying, playing, and sleeping can fill up an entire 24 hours. Easily.

8. There are TONS of stars in the sky to be viewed on any given night. (You just have to get away from the city lights and smog in order to see them.)

9. Employment is God's gift to us. Vacation is our gift to ourselves!

Birthday Fruit

2011-08-29T23:34:00.000-07:00

Today marks the day of my birth--the day that God summoned me, leaving my mother with no choice but to push me out. Today is also the day that Michael Jackson was born. (He would have been 53 today.)

It's interesting to share a birthday with a legend. You feel like it's your special day, but the world feels like it's that legend's special day. All day long the world celebrates them, while in your world, your mom and five closest friends celebrate you.

But all jokes aside, today made me wonder what the world will celebrate about me when I am gone. Will people remember my funny personality? My humanitarian work? My creative art? The masses may never know me the way that they did Michael, but what will those who know me say about me?

Seeing how the world celebrated a legend, even in his death, made me more determined to have a legendary life, even if it's only in front of six people.

My prayer for this upcoming year is that I will have a prolific impact on however many people I come into contact with.

Out Of Office Reply

2011-08-23T08:18:00.000-07:00

Thanks for your message! I will be on vacation until Tuesday, August 30. I will continue to post then.

Best,
Chante

I Owe You!

2011-08-09T13:35:00.000-07:00

Everyone’s been talking about the U.S.’s credit rating spiraling from an AAA to an AA rating. Stocks have slipped; People are fearful. But what does going from an AAA credit rating to an AA rating really mean?

Well, I’ve come up with my own personal answers:

Going from AAA to AA is like going from driving a lamborghini to driving a BMW.

It’s like going from living in your own house to living in a townhouse.

It’s like going from being the Principal to being the Vice Principal.

It’s like being downgraded from bff to facebook friend.

It’s like scoring second place, from now on.

It’s like going from being totally reliable to usually reliable.

Let’s put it this way—I was about to invest in some new stock last week, but held off because of the new rating.

It means you’re going to lose money because you’re not trusted as much, and that sucks.

2011-08-01T23:16:00.000-07:00

Sunday, I splurged. I went to the nail shop and paid for a pedicure. I say "splurged" because I am notoriously cheap, especially for things that I consider to be luxurious, like paying someone to cut and polish your nails. But on Sunday, I had a beauty emergency. My nails had been chipped for a week, I was embarrassed every time I put on my summer sandals or open-toed high heels, and I had an audition the following day.

Why didn't I do them myself? Well, my schedule was crazy busy, and did I mention that I can't stand to do my nails? I never know what to do with the accumulation of dead skin cells that eventually populate the crevices of my toe nails. (TMI?) Sorry. And when I do take the time to do them, they look better, but not much.

For years I have avoided the nail shop. I've never wanted to be the all-too-typical American woman consumed by her looks, plus I haven't wanted to be the black "ghetto girl" who couldn't go out for the weekend if her hair and nails weren't done and she hadn't spent at least $100. Plus, I didn't like the dynamics of most of the nail shops in "urban areas" commonly known as "the hood." Picture this: nearly a dozen non-English and barely-English speaking Vietnamese women with hunched backs, each scraping black and brown feet, with white masks protecting their nostrils from (toxic?) fumes.

One could easily make a case that it is a legalized sweat shop. Breaks are taken, but they are neither long nor frequent. And although the women probably make minimum wage, it's probably no where near a living wage. How do they survive?

I sit down hesitantly. "You want nail done?" "Yes," I respond. It doesn't feel right to start reading my book right away while a woman sits hunched over my dirty feet. So, I begin a conversation. The woman tending my feet is named Mary Anne. She arrived from Vietnam six years before; She has been working at the nail shop for five years. I try to ask her more questions, but she doesn't understand me. She just smiles and looks at me.

I smile back and eventually begin to read. Twenty minutes later, I thank her, profusely. My nails look great. Better than anything I have ever done. I give her a generous tip and walk out of the door, hobbling so that I don't mess up my paint job.

Now, every time I look at my toes, I think about Mary Anne. Does she make enough to support herself? Does she live in a house with other immigrants? She said that she likes the States, but is life here better than the life that she had in Vietnam?

A Little 'Ole Thing Called LOVE!

2011-07-27T20:30:00.000-07:00

I'd dare to call it the 8th wonder of the world--this four letter word that is talked about and written about in more books, movie, and loves songs more than nearly every other word, except one big three letter word.

Recently, I had the pleasure of seeing one of my closest friends get married, and the honor of standing by her side as she pledged her love to her betrothed. While celebrating that beautiful 4th of July weekend with her and a loving consortium of family and friends, flown in from around the world, I began to ponder marriage, and what makes a strong marriage. How do two become one and stay one forever?

As I look around at the high divorce rates in the U.S., I know that being in love just isn't enough. Romantic feelings ebb and flow, like the tide; While indicative, they can't be relied upon.

Is choosing to love one another the key? (Choosing to give, when you're tired of giving, being kind when you want to be curt, being selfless in your service?) Is a successful marriage dependent on both partners living out this choice?

Some folks would argue that our ability to love unselfishly is a result of the agape (unconditional) love that God displays towards us, and that a strong marriage is built on this.

As someone who is still single and naturally a marriage expert, I believe that the mundaneness of marriage can be infused with marriage's magic when all three are in place.

Ebony and Dedric,

I wish you a wonderful life together. May you always be in love, choose love, and love God's way. And may your love for one another be eclipsed only by your love for GOD.

Love,
Chante

Why I'm Relieved Casey Anthony Was Found Not Guilty of Murder

2011-07-07T13:38:00.000-07:00

As I grow older, I'm realizing that individuals, like organizations, often come to misguided conclusions when they take an ahistorical view of an issue. The Casey Anthony trial, I believe, is one such example.

Long forgotten are the days when British law enforcement officials could search homes or property on a whim, without cause. Long forgotten are the times when condemnation in social circles led to condemnation in the court of law. These are the memories that the founders of our country had at the forefront of their minds when writing The United States Constitution and Bill of Rights. Our country was founded on a set of ideals that our founders felt should be implemented. Our legal system was established in such a way so that the government, and not an individual (who may or may not have resources, power, and connections) would carry the burden of proof.

I don't know if Casey Anthony murdered her child or not; I wasn't there, neither did I follow the trial closely. The court of public opinion says that she did it, but the court of law couldn't prove it. And in the end, that's all that matters. Innuendo and probably should never lead to a conviction. Not only is it illegal. It's immoral. I won't begin to go into the statistics of how many people (especially African American men) in the U.S. have been falsely convicted and imprisoned because jurors (or witnesses who decided to fudge "the truth") thought that they did it, even when there wasn't enough concrete evidence to support the belief.

Probability is meaningless; Proof is everything.

I'm relieved Anthony got off. A conviction, without evidence, would be proof that our country has turned completely away from the hopes and promises of our founders. Happy Independence Week!

The Makings of a Champion

2011-06-13T22:20:00.000-07:00

I am fascinated by people who excel above others-- those who are extraordinary, the very best of the best. I wonder what these people do to stand-out, what their secrets are. After watching game 6 of the NBA Finals between the Dallas Mavericks and the Miami Heat, I know that there is no secret. It's all very clear.

What does it take to become a champion?

1. You must practice more intensely than anyone else. (Like Dirk making himself shoot something like 50 consecutive free throw shots before ending practice.)

2. You must persevere, always. (Like attempting 27 shots in a game when you started out 1 for 12, to end up with 21 points.)

3. You can't ever lose site of your goal (What about keeping a picture of the championship trophy in your locker? Or in the case of Jason Terry, tattooed on your arm?)

4. Heart trumps talent any day. (Miami wanted it. The Mavs wanted it more. The rest is NBA history.)

Congratulations, Dallas! You will go down in the basketball annals as true Champions!

Falling...

2011-05-16T21:16:00.000-07:00

in Love. I've been thinking about it a lot lately. What does it mean when someone says, "I love you"?

Does it mean that the person is so enamored with their idea of you (either real or perceived) that they overlook the faults that others can't? Does it mean that you have a significatnt place in their heart that makes them willing to do near anything for you? (legal or otherwise?) Or does it mean that they like you, or perhaps lust after you, a whole, whole lot? Maybe it means that he's just-that-into-you--enough to pursue you like a drug addict chases his next fix, and actually put a ring on it.

I don't know that there is one common definition or description of what it's like to fall in love. Could the most universal experience be revealed in the phrase?

Here's a definition to try on for fit: Falling in love is when you feel like you're falling--quickly or slowly, but inevitably. Your destination is uncertain, and you're not sure if you'll land in one piece, but it's okay because you're not alone. Someone is holding your hand.

Ten Years In the Making

2011-05-03T23:29:00.000-07:00

Osama Bin Laden dead? I felt like the last to know. While the story of the decade broke on national news channels, international news outlets, and facebook, I was baking chicken. When I emerged from the kitchen, after a nearly three hour date with my oven, it seemed as if everything had shifted. Bin Laden was dead? Yes, and America was reacting.

Some, like myself, exhaled an elongated sigh of relief, grateful that the search was over, and hopeful that it would signal the end of myriad wars, some sketchy from their inception.

Other people displayed their excitement by ululating shouts of joy. Others gathered in the streets, waving the U.S.A. flags clenched in their tightened fists. Some even threw parties. Reactions varied, but were strong.

But as celebrations have ensued, and presidential approval ratings have improved, I have been left feeling more un-American than ever. I see no cause to celebrate death upon death. I see no point in celebrating "justice" after injustice. Do I think it's better that Bin Laden is dead rather than alive to continue to kill? Absolutely. But I can't rejoice. I can't today. I won't ten years from now.

What The Resurrection Means to Me

2011-04-25T22:14:00.000-07:00

When I was a little girl, Easter was about new floral dresses, freshly pressed hair, and an Easter basket filled with Cadbury bunnies (You know the ones with the creamy centers?) Dressed in our Sunday's best, my mom, dad, sister and I would go to church and celebrate Jesus' resurrection.

Now that I'm adult, Easter means so much more to me, and I find that each year brings a richer meaning. Fully immersed in this third decade of life, my celebration of the Resurrection isn't mostly about the fact that I am forgiven of my many wrongs, flaws, and issues (AKA sin). It isn't based solely on the fact that I am forever reconciled to my Father God through his son, Jesus Christ. What I'm most excited for this Easter is the fact that because of Christ, I can also be reconciled to my neighbor--the one who odiously injured me and made me want to hit her. Again. Because of Christ's work on the cross, I can forgive her, when a part of me doesn't want to, because the rest of me knows that through Christ, I too am forgiven. (So how then, could I not forgive?)

This Easter, I am excited that through Christ's work, black and white people can forgive each other for all past and present wrongs, and be reconciled in true love and brotherhood.

This Easter, I am happy that rich Christians can give generously to poor Christians, because as a part of Christ's reconciling body, we are one.

I am overjoyed this Easter that Jesus is truly the answer for every societal ill and every personal issue. He has dominated sin, and death, and every other icky thing in this life and beyond. He is God. He reigns supreme.

This Easter, I am happy not only to be in his fold, but to know Him as a friend. Happy Easter!

Making the Least of It

2011-04-04T23:12:00.000-07:00

A few weeks ago, I entered the scariest season of my life. I felt a mass in my right breast, and a cloud of questions and fears enveloped me, ironically clearing my vision.

Questions emerged: What if I only have one year left to live? Two? Three? What would I do? What would I not do?

I realized that I would:

Hike, and Swim, and Be Outside more.
Write more about my life following Jesus, as it has been the joy of my life.
Smile. Because smiling is so much more fun than frowning.
Get married. (Cause I want to share my life with someone.) And have sex.

I realized that I wouldn't:

Worry about my life and future plans.
Care about what people think about me. (Any more than I currently don't.)
Buy many more material things. Instead, I'd just give the money away.
Do any work that doesn't bring me joy.
Complain about the end being near because every single day has been a gift from God.

So, instead of doing more with my life, I find myself wanting to do less.

A Celebration of Numbers

2011-03-23T22:41:00.000-07:00

This weekend, I spent three days with my closest thirty-one relatives. Cousins, siblings, aunts, and uncles gathered to celebrate my Grandma Ruby's 70th Birthday.

We congregated around eight round tables in one banquet hall.

We consumed nearly sixty chicken breasts and dined on seven cheesecakes drizzled with caramel sauce.

We played one game (which took forty minutes).

We listened to several tributes (during which a dozen people cried).

We relived countless memories and reveled* in the one we were creating in the moment.

We prayed. Four times.

My aunt clanked her fork against her glass five times to quiet us down.

My grandma modeled down the imaginary runway once, showing off her green pants suit, worn in honor of her St. Patrick's Day Birthday.

We watched my two cousins, Jaylen and Naya, perform a magic show. Four times. (The fourth time was for YouTube.)

We argued. About dogs, about love, and about loving dogs.

We laughed 'til we bent over in laughter.

It was a once in a lifetime gathering.

Unnatural Disasters

2011-03-14T21:49:00.000-07:00

Some things in life make sense: falling in love, having kids, laughing with friends. Other things—like earthquakes, tsunamis, and catastrophic devastation—make no sense at all. In fact, we can lose our minds trying to make sense of what is senseless: hundreds of lives lost in a matter of minutes, cities destroyed, two unforgiving back-to-back disasters. We can go crazy trying to comprehend events that feel like scenes in a B-level, apocalypse-type movie: whole towns submerged in water, power outages, no cell phone access, and threats of nuclear disaster.

These events remind me that death, chaos, and mass destruction aren’t natural. They are the most unnatural of circumstances, not at all what God intended for us when we were created. The recent “natural” disasters in Japan elucidate what we all feel to be true: It was never meant to be this way.

Dinosaur Dynasties

2011-02-21T23:09:00.000-08:00

The other night, I felt disappointed while watching the nightly news. The newscaster was reporting an event that had happened two days before, and the story felt stale and almost irrelevant as a result. Ten years ago, reporting a story two days later wouldn’t have seemed problematic, but in 2011 it is. I couldn’t help but feel that that news program, like many institutions created decades ago is old, outdated, and headed for extinction. Here’s a partial list of institutions, inventions, and ways of living that are on their way to the cemetery:

The local evening news
The Yellow Pages
Home land lines
Plastic grocery bags
Paper newspapers
C.D.s
Gas Guzzling S.U.V.s
Books
Speaking only one language
Magazines
Handwriting?

R.I.P.

Falling In Love Is Like Driving On The Highway

2011-02-14T23:09:00.000-08:00

Falling in love is like driving on the highway. It can be fun, adventure-filled, but full of danger.

In driver education class in high school, I was taught to be a defensive driver—to look for potential dangers and to steer clear of them. I was taught to drive for the other driver, and above all, to protect myself. And while this is helpful and even necessary when behind the wheel, I’m finding that it can hinder your love relationships. Yes, being on the lookout for potential dangers is good, but constantly scanning your mirror for them is counterproductive. Yes, looking out for your own wellbeing is prudent, but continually trying to protect yourself is foolish.

I admit that driving is at times terrifying. You can be cruising along care free, singing along to your favorite Earth, Wind, and Fire song, when you suddenly hit a pothole, or get a flat, or another car veers into your lane, nearly hitting you or actually plunging into you. You can end up getting rushed to the hospital, on your way to the emergency room on a Saturday night. Yet despite the risks, most of us haven’t abandoned driving, turning in a Certificate of Non-Operation form at the local DMV office.

Having been in two back-to-back car accidents a few years back, I am an especially cautious driver. Specifically, I don’t like to make unprotected left turns, and I drive very slowly in the rain. (I’m that car that’s going fifty in the right hand lane when it’s raining.) When on the road, I’m always asking myself What if? And then trying to keep myself protected from the hazards (both known and unknown), that I am certain are lurking around. It’s so bad that my family says that I drive like an old woman, and they’re right.

I’m realizing that like driving, falling in love requires being okay with a certain level of risk—recognizing that you could get into an accident at any point, but being okay with this fact because the view along the coast is too beautiful to not make the trip.

And isn’t beauty worth seeing? Driving worth the experience? Imagine what mellifluous experiences await us on the journey, if we dare get in the car. Of course we should pay attention to warning signs on the road, in the same way that we pay attention to the speed limit and other signs meant to keep us safe. Ignoring them would be stupid. But maybe we shouldn’t just look for warning signs. Maybe we should look for rest stops where we can rejuvenate and remap our course, and for mom and pop diners where we can grab good grub for cheap, and for little towns that we can explore. Perhaps more than beauty awaits us. Perhaps love and patience, her two good friends, await us too.

So today I choose to be a fearless, beauty-loving, adventure-seeking, road warrior. This year, I am taking a drive up the coast. I don’t know exactly where I’m going or how long the trip will last, but I do know that the view is breathtaking and the company—frabjous.

Happy Valentine’s Day!

Imagined Beauties

2011-02-08T22:51:00.000-08:00

"Photoshopped women who don't really exist..." The words stung as I read them. They stung because although I know that the images that I see on the cover of People and Essence aren't real, I am tempted to believe that they are, and worse—to want to look like them. But the images are altered, crafted for hours to perfection or near perfection.

I know firsthand the power of Photoshop. With the click of a mouse, a pimple can disappear and a nose can suddenly appear more defined. Cheekbones can protrude, and eyelashes can pop.

So today, I will show some images of myself—some natural, some retouched, and others completely untouched, but with make-up. What is real? What's been altered? Can you guess?

Photo 1

Photo 2

Photo 3

Photo 4

Photo 5

Photo 6

Answer Key:

Photo 1: Make-up, Un-retouched
Photo 2: No Make-up, Un-retouched
Photo 3: Make-up, Un-retouched
Photo 4: Make-up, Retouched
Photo 5: Make-up, Un-retouched
Photo 6: Make-up, Retouched

America the Beautiful

2011-01-31T23:59:00.000-08:00

Imagine the government blocking your Internet access. Imagine not having money because you don’t have access to your bank account. Imagine schools being shut down, businesses being closed, and the country being put on a curfew. Today, Egyptian citizens don’t have to imagine this scenario because they are living it.

Their stock market crashed on last week, looting and rioting are now commonplace, and a country that was once considered safe is now under military lockdown, its citizens forced to create private militia to protect themselves from dangerous, roving mobs.

Watching these frightening scenes on CNN, I am truly grateful to be a U.S. citizen. No, my country is hardly picture-perfect. It has a legacy of grave social and political wrongs, but it is a democracy where its citizens get to exercise choice.

Collectively, as citizens, we get to decide who will govern us. Our political system allows two very differing groups to try to solicit our votes, and if we don’t agree with their views, we can always vote for a third party contender—a wealthy independent candidate or a green party favorite, both equally destined to lose.

But once elected, even our President doesn’t have absolute power: He is checked by our legislators, who are in turn checked by our judges. And his reign is limited. Our President has to try to get re-elected four years later, and if she or he wins another term, has to leave office after two terms because of term limits.

Our founding fathers had enough forethought to create safeguards; for this I am grateful, more now than ever before.

Choices, Choices!

2011-01-25T13:38:00.000-08:00

It's been said that we are the sum total of our choices.

Lately, I've been thinking a lot about choice, and how our desires fuel it. I've asked myself, "What do I wanna do with my life, really? Has it deviated from what I've wanted for years, if only slightly, or is it the same? How does starting a family (getting married and having a baby) fit into what I want career-wise? Does having one automatically rule out the other, or is it possible to do them both with grace, style, and most importantly—sanity? How have other goal-oriented women answered these questions?"

While the answers are a bit opaque presently, I do know that the choices that I make now will affect what happens in the future.

Choice is an interesting concept. Sometimes it has small consequences: The caramel macchiato that you order at Starbucks may not have a long-term effect on your life, but it could give you gas for a day, if you're lactose intolerant.

Other times, there are more significant consequences: Choosing to quit your demanding, stress-inducing job before you secure another one could leave you unemployed for a several months, happy but broke.

Whether the consequences are great or small, however, choosing well is important. Choosing to have that drink at Starbucks could be a really bad idea if you have a big presentation where you need to make a good impression. And being broke and unemployed is hardly ever a good idea, for you or your family and friends.

This year, my prayer is that I can make really wise choices—those that will benefit me now and in the future, as well as any new family members who might come along.

Cheers to Good Choices!

-Chante

Happy King Day, Baby!

2011-01-18T01:01:00.000-08:00

There is a picture of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. that I keep on my desk. In it, he wears a perfectly pressed black business suit, the portrait of sophistication and class. The background is a dilapidated house, his childhood home. The picture captures what King was all about: a new era of justice, bursting from an oppressive past.

What impresses me most about King is not what he amassed—a string of degrees, a beautiful family, worldwide fame, and a name that will live on for generations. What amazes me most about King is what he gave up—his family, his future, and his very life.

I am amazed that a man who had so much was willing to give up so much, and that in the face of threats (two home bombings and twenty-nine jail cells), he continued preaching, continued fighting. He never backed down. Where do we see that kind of sacrifice and suffering anymore? Do we see that kind of sacrifice and suffering anymore?

As a middle-class, college-educated African American woman, a primary beneficiary of King’s fight and legacy, I pray that I can continue his dream, not just in what I amass, but in what I’m willing to give up for those suffering at the hands of injustice and poverty. I pray that I am willing to give my time, my money, and if need be, my very life. We are, after all, all God’s children.

“We must be reminded anew that God is at work in his universe. He is not outside the world looking on with a sort of cold indifference. Here on all the roads of life, he is striving in our striving. Like an ever-loving Father, he is working through history for the salvation of his children. As we struggle to defeat the forces of evil, the God of the universe struggles with us.”

-Martin Luther King Jr., King Came Preaching

2011-01-10T23:59:00.000-08:00

For the past several years, I have observed a ritual each December. Towards the end of the month, I have debriefed the ending year, listing everything I’m thankful to God for. Then, I have prepared for the upcoming year by creating a vision, a list of goals, and strategies for achieving those goals.

This past December, I did none of this.

This is because in December of 2009, I committed to allowing God to give me new wineskins in 2010. I felt that He wanted to serve me new, fresh wine, but that I needed new wineskins in order to have the capacity to accommodate it.

2010 didn’t disappoint with its bitter-sweet drinks. In 2010, I:

made a major shift in my career focus
let go of a long-held dream
released myself from all of my goals and strategies for the last quarter of the year
embarked on a new path—one replete with hope, but devoid of guarantees

In short, I changed one plan, aborted another, delayed still another, and now have no plan at all. (And this is blasphemous for a woman who always has a plan, even if that plan is simply to not have a plan.) Over the course of the year, I went from reluctantly sipping wine that seemed bitter to freely gulping what came to taste sweet to my palette.

On New Year’s Eve, I sat in church, hoping for an idea for my 2011 vision. Unsurprisingly, nothing came to mind.

Nothing except one word: love.

So in 2011, I will love. And be loved. I have no goals, no strategy, no plan. All I have is my relationship with Love, master teacher and most patient lover.

Thanksgiving

2010-11-29T22:47:00.000-08:00

This year, I am thankful for:

Family whom I would be friends with even if we weren’t related.
The amazingly good, fattening food that I gobbled down on Thanksgiving, guilt free.
The fact that Jesus holds onto me, even when I don’t hold onto Him.
An accountability partner who listens compassionately through all of my rants.
A job! (A lot of people don’t have one right now.)
A job I really like. (Most people don’t have this, ever.)
A side hustle. (A sista’s gotta keep busy!)
Another side hustle. (Cause two is better than one?)
The fact that I don’t have to cook most nights because I live with a chef.
My Macbook, which is still going strong after five years.
The art of writing.
Facebook. (It’s just fun.)

What Would Oprah Do?

2010-11-22T23:45:00.001-08:00

Ladies & Gents, she's done it again! The Queen of Talk, Oprah Winfrey, AKA the Queen of Giving, has made television history by giving away the most elaborate collection of gifts, worth tens of thousands of dollars, to her studio audience during her Oprah's Favorite Things show.

For starters, instead of just hosting her usual Oprah's Favorite Things show, she hosted two of them—all for people who have shown extraordinary altruism in their lives.

Then, she lavished her audience with gifts so amazing that the Paramedics were there on stand-by, just in case.

The first group received (among other things), a 7-day Royal Caribbean Cruise, a 3-D Sony HDTV, and an Oprah 25th anniversary watch (worth nearly $2500). The second group received an iPad, diamond earrings, and a Volkswagen 2012 Beetle. In total, both audiences received forty-four gifts, ranging from items as practical as winter sweaters, to gifts as extravagant as diamond watches.

While hearing my mom enviously describe the gifts that O’s audience received, I couldn’t help but think that this is how God blesses us—in abundance, beyond what is socially acceptable, surpassing what has ever been done before. He blesses us both materially and spiritually, but sometimes it’s so much that others look on in disbelief, their eyes secretly coveting what we have, whether it’s our unexplainable peace or a new car.

In John 12, we see a woman named Mary pouring an expensive perfume (worth about a year’s wages) onto Jesus’ feet. She is anointing Jesus, a lavish gesture, but the onlookers say that the gift is a waste, too much to give at once. Thinking about this story, I can't help but think that this is her gesture of love, how she chooses to give to Him. And this too is how He chooses to give to us.

What Would Jesus Do? He would and does give extravagantly, beyond what Ms. Winfrey and her sponsors are capable of. Why? To show us that He loves to give to us, that He is the ultimate gift giver. A very Merry Christmas (and life) indeed.

Oprah's Favorite Things

2010-11-19T06:00:00.000-08:00

For several years, I’ve dreamed about flying to Chicago to sit in the audience of The Oprah Winfrey Show. And for the last few years, I've secretly hoped / half-heartedly prayed that I would be fortunate enough to get a ticket to Oprah's Favorite Things episode, the most valuable ticket in TV, more valuable perhaps than Charlie’s golden ticket. I imagined the novel items I would return home with (edible lip gloss, a watch that takes photos, and kindles that come with one hundred free reads); I even made a pact with God: If I got a ticket, being the altruistic Christian that I am supposed to be, I would keep only one gift, and give the rest away, either -- to charity or to my friends and family. But unfortunately, that prayer went unanswered because today, I'll be watching Oprah's Favorite Things on TV, like everyone else, praying that I don’t slightly covet some of the items that her audience is receiving.

What will she give away today? Video cams? Cars? Trips around the globe? She's done it all before. It has to be spectacular. It is the last one. For Christmas, that is.

Given that I do love to give presents and I wouldn't mind having my own show one day, I've created a list of Chante’s Favorite Things, things that I would give away if I had a show and cool free gifts to give to my audience of women who would start to cry before they saw the first gift.

Chante’s Favorite Things

Striped Flannel Pajamas (The vertical stripes with fun colors, cause if you’re gonna wear flannel, they might as well look kinda cool.)

Warm, Fuzzy Socks (Cause if your feet are cold…)

A Plush Robe (I think you get the point by now.)

The Very Best of Fred Hammond CD (This is my favorite musical artist. His music is funky, fun, heartfelt, and uplifting.)

The NIV Teen Study Bible (This is the very first Bible that I owned. It’s cool, colorful, and a great way to introduce a teen or young person to God.)

My Mom’s Fried Chicken Recipe (We really are thinking about packaging it and selling it, it’s that good.)

Something Chocolate (Cause chocolate makes everything better!)

The BlackBerry Curve 3G Smartphone (I just got it and I’m as happy as a logophile with an electronic dictionary.)

The iPad (Why? Because it just looks cool and you can do everything with it, except maybe cook dinner, although I’m sure that you can find instructions on how to on it.)

20 lbs of Firewood (Cause nothing goes better with the winter cold than a nice fire.)

A fireplace installation, in case you don’t have one (Cause isn’t that what Oprah would do?)

If I do end up with my own talk show one day, maybe I’ll actually be able to give out these treats. Now wouldn’t that be something?

I’m Just a Blogger But…It’s Just Okay to Me

2010-11-16T18:00:00.000-08:00

Book Review: I’m Just a DJ But…It Makes Sense to Me by Tom Joyner with Mary Flowers Boyce

My Grade: C, but worth a skim if you have an interest in either entertainment or African American culture

I’m no professional book reviewer, but I found Tom Joyner’s I’m Just a DJ But…It Makes Sense to Me, though filled with illustrious tidbits of advice, to be only mildly entertaining, which is disappointing because Joyner has made a living entertaining audiences.

Throughout the book, Joyner, with the help of Mary Flowers Boyce, recounts his rise to fame and wealth, beginning with his chubby roots in Tuskegee, Alabama. His story is inspiring, but his voice felt muted throughout the story. Perhaps this is what happens when you write a book with someone?

Ordinarily, I’d write a full review, but since it’s a comical, playful book, I’ll write a lite review.

Here are some noteworthy topics covered:

The importance of dreaming bigger
Why he’s unapologetically ethnocentric
How he bought a college (and how you can make enough money so that you too can buy a college)
Why he loves all women (even though he's happily married)
Random snippets of advice, such as “If you get busted making a videotape, make a hit gospel song.”

It wasn’t my favorite read of the year, but it did give me insight into a man I’ve only heard about in passing. Plus it offered tips on how I too can create and run my own media empire!

Things That Are Just Frabjous!

2010-10-24T15:34:00.000-07:00

Visiting another country

Starbuck’s Caramel Apple Spice

Feeling at Home with Someone

Making sand castles with my six-year old cousin

Writing in my Blog (even if my mom is the only one who reads it!)

Eating a Delicious Meal that I've prepared

Dancin ‘til my feet writhe

Snuggling up with a good, long Book (or two, or twelve…)

Being seen and appreciated

Laughing with Family

Learning a fun word

The Sound of Silence

2010-10-18T21:35:00.000-07:00

As I get older, I increasingly find it necessary and refreshing to occasionally pull away from everything familiar and refocus. So on Thursday, I joined the Benedictine monks at the Prince of Peace Abbey Monastery in Oceanside, CA for a forty-eight hour retreat of silence and solitude. My goal: to be with God and be still enough to hear his voice.

The monastery exudes quiet contemplation, the perfect place for a retreat. It sits high on a hill overlooking the city. The hundred plus acres offer trails for walking and praying, as well as numerous sitting areas with calming views. Guests can join the brothers for service five times a day: 1) 5 AM Vigils, 2) 7 AM Lauds, 3) 11 AM Mass, 4) 5 PM Vespers and 5) 8 PM Compline.

While strolling through the grounds, I felt like I was standing on holy ground, especially while in the stained glass chapel. The space felt like it had been set aside for God, as if His spirit was ready to commune with mine.

I took the invitation seriously. I prepared for our communion:

First, I took a nap (cause it’s hard for me to hear God when I’m tired).
Then, I ate (cause it’s hard for me to do anything when I’m hungry).

Alas, I was ready. I tried to clear my mind from distractions and open myself up to whatever God might say. I sat and waited, but nothing happened. I went from a walk, waiting while walking, but nothing happened. Later on, I sat again, my ears perched in expectation, but still nothing. Instead, my mind was filled with thoughts about work and questions about my love life. Not a problem, I thought. It’ll just take a while for my head to de-clutter.

The next morning, however, mirrored the night before. Only this time, desires buried inside of my heart surfaced: the desire for companionship and the desire to be known. They emerged passionately, pungently, demanding that I pay attention. I welcomed them, and the flood of tears that followed. And then, I presented them to God in prayer. I sat and listened, still expectant. I heard and felt nothing.

It was then, twenty-four hours into my retreat, that I realized that this might be all that the weekend had for me: an awareness of my desires, plus the realization that perhaps my mind was too cluttered with all kinds of stuff to be still enough to listen to anything other than itself. Maybe I wouldn’t hear from God the way that I usually did. Maybe He wouldn’t speak at all. In the silence, I became okay with this. Not thrilled, but okay. (See It Gets Sweeter.) Simply being with Him would be enough for me this weekend.

On Saturday morning, with six hours remaining, I sat alone in the cafeteria. Coffee cup in hand, I felt a volcano of emotions inside of me, waiting to escape. I knew that it needed to surface but that I couldn’t force it out. I didn’t even know what it was.

I walked into the chapel and sat on the floor. I bowed to the ground, desperate to hear God, longing to feel Him. And as I lay bowed before the altar, with a heart filled with reverence, I felt God say that I didn’t need to try to force Him to speak to me. I didn’t need to bow, or open my heart, or try to quiet my mind the way I had been during the last two days. All I needed to do was sit with Him.

So, I peeled my body off of the ground and just sat. I smiled, happy with God’s response. And as I smiled, enjoying the fact that all I needed to do was enjoy God, I finally heard his voice. All He said was, “I love you.”

It was one of the few times I have heard God say these words to me, piercing my being. I allowed myself to take in the full weight of His words—that the Creator of the universe loves me and cares about me. I cried softly, and then the volcano of emotions erupted until I wept, aloud, and then very loudly. I was no longer silent. I stayed seated on the chapel floor for a while. I sat with God and his love for me.

The rest of the day was pretty uneventful. I walked and prayed and napped.

As I allowed myself to rest in God’s love, I became assured that there was no reason for my mind and heart to be cluttered with the swirling questions and fear that had consumed me in the days prior. My heart was in the hands of a God who loves me.

I drove down the hill, in silence, questions unanswered, but confident of God’s unending love for me. He loves me so much that He isolated me from family, friends, and yes even myself, just to tell me so.

Eat, Pray, Read

2010-10-06T20:03:00.000-07:00

Oprah’s done it, and so has one in four American women, so it seems. And now, so have I. I’ve joined the legions of women oohing and awing over Elizabeth Gilbert’s Eat, Pray, Love. I’d heard how fabulous it is, heard it lauded by Oprah, The Los Angeles Times, the New York Times Book Review, and Entertainment Weekly. But now I too must stand up and give a round of applause to Elizabeth Gilbert. And I’ll go a step further and sing the book’s praises in this blog.

Gilbert did what most writers fail to do—she wrote a memoir that covers an extended period of time, but she managed to keep the reader engaged page after page. The book was divided neatly into three sections, one for each country she visited. It didn’t feel three hundred and thirty-one pages long; Instead, it felt like three extended short stories, connected by theme, time, and spirit.

Each country’s section could almost read as a stand-alone, but together, they told how she ascended from the ashes of the “ideal” life she purposefully destroyed to the center of a new life rich in fulfillment and purpose. Italy described her love affair with food, India, her love affair with God, and Indonesia, her love affair with…well, I won’t spoil the surprise.

Although I don’t agree with either her new-age beliefs or with many of her feminist practices, (I label myself a Christ-centered feminist), I appreciate her courage and her candidness. Anyone willing to go on a year’s journey with the sole purpose of finding peace and meaning, with little in the bank to back her up gets my respect. And anyone willing to write about it blow by blow, teardrop upon teardrop, replete with embarrassing details, gets mad props from me as well.

Her memoir was delightfully honest, oh-so-memorable, and at times felt magical. As a reader, I was amazed at her ability to weave together past and present experiences, spirit and body encounters. To present three different countries, a dozen characters, and detail the workings of her inner world over the course of one year was a monstrous task, which she mastered beautifully. Page by page, she spun her web of words around me, drawing me into her whirlwind journey. I felt…seduced by it. Seduced because although she did grow in her spirituality, I felt that she missed the Ultimate Spirit. And her revelations, although profound and life-changing, felt incomplete and resultantly lacking in the depth that they could have had.

Some of my friends don’t like the book because they say that they can’t identity with Gilbert. To her she feels too elitist, unable to paint accurate pictures of the people she encounters, her vision tainted by her privilege. Maybe they’re right. Gilbert is a privileged white American woman who writes from her perspective, about her life, using her tone. But that’s what any great memoirist does; they share the world from their perspective. I suspect that my friends just don’t like her, or her privilege, which is fine.

I enjoyed spending several hours of my life, over the course of several weeks, reading about her life. Mine is definitely richer because of it. I am making it a point to enjoy my food more, enjoy just being in God’s presence, and am opening up my heart to love. Life’s greatest joys are indeed found in three small words: eat, pray, love.

Where's the Party At?

2010-09-28T21:57:00.000-07:00

The woman two rows in front of me wears a beautiful lavender satin dress, sleeveless, revealing her brown skin, knee-length, with a white petticoat underneath. I know it's white because the white netting peaks out cautiously underneath the lavender fabric. She lifts her hands, singing. Rhinestone drop earrings dangle from her ears, reflecting small rays of light around the church as she moves her arms and body back and forth and back and forth in praise. I stare at her. She's wearing a party dress, to church. Last week, she wore a black, floor-length gown. Why?

I watch her worship, and I begin to know. Going to church isn't just a mundane, weekly routine. To her, going to God's house is special, something to celebrate each and every week. Rhinestones are her way of setting Sunday a part. Satin--her way of celebrating the sabbath. She would never dare wear jeans. She dresses up because it's important to her.

And although I don't believe that what you wear to church is as important as the fact that you come, I celebrate her celebration. In fact, I want to emulate it. This next week, I just might show up at one of my friend's houses in a ball gown, high heels, and my pearl necklace, just to let her know how important she is to me!

Make-UpLogy

2010-09-22T20:07:00.000-07:00

Today I shot a commercial for Living Spaces. One thing I love about being on camera is that you get to go through "Hair & Make-Up," where your make-up is applied by a professional (who usually spends about an hour on you face, meticulously grooming every part of it {from your eyelashes, to your eyebrows, to any other facial hair that otherwise shouldn't be there}). Then that same person (or a different one) curls, pins, pulls, and sprays your hair, primping it to camera perfection.

This evening, before I washed off all of my make-up, I looked at my face in the mirror. It looked perfect. My skin looked even and flawless, my cheeks were rosy. I smiled. As the cloth began to wipe away the make-up, however, I begin to see the many imperfections: the uneven skin tone, the dark areas under my eyes (from years of wearing heavy glasses), and the tiny dark spots, small reminders of blemishes of former days.

Then it hit me: This is how God sees his children. Those us of who have been reconciled to Him through Christ are cleansed from all impurities and imperfections through Christ's blood. We aren't perfect (no--we are often selfish and proud and have been known to tell a lie or two, ... or twenty), but to Him, it's as if we've never done any wrong, as if we've never sinned. We are flawless. When He looks at us, he sees no inconsistencies, no dark areas, no signs of past mistakes. We are camera-ready, picture perfect. We are his children. He smiles.

For this I'm thankful. (And for my Bobbi Brown Moisture Rich Foundation. It works wonders!)

It's Only An Emergency!

2010-09-21T22:48:00.000-07:00

Here’s another driver’s confession: Tonight I was driving to church when I heard the slight sound of sirens. I looked in my rearview mirror and saw an ambulance, far away, but approaching. I won’t need to pull over for a little bit, I thought, still driving. So, I kept driving, and it kept coming. After about a minute I did need to pull over, but then I thought. Do I really need to pull to the side? Couldn’t I just stop in this middle lane? Surely the ambulance could still get by. Quite a few other drivers must have thought this too, cause I saw only the car in front of me pull to the right, (and I followed suit).

In that moment I witnessed insensitivity that is disappointingly familiar. How could we—I—be so insensitive to the needs of whoever was in that ambulance or about to be placed in that ambulance?

A city creature, I have become so accustomed to seeing and hearing ambulances, police cars, and fire trucks that the experience doesn’t carry any emotional weight to me anymore. When my pupils are dilated by the flashing red lights, I don’t think about the person or people who might be saved by the paramedics on board. I don’t think “emergency.” I think "inconvenience."

Tonight, though, was a self-inflicted slap to the face. I don’t want to be the selfish driver who thinks only of herself. I want to be willing to miss a light, or a turn, or a freeway exit if it means health and safety for someone. And I want to do it without thinking about it, as instinctively as a mama bear protects her cubs.

So from now on my name shall be “Mama Bear Chante.”

For the Record

2010-09-13T23:53:00.000-07:00

Many people spend their entire lives trying to be the first—the first to cross the finish line, the first to get married, the first to buy a house. NFL football star Reggie Bush is no different. A 2005 Heisman Trophy winner, he and teammate Matt Leinart were the first pair of Heisman Trophy winners to play together in a Rose Bowl. In February of 2010, he led the New Orleans Saints to their first NFC championship, their first Super Bowl appearance, and their first Super Bowl Championship. This month, he will make history again by becoming the first player in the 75-year history of the Heisman Trust to have the trophy stripped away from him. How’s that for a first?

Reggie Bush became a household name as a player on University of Southern California’s football team. He was a running back, wide receiver, and punt returner. Fast and flexible, a teammate named him “Gumby,” for his unbelievable flexibility. He helped lead USC to the 2005 Orange Bowl Championship, breaking records at USC and in the NCAA. He left USC one year shy of graduation to enter the 2006 NFL Draft. Surprisingly, he wasn’t the number one draft pick – he was number two; but unsurprisingly, he announced his first endorsement deal (with adidas) days before the Draft, the first of what now totals $5 million annually, including deals with Pepsi, Subway, and General Motors. (Bush is second only to Peyton Manning in endorsement deals for a NFL player.)

With a championship ring to bling on his finger, a hottie celeb girl to flaunt on his arm, and millions more coming, this should have been Reggie Bush’s year to smile, sit pretty, and enjoy the fruit of years of hard labor. But instead of enjoying this championship year, he has been sitting in hearings and meetings, answering questions about his time at USC: “Did you receive gifts from sports agents while a student?” “Did your mom receive presents from sports agents while you were a student?”

Bush has remained quiet, but the Heisman Trust has vocalized its opposition to what it says was illegal activity on the part of the Bush family. Its voice has been loud and oh so clear:

USC was forced to vacate its last wins of the 2004 season (including the 2005 Orange Bowl), plus all of its 2005 season wins
USC was banned from all bowl games in 2010 & 2011
USC will lose 30 athletic scholarships throughout the next three years
USC must disassociate itself from Bush, permanently, meaning that to USC, it will be like he never existed.
USC must give back the Heisman Trophy that Bush won

Now, that must hurt—to see three years of your hard work, sweat and pain disappear, over night—to be told that what you dreamed about as a boy and worked together with your teammates to accomplish is gone, with one decision. It must be painful to have the school that you essentially gave your life to for three years publicly disown you, forever.

Or… maybe not so much. For Bush, maybe it was never about love for USC, or love for his teammates, or love for the game. Maybe it was all for the love of money.

Money was what motivated him, after all, to break NCAA rules and accept presents and monetary gifts from sports agents, including a limousine ride to the 2005 Heisman Trophy ceremony. And money was what motivated him to leave USC one year early to enter the NFL Draft. And wasn’t money what enticed him to endorse adidas, Pepsi, Subway, and GM?

Now it’s irony that lifts its head, shaking in disapproval, because it’s allegations that Bush and his family failed to repay money to sports agents that gave the NCAA the information that it needed to catch Bush. If Bush had paid these agents the money that he had promised to repay them, they most likely wouldn’t have helped the NCAA in its investigation. But if Bush hadn’t taken the money to begin with, then there couldn’t have been an investigation because there wouldn’t have been any wrongdoing.

Bush valued his own immediate wants over those of his teammates, his college’s, and his own long-term goals. Now, he’s lost what he built with his teammates (along with their trust and friendship), his legacy at USC, and the respect of countless fans. Plus, he’s lost millions in endorsements that companies would have given him if he didn’t have a history of dishonesty and selfishness.

I hope that all of this has caused Bush to take a look at his past to create a better roadmap for his future. (Doesn’t that sound like a political campaign ad?) If so, he can accomplish another first—he can be the first professional athlete of late to realize that character does indeed count.

Gamblers Anonymous

2010-09-09T18:30:00.000-07:00

I grew up in a Christian home. We went to church every Sunday morning, every Sunday night, and on Thursdays and Saturdays. While other kids were at science camp, I was at church camp, and while my classmates were at soccer practice, I was at choir rehearsal. My parents made sure that the solid academic education that I received at school was supported by a strong spiritual foundation. They protected me from anything that could be perceived as bad for me — the usual suspects: sex, drugs, & rock ’n’ roll, and some others: bad boys, rap music, & playing cards. Dominoes too.

In our C.O.G.I.C. tradition, cards and dominoes were associated with gambling and casinos, and those were definite no-no’s for Christians (even though I could have sworn that I remember my church’s school hosting a raffle once). As a result, I am a part of a small consortium of American adults that doesn’t know the difference between Spades & Texas Hold’em. (Note: I had to look up popular card games online cause the only one I could think of was Texas Hold’em.)

Today, however, I made a scary discovery about myself. I realized that despite my parent’s attempts to protect me from all things evil, I have a serious gambling problem. And if I were brave enough to mention this to my mother, surely her eyebrows would raise dubiously, eyes bulging like a bug-eyed tree frog’s, because I’ve never put one single coin into a single slot machine. Neither have I placed bets online, nor at the racetrack which is just a five-minute drive from my house. The only bookies I’ve had contact with are the actors who play them on episodes of Law & Order, and the only times I’ve set foot in a casino have been to dance—salsa and Chicago stepping.

Never before did I consider myself a gambler. Now, however, I see that I gamble all of the time — weekly definitely, and daily often. It’s almost always when I’m driving. I eat while driving, drive & talk without an earpiece (if it runs out of juice), and sometimes even text when traffic is moving slowly. (Oprah would be mad mad that I haven’t taken the pledge.)

Today, while driving, I realized that I had a problem. I grabbed an apple out of my bag, relieved to be able to curb the hunger that was attacking my stomach. Then I proceeded to start driving while eating. I was controlling the steering wheel with my left hand, while using my right hand (which is also my best hand) to hold the apple. As apple juice ran down my chin, I realized that I had unintentionally and unarguably put myself and everyone else around me in danger. What if a car turned into my lane, unexpectedly? Or what if a kid ran right in front of my car, chasing a stray ball? Although I might see them in time, I most likely wouldn’t be able to respond in time. How could I, with only one hand on the steering wheel ready to respond? To turn or swerve quickly, I would definitely need the right hand that had chosen to clutch that red apple.

This conversation ran in my mind, mid-transgression. I discarded it quickly, though, telling myself, “What are the chances? That won’t happen. And even if it did, you could respond in time. You’d just have to drop the apple.”

I listened to myself. I was full of it.

There would be no time to drop the apple because I would have just one second to respond, and it could be the difference between a car accident and a close call or maybe even the difference between life and death.

I didn’t want to hear it, though. I wanted to believe that I was the exception — that my life would have all sun and no rain. Surely I was immune to the stuff that other people had to endure. And surely I could talk, or eat, or apply make-up while driving (all legal, moral activities) without any major or life-altering complications. I knew that I could. If there was a rule, I was the exception. And if there were odds, they were definitely in my favor.

So, I kept on driving. And eating.

Birthday Wishes

2010-08-30T17:34:00.000-07:00

This year my birthday felt different. It felt different because I’m different. I’m more sure of where I’m going, more confident of what’s deposited in me. I linger neither on the past nor daydream about the future. Instead, I live each day with purpose. I choose to do the things that make me happy—reading, thinking, listening to music, even if they bore other people. I surround myself with those whose beings bring me joy – good friends and family. I make decisions based on not just what I want for today, but for what I want for my life. I try to choose wisely because I will never get today back. And tomorrow will be over in another twenty-four. I focus not on what I can’t do, but choose to embrace all that I can do. And if I can’t, why not learn how?

I have yet to create my bucket list, but I’m beginning to think about what I’ll put on it once I do. Yes, we only get one life. I am making the most of it. Happy Birthday to me.

A Day At The Park

2010-08-23T22:11:00.000-07:00

Saturday was hot. Super hot. I sat at the park, hiding from the sun under the shade of an awning, reading Writer’s Digest. Around the park were familiar sites: kids running passionately in the color-matted play areas, parents hovering close by. Birthday balloons swayed in the wind, while lovers cuddled up to each other, despite the smoldering heat.

Then I noticed something out of place: a young man punching the air, running. And while I’ve come to expect eccentric behavior from my fellow Los Angelinos, I didn’t expect to see someone running at the height of the afternoon heat, punching an invisible enemy. Yet there he was, doing it with hands bound with white tape, clear sweat running off his sun-baked brown skin.

He didn’t seem crazy; he seemed more concentrated than anything. I concluded that he was training for something – a boxing match most likely. Questions floated through my mind: Was he a student? A semi-pro or professional athlete?

When he passed by me the second time, this time walking, I asked him what he was training for. “The 2012 Olympics” he responded, matter-of-factly. Wow, I thought. I had never met anyone training for the Olympics. For an instant, I pictured him entering the boxing ring: a red, white, and blue USA flag positioned proudly over his shoulders.

“I’m working through an injury, though,” he said, lifting up his t-shirt that revealed a black brace over the top half of his chest. My admiration for him increased. We chitchatted for another minute before he left, off for another round of training.

I want to be more like this athlete. I want to approach the goals I’ve set for my life with the same level of determination. Today, I want to be preparing for a goal I’ve set for two years from now. I want to work towards this goal every day, and on a Saturday afternoon, when most other people are relaxing after a long week of work. And I want to do it at the height of something — when the sun is at its peak, when I’m most tired — because if I pursue my goal at the height of difficulty, then I can do it anytime.

Before the 2008 Olympics, Michael Phelps was practicing on Saturdays. On Christmas Eve, he woke before the sun did, to swim. And on Christmas morning, while his family members lay in bed, he rose early again, to work on his stroke. The results: eight gold medals.

I’m gonna keep an eye out for Brian Jones in the 2012 Olympics. He may just be the next Michael Phelps.

It's SO Easy!

2010-08-17T21:10:00.000-07:00

Reebok’s ad for its new EasyTone tennis shoes caught my eye on TV last night. Like SKECHERS Shape Ups, these shoes promise to help strengthen your legs, while increasing tone in your legs, thighs, and butt. Only they’re cuter. “Ooh!” I thought immediately. “Maybe I should get some.”

Then, just as quickly, another part of me countered with, “Here’s another product to help me fix something that’s ‘wrong’ with me.” And then my mind became flooded with a long list of products designed to fix women and make us beautiful, finally. There’s Revitalash, guaranteed to grow your eyelashes, LipFusion, guaranteed to plump up your lips (or Maybelline’s Volume XL Seduction Lip if you just want them to look pumped), there’s Botox, guaranteed to reduce your wrinkles, and the LAP BAND Surgery, guaranteed to permanently control your waistline. And it’s all scientifically proven!

Watching this Reebok ad made me realize that I’m tired of not liking parts of myself. (And I’m not talking about bad habits or poor character.) I’m tired of thinking that I need to be taller, that I need to have and legs that are more toned, plus a tight bottom, perfect for a pair of Apple Bottom jeans. I’m tired of freaking out about the newly emerging grey hairs sprouting in my otherwise brown-haired head. I’m fine to stop assessing my diet if my jeans start to feel a little tight. I’m sick of feeling that I should work out, not because it’s good for me, but because it will keep me looking like I’m 25. Perennially.

What I’m most weary of is the fact that I’ve allowed other people and institutions (mainly the advertising industry), to make me believe that something — no, lots of things, are wrong with me. Despite my instruction in feminist theory in college and my time allowing Scripture to help me see that I “fearfully and wonderfully made,” I have allowed myself to be victimized by an industry that has wreaked havoc on women’s bodies and psyches for decades, if not centuries. Scholarly critique and prayer have not immunized me from its toxic lies, presented in mirage-filled magazines and carefully-crafted million-dollar TV ad campaigns.

What’s even crazier is that a part of me kind of wants the EasyTones. Having them might eliminate the need to work out as much. But buying them would surely be another act of self-hatred, a clear message to my body (and myself) that I am not good enough.

So, instead today I choose to believe what is penned so beautifully in Psalm 139: that I am fearfully and wonderfully made. As is.

What Are The Chances?

2010-08-09T23:48:00.000-07:00

Most of us live our lives asking ourselves the question, “What are my chances?” What are my chances of getting caught speeding on this freeway? What are my chances of being the one to win this raffle? What are my chances of getting this girl to go out with me?

We consider the probability of our success: not very good, okay, 1 out of 100, 1 out of 10,000, 1 out of a million, and we respond accordingly. The greater the probability or likelihood of us succeeding, the more likely we are to attempt it. And the lower the probability, the less likely we are to try.

But there’s a problem when we begin to make life decisions based on mathematical probability, when we allow statistics to dictate what’s possible for our lives.

First of all, we are allowing mathematical reasoning to stop us from pursuing something that we want. Now, I believe that you should go after whatever you want (assuming it’s moral and not hurtful to anyone), whether it’s a desire to learn the piano at the age of fifty (my grandma did this) or a goal of becoming a medical doctor at sixty (my friend’s mom is in the process of applying to medical school). It’s been said before, but you do only get one life. Why let a number stand in your way?

Secondly, we’re people, not numbers. We have infinite potential to match any number’s infinity. As individuals and as a race, we are constantly redefining what’s statistically possible. Grandmothers are giving birth to newborns. (Now, whether they should or not is another conversation.) New world records in track and swimming and other Olympic sports are commonplace. We can do more than was ever thought possible.

Thirdly, when we automatically assume that we won’t be the one to succeed, we are saying that we don’t believe that we could be the one blessed enough to receive the prize. Some of us believe that nothing good ever happens to us and that we never get a break. Yes, we’re magnets for all the bad stuff life has to offer. We devalue ourselves. And in the end, not a lot of great stuff does happen to us, not because it couldn’t have, but because we never even tried.

But truth be told, “it” happens to every-day people all the time, maybe even each day. Every day, a not-so-hot-looking guy asks a gorgeous girl to go out on a date, and she says yes. Every year, a student who didn’t have Ivy League school grades receives an acceptance letter from Harvard. Every week, some housewife who entered a contest for a free mini-van gets the news to come and pick up the keys to her new cherry red Dodge Caravan. And every year, some guy gets to quit his day job because he has finally become a full-time “working actor.”

Now, sometimes those who beat the odds do appear to be lucky. (Like the guy who sits on his couch all day only to win fifty million dollars in the California lottery!) And sometimes, they are. They do absolutely nothing to deserve the prize, and they get it. But usually, the one who wins worked really hard to be able to win. The college basketball player who got drafted to the NBA dedicated years of his life to practice and gym work-outs before he became a part of the small percentage of college athletes drafted. His hard work increased the probability for his success and helped him “beat the odds.”

Work it so that you can either increase the probability of your success or so that you can you can beat the odds. Either way, you gotta work it. Work hard. Work a lot. Work smart.

A mantra that I developed in high school is “Somebody’s gonna win it! Why not me?” Asking this question has led me to enter writing contests, scholarship contests, beauty contests, and the occasional raffle. And while I’ve lost more than I’ve won, I’ve won more than most people. I’ve travelled throughout California, the U.S., and the world for free because I had the audacity to hope. (Okay, not really.)

“Why not me?” It’s a bold question, and I’m excited to see where else it takes me in life.

Why not you?

It Gets Sweeter

2010-07-26T06:00:00.000-07:00

Ever notice that when you really want to be with someone, you’re willing to wait for them? Wait for them to call you back, wait for them to come home from work, wait for however long it takes.

Why is it that sometimes, we don’t display this same patience with God? We ask Him a question, and if He doesn’t answer immediately, we’re upset. Or, we want to feel His presence during prayer or in a certain situation, but get either bored or frustrated if we don’t’ sense it right away.

The crazy cool and unexpected thing, though, is that with God, the waiting isn’t just the pre-requisite to being with Him. The waiting is a part of the being with, cause it’s when we’re waiting for Him that He comes (sometimes unnoticed) and begins to change us so that we can experience Him more deeply, daily.

Today, I waited on God.

It was like honey to my soul.

The Po Po

2010-07-19T22:47:00.000-07:00

Driving on the 110 Freeway this morning, I spotted a police car tucked away on the side of the road. "He's trying to catch us doing something illegal," I thought immediately. I checked my speed and slowed down as a precaution, even though I was under the speed limit. I continued to scrutinize my behavior: Was my seatbelt on? Was my registration tag current? Was I talking on my cell without an earpiece? Fear seized me, even though I hadn't broken any laws.

I believed that the cop's job was to catch me and punish me. It never crossed my mind that his true job is to protect and serve--me, the guy blasting his radio ahead of me, and the woman putting on lipstick next to me. His duty is to protect me from the folks who drive at dangerous speeds like they're playing a car racing game, and to keep me away from those borderline alcoholics who think it's okay to drive after several drinks. He is there to keep me safe: to protect me from them and them from me because I have had to drop my cell phone mid-convo while driving on more than one occasion cause I didn't have my earpiece with me.

His job is to keep all of us safe, but I don't usually see it this way. I think he's ready to pounce on me when I mistake.

Too often I view God in the exact same way. I believe that His job is to catch me and punish me. I go throughout my day fearful that He's going to catch me doing something wrong and then yell, "Aha!" as He figures out a good consequence to lash on me.

But God isn't like this at all. He is here to protect us; He is here to serve us. Matthew 20:28 says,"The Son of Man came not to be served, but to serve." And I constantly remind myself of the heart of Psalm 23, that "the Lord is my shepherd."

My prayer is that I can live believing that God (and the po po) really are there to protect me and to take care of me. Surely driving through life will be a lot more delightful this way.

Summer's Simplicities

2010-07-12T21:36:00.000-07:00

Summer’s here! Are you enjoying it?

Summer is the perfect time to:

Take a Walk
Plant a Garden
Go Swimming
Reconnect with Old Friends
Learn a New Hobby

This summer, I’m learning to sew. (It’s about time I put the sewing machine I received four Christmases ago to good use!) My goal: to make cute summer skirts and dresses. Did you know that you can buy a yard of fabric for only a few bucks and make either a skirt or a dress for under $10?

I started to make my first dress this week. I got the fabric in the Caribbean, while on vacation with my two of my best friends last year. It’s bright and flowery, just like summer. I don’t know how well it will turn out, cause it’s my very first project, but I’m proud of myself for trying. I’ll keep you posted on how it turns out.

What are you doing this summer?

Shopping for Shoes (Men)

2010-07-06T01:17:00.000-07:00

(Note: This picture does not do these shoes justice.)

I went shopping for shoes this weekend.

My shopping trip should have been simple. I knew exactly what I wanted: a pair of brown strappy heels perfect for summer days in the office.

As the weekend approached and the various commercials advertising great deals aired, I thought that I was sure to find what I was looking for.

On Friday, I went to five stores near my house, but found nothing. Not a problem, I thought. I still had time.

On Sunday, I checked Nine West, Aldo, and six more stores and found a few pairs that I liked. I spotted a pair of Mary Jane flats that were super cute, even though they didn't have straps and weren't heels. But, the store didn't have them in my size. Then, I spotted a pair of brown pumps. They were open toed, very lovely, but had no straps. Plus, they were a little more businessy than what I had wanted. Should I buy them, I wondered. I decided to. They were cute, on sale, and I could return them. I knew that I could probably find a pair that I liked better somewhere else, but I wanted to have them as a back-up, just in case, because I was tired of looking.

On Monday, I made my way to Nordstrom's Rack and DSW. I told myself that if I didn't find a pair at either one of these stores, then I would just keep the shoes I had found at Aldo. The Rack, with tons of cool, chic shoes, was a feast for my feet. It had flats and heels in every color and size. (Gladiator shoes and flip flops were in particular abundance on this day.) Then I spotted the most gorgeous pair of two-toned brown strappy heels. The price: two times what I had budgeted to spend on shoes. I tried them on, just to see how they felt, and they felt like silk, and for a split second, I almost felt as if I were Cinderella. The shoes felt like they belonged on my feet. They looked great and felt amazing. I walked around the store wearing them, imagining what it would be like to own them, even though I knew that I couldn't afford them. So, after a few moments of convincing myself that it was silly and emotionally turtuous to prance around the store in shoes I knew that I wasn't going to buy, I took them off.

Headed for the exit, I spotted a pair of brown flats, with straps. They were cute, comfy, and well within my price range. I liked them. My mom liked them. I was going to buy them. But then, I envisioned myself wearing them, and I was bored. They were boring. They had no pop, no pizzaz. So, I left the store, frustrated. Nordstrom's had hundreds of pairs of shoes in my size, and I had found nothing. I got in my car, further upset by the fact that I had paid two dollars to park. Would I have to deduct that two dollars from my shoe budget?

I drove to DSW (Designer Shoe Warehouse) pseudo-confident that I would find something, "If I don't find anything here," I told my mom, "then there's no hope." Immediately I headed to the sales rack. A beautiful pair of brown leather heels waved hello to me. They had straps and were definitely what I call Bad Mama Jamma Heels. They were just what I was looking for. And, they were the same price as the back-up shoes I had purchased at Aldo.

I put them on, and checked out my feet in the mirror. They looked really good. I felt like a model in a magazine. I decided to wear them while I shopped, to see how they would feel on my feet after an extended period of time.

As I walked, I noticed that the shoes didn't offer much support. In fact, they felt kind of loose, even though they were my size, an 8 1/2. I told myself that I would just have to make sure that I was careful when I walked, relying on myself, rather than my shoes, for support.

"Do these shoes look big?" I asked my mom. "Yeah, they're kind of bulging,"she said.

"Really? You think so?" I didn't want to hear the truth--that my perfect pair of shoes wasn't perfect-- that I had been looking for three days and had gone to more than fifteen stores for this let down. Neither did I want to acknowledge the fact that my feet were really starting to hurt.

So, I took the shoes off, and put them back on the rack. I tried to convince myself that I would find another pair that I liked, but as I searched the racks, I found nothing. I decided to check the section of size 8 shoes, though, before I left. Maybe I could find a shoe there that fit me; sometimes shoes ran a little small or big. Then, I came across the same pair of brown leather shoes, in a size 8. I grabbed them, just to see if they fit.

They did. There was no bulging, and I felt fully supported. They still hurt, but what four inch heels don't?

I put them back in the box and walked them to the register. I bought them. Once home, I took them out of the box, just to admire them. Now, I'm just figuring out the best outfit to debut them with.

As I was shopping, I couldn't help but compare shopping to dating.

I feel like I know what I want, what works well for my personality and lifestyle, and what doesn't. I'm in my thirties, now.

Finding what I want, however, isn't always so easy. The search is filled with promising starts, dead ends, frustration, fatigue, and hope interspersed between.

Sometimes I feel tempted to settle for a pair that I like, versus waiting for pair that I love, or maybe even adore.

And then there's still the issue of longevity. Will I even like my pair of brown leather strappy shoes next season or next year? Will they fit my feet five, ten years from now? Will I want them to?

I'm learning that in shopping, patience (coupled with selectivity), is everything.

Mid-Year Reflections

2010-07-01T23:40:00.000-07:00

Today is the first day of the second half of 2010. Hard to believe, huh?

This year is not at all what I envisioned it to be, but it's better than I could have dreamed it could be.
I began the year with a list of goals totaling eight pages. Half way into the year however, I've scratched off many of those goals and put some on hold. Why? Because I'm discovering (slowly) that it's okay. (See blog post It's Okay.) It's okay not to get so much accomplished; It's okay to rest more and not maximize every moment.

Day by day, I am learning the meaning of what God said ten years ago, when I was asking what I should do with my life. He told me, "Who you become is much more important than what you do."

My being a loving daughter is more important than my being a prolific writer. My being a compassionate friend and colleague is more important than my being a highly sought after speaker.

So, as I reflect about what I've accomplished during the first half of 2010, what stands out isn't just what I've accomplished, but whom I've become in the process. I am grateful that I am more loving, and compassionate, and patient than I was six months ago. I am less fearful, and anxious, and driven.

As a result, I look forward to the rest of this year, not just for what I can accomplish, but for the internal work that can be accomplished in me.

How has the first half of the year gone for you? Whom do you want to become?

Finishing Well

2010-06-28T22:29:00.000-07:00

I’m not a big sports fan, but when I do watch sports, I usually just watch the end of the game because what matters most is how it ends.

I think that it’s the same in life. What matters most isn’t how well we start, but how well we end. Our final years, months, and days are what stand out the most to people because these are the last memories we leave them with.

A father who was absent from his son’s life, but restored the lost connection in his final years is remembered not as the absentee father, but as the father who had the strength of character to make amends for years of neglect. A minister who preached the gospel for decades, but then ended up embezzling money at the end of his career, is remembered not for how he helped people for years, but how he stole. Former NFL quarterback Steve McNair isn’t remembered as a great football player; He is remembered as the football player who was shot dead by his mistress.

Sadly, our beloved Michael Jackson is another example. He entered our hearts a cute little boy with the soulful voice of a full-grown man. He exited the public stage, however, a victim of drugs and excessive fame, under a cloud of allegations.

As I’ve thought about Michael one year after his death, what has struck me is how sad I am, not about his physical death, but about the circumstances of his death. The last decade of his life was filled with myriad tabloid articles, tales of abuse, questions about his sense of identity, and accusations of being an unfit parent.

His death, although technically ruled a homicide, has left some wondering if an addiction to prescription drugs preceded and facilitated the overdose.

All of this has left a shadow over Michael’s memory. Yes, we have celebrated his music, his impact on pop culture, and his noteworthy humanitarian efforts. But his legacy remains tainted by a strange mesh of rumors, poor personal choices, and unexplainable behavior.

His family is working hard to restore his public image, as evidenced by the elaborate public funeral, the televised family funeral, and the carefully crafted interviews of Michael’s former staff.

I don’t know if their overtime plays will prove fruitful, though. Unfortunately, Michael’s game is over, and it didn’t end well.

The Loved One

2010-06-24T22:37:00.000-07:00

Like most people, I was a Michael Jackson fan, but unlike most, I shared a birthday with the late pop star. Michael was born on August 29, 1958, and twenty years to the date, I was born. I felt so connected to Michael that for years I was convinced that I was the Pretty Young Thang he was singing about, even though I was only six-years-old when the song debuted.

When I first heard the news of Michael’s passing, I thought I was being punk’d. Seriously. It didn’t matter that I’m not famous and that Ashton Kutcher has never heard of me. I was being punk’d, lied to, bamboozled. I was sure of it. After all, I was sitting in a talent agent’s office and the two people telling me the news were actors, so it was fairly easy for me to convince myself that they were playing a practical joke on me. Yes, I convinced myself that two strangers had conspired to trick me for no apparent reason. That felt more believable than the awful news they brought.

When my mother confirmed the news a few minutes later, I realized that I wasn’t the target of some new hidden camera show. I was the victim of something much worse—grief, for Michael’s death felt strangely personal.

I don’t know why it hit me so hard. Not sure why it took three weeks for me to feel that I was in fact living in reality, and not some poorly plotted reality show. Although fifty-years-old, Michael seemed to be on top of the world, more untouchable than Hammer, more indestructible than the Man of Steel himself. When he sang, I listened, when he danced, I marveled, and when he sang, “I’ll be there,” I believed that he would be—always.

He wasn’t just the King of Pop. He was the King of music, the consummate entertainer, a trailblazing performer who shattered records and raised the bar until he became the bar. He was Michael Jackson, known simply as “M.J.”

M.J.’s music was magical. It had a way of drowning out everything else, even if only for 3:53. When you were listening to M.J., all that mattered was the driving beat and the accompanying movement in your pelvis. You danced to Thriller alongside perfect strangers, declared that Billie Jean was not your lover, and grabbed your crotch like it was socially acceptable.

When you were dancing to Michael, you felt gooooood. You felt the music inside of your body, feeling that the only way to express it was to dance and sing at the top of your lungs. And it didn’t matter if you looked good or sounded good cause the person next to you was singing louder than you. When you were listening to Michael, all that mattered was the music, and it like it was right inside of you, where it was meant to be.

Michael was everything we longed to be. He was, first and foremost, a cultural revolutionary—influencing industries from music to fashion, individuals from Britney Spears to Russell Simmons, and cultures from Motown to Moscow. Who else could turn “Shamone” into a word and create a language composed entirely of screams and grunts that people worldwide recited?

Additionally, Michael possessed a raw talent that was awe-inspiring. While a boy, he sang his way into our hearts with his youthful, soulful voice. As a young man, he moon walked his way into our collective soul with his timeless lyrics and pulsating music. A full-grown man, he declared “I’m bad!” and we replied, “You know it!”

He was—simply put—the best. And who among us hasn’t wanted to be that?

But within his success laid his demise. Fame’s favorite son, he became fame’s prisoner—first enthralled by her, then held captive by her, and finally choked by her.

And while I claim to know neither the inner workings of Michael Jackson nor the world in which he inhabited, I believe that he died years before his physical death on June 25, 2009.

Perhaps his death began with his first plastic surgery.

Or maybe a part of him died the first time that he wore a disguise in public so that he could feel “normal.”

It’s possible that he died when he essentially created his own city, Neverland Ranch, where play was supreme and Michael attempted the impossible—to regain a lost childhood.

Some believe that a part of Michael died when he was accused of child molestation, which resulted in him vowing never to live in Neverland again.

Or perhaps his very public divorce from Lisa Marie Presley killed him?

One could argue that Michael died the first time that he took a prescription drug, whether he needed it or not.

What is for sure is that Michael’s death was unexpected, tragic, and mourned by the masses.

Michael overdosed on a life filled with excess: excessive fame, excessive money, and excessive access; he could buy any material thing that he wanted. But what he seemed to want the most—inner peace—seemed to evade him.

The various plastic surgeries didn’t bring it; neither did the million-dollar shopping sprees. Even the world that he built for himself didn’t provide the sense of security for which he seemed to be searching. He never got enough, so he never stopped. He died, still dancing, although his half-of-a-century-old frame couldn’t endure the intensity of another tour. We wanted more. He wanted to give us more. His finances suggested he needed to give us more. But he couldn’t.

Although the details of his death remain unclear, what is clear is that we never really understood Michael. Fame’s veil separated us.

Friendship, 21st Century Style

2010-06-21T21:52:00.000-07:00

On vacation with D & E, two of my best friends

"Have you voted for me online?" a friend asked me yesterday, as I was entering the bathroom at church. "Uh...you haven't sent me the link," I responded. "We're not facebook friends?" she asked, shocked. "Well, I'll friend you and send you the link."

She walked out of the bathroom, and I didn't bother to tell her that she wouldn't be able to find me on facebook due to my privacy settings. I wasn’t forthcoming because I’m not too excited to get her link. It's not because I don't like her, and it's not because I don't think that her video would be vote-worthy. The truth is that she's the fourth person to ask me to vote for them in their quest to host their own show on Oprah Winfrey's new TV network, O.W.N.

Her request, although benign, highlighted the dilemma I feel. What if she isn't the best? Do I vote for her simply because she's my friend? Or, do I vote for all four of them, distributing my votes equally? But if I do that, then doesn't that pretty much nullify my votes for each of them? Besides, there are thousands of people competing. Will my few votes (and I'm pretty sure that I won't vote more than a few times) even make that big of a difference?

My brain gets tired trying to figure it out, and she's someone that I don't even know that well! I'm not even sure if I know her last name, although I think it has two syllables and starts with a "W."

Recently, I've faced this same quandary with my closest friends as they have begun new ventures. One friend started a small business selling granola. Two others started working with discount travel companies. (You know the one where your friend is now a travel agent who can get you discounted travel.) Other friends have started offering photography services and the like.

These friends have asked me to "like" their businesses, vote for their videos online, and even partner with them in their business ventures.

Sometimes, I have been willing to give a thumbs up on facebook or even vote once (or multiple times). But other times I have felt cornered - like my commitment to them rested on my voting for them, or buying their product. I've started to think that today, friendships aren't about spending time together or calling each other to share about a date or to dish out advice. They're about showing online support. They're about votes, and likes, and tweets, and facebook suggestions. And the truth is that I don't think I like it very much.

I've always felt that my friends were like desserts - sweet treats that I looked forward to at the end of a long day or week. They were the one group of people that I got to choose to be with. They weren't the family that I was born into, and they weren't the co-workers whom I had to work with everyday. It was a mutually fun, beneficial relationship. But now, I'm feeling that cyberspace is putting an invisible, high-tech wedge between us.

Now, I care about my friends. And because I care about them, I will naturally want to find out more about their adventures and projects. But, I just may not like them (the projects) enough to want to participate by voting, liking, texting ten friends, or whatever is being asked of me.

If I choose to opt out of participating, choosing not to be best buds with them in cyberspace, I hope that they will know that in real life, I am still their friend. Hopefully they will interpret my regular phone calls and birthday cards (not e-cards) as testaments to that fact.

The Lakers - A Lesson in Love?

2010-06-17T14:20:00.001-07:00

One of my friends told me that she applied one of my job search tips (June 14 post) to her dating life, and that it worked! Today, I realized that the Lakers, too, provide insight into our love lives (or at least mine).

All day, I've been debating if I want to watch all of the Championship game between the Los Angeles Lakers and the Boston Celtics. The issue is that I've had too many painful experiences while watching Lakers games. Often, while eyeing the score (especially if it's close or they're trailing), my heart begins palpitating. I swear. My blood pressure ascends, and my stomach feels like I ate a can of bad tuna fish.

But when the Lakers are ahead, (not by too much, cause that's too boring), I enjoy watching. I watch the screen enthusiastically, waiting for Kobe to make some ridiculously difficult shot. But when it's close, then it's difficult for me to keep my eyes on the screen. I check Yahoo! to see if I have any new email messages. I scan facebook for any interesting updates. I work hard to distract myself from the pain I'm experiencing while hoping that the Lakers will win in the end.

I realized that I interact with my love life the same way. If I'm winning, and all seems to be going well with a guy, then I am enthusiastic about him and the situation. I give my undivided attention and I am completely engaged. However, if the score is really close or I seem to be losing (he's giving me mixed messages and he has too many of the signs of the guys written about in He's Just Not That Into You), then I begin to panic. My heart begins to fear breaking and knots begin to form around the tuna fish that definitely is in my stomach.

I want to change the channel - drop him before he drops me. The pain of hoping for something that may or may not happen has become unbearable.

Now, I'm realizing how immature this is. We've all heard that there are no guarantees in life, but I'm seeing that I want there to be. I want to know that my emotions will be safe, and that my hopes (especially the ones closest to my heart) wont' be dashed.

So, what's a girl to do now?

Well, I'll start off by watching all of the Lakers game tonight. I will watch when they're ahead and root when they're behind. I will hope, always.

If I can do it for the Lakers, whom I've never met, then maybe I can do it for the next guy that I'm really into.

What Are You Shooting For?

2010-06-15T23:33:00.000-07:00

Watching the third quarter of tonight's Lakers game was like watching a live, play-by-play lesson in tenacity. The Lakers had a twenty-point lead over the Boston Celtics, but would they keep it? I had seen many games where the Lakers managed to lose after having possessed a two-digit lead. To me, they were defending champions, and they were champions at botching it in the final quarter.

Would tonight be the same? Would they maintain their lead, or would they start strong but finish behind? I knew that their intensity level would determine it. They could be tempted to think that victory was all but guaranteed; twenty points was a large number, even an intimidating one. The Lakers could decide that all they needed to do was maintain their lead. Or, they could decide that twenty wasn't enough. They could make it their goal to demolish the Celtics, to send them back to their hotel rooms tired, demoralized, and embarrassed.

And that's exactly what they did. The final score: 89-67.

Watching the Lakers fight complacency and play through pain and injuries schooled me. Do I stop pressing once I reach a certain level of success, thinking that I can coast to the finish line, or do I work with the same determination and sense of urgency that I did to reach that initial level of success?

Hopefully the Lakers will shoot for another demolition and clinch a back-to-back championship.

4 More Ways To Make Sure You DON'T Snag A New Job

2010-06-14T06:00:00.000-07:00

9.7% of Americans are unemployed, according to Trading Economics. And anecdotal evidence suggests that the percentage is higher because many people, convinced that they won’t find a job, have just stopped looking.

If you’re unemployed, partially employed, or hoping to switch gigs, here are a few tips that I used that helped me land my new gig.

4 Ways To Make Sure You DON'T Snag A New Job:

4. Prioritize something else.

Unless you’re either a millionaire or have oodles and oodles of money in your reserves, finding a job should be your number one priority. Many people, who thought that they would be able to secure a job within a month or two, have yet to find jobs, and they were let go of in 2009. Rejuvenation is good, taking time to figure out what you want to do next is great, and reconnecting with family and friends is invaluable, but don’t forget to make getting a job your top commitment.

3. Blend in.

Like everyone else, send in a bland cover letter, citing three reasons why you are the perfect candidate, and close it with a request for an interview—not! Find a way to set yourself apart from other candidates. Some ideas include: starting the cover letter by saying,” You should hire me. Really.” and then spend the rest of the letter saying why. Or, begin with a story that sheds light on your character, background, or experience. Some folks are even creating their own websites, while others are shooting and sending video résumés. I created a one-sheet for a job interview I had a while back. I used two columns to compare what the company was looking for, to my qualifications. Bullet point by bullet point I showed how my experience matched up to their requirements. I included the company's logo on one side, and my picture on the other. It was concise and clean. It must have worked, cause I landed the job the following week.

Do something—anything—that sets you apart from the rest.

2. Do What You’ve Always Done.

If what you’ve always done isn’t getting you the results you want, then maybe you should try something different. If you’ve always just had one résumé, have you thought about having two to three different résumés? One of my friends has three résumés: marketing, administrative, and gaming. Each résumé focuses on a different job sector and highlights skills and experiences most relevant to that sector.

Have you always just gone online to find jobs? If so, maybe you should ask family members and friends. Is networking how you primarily secure jobs? If yes, there could be a cool job waiting for you online, or maybe even in the classifieds.

1. Just Do The Basics.

When you get called in for the interview, don’t just read the company’s website. Study it. Memorize parts. And then, think about how you would fit in with the company. How do its values and mission connect to yours? Be prepared to talk about this during your interview, and I guarantee you that you will wow them!

Top 5 Ways To NOT Find A Job

2010-06-07T06:00:00.000-07:00

A few months ago, I landed an awesome new job to supplement my freelance work. Here are some tips that I learned during my search.

The Top 5 Ways to NOT Find a Job

5. Keep your same résumé. Don’t revise it and don’t get help revising it.

Most résumés can almost always be improved. Do you need more active verbs? Do you need to include results? Has terminology in your field changed? A tune-up in your résumé can lead to an increase in your calls for interviews. Have a trusted friend, maybe one who works in H.R., give you some feedback. Or, do a Google search. There’s lot of information online.

4. Look most days, not every day, and only once a day.

You should be looking for a job everyday, or at least every workday, multiple times a day. You should search at 8am, 9am, 10 am and at the end of the day, especially on Mondays and Fridays, when employers are more apt to post.

Now, I do realize that it can get discouraging to look day after day, and even hour after hour, with little or no results. However, you can’t catch a salmon if you ain’t fishin. Start your day with your job search, spend the afternoon doing other things (cleaning, exercising), and then come back to it before 5pm.

3. Be embarrassed that you’re looking for a job and don’t tell your family and friends that you’re searching.

A year ago, one of my friends, John, emailed me and everyone else he knew asking for leads about job openings. His wife said that it was humbling for him to admit to everyone that he was unemployed, but it paid off. One person, whom he had met years before, wrote a one page glowing recommendation for John to his boss. His boss was so impressed with the letter that he hired John, even though the company didn’t have any job openings at the time. John has been there for more than a year, and he recently got a promotion.

2. Stay home. Don’t network.

People are more likely to do business with people they’ve met before. You should be networking at events in your field, your prospective field, and at local chamber of commerce events. You could even network at sports bars. Talk about the Lakers, make some friends, and pass out your business cards. Get creative, and get out there! My former pastor used to say that if you’re unemployed, then you should keep your résumés in your car cause you never know whom you’re gonna meet.

Finally, the top way to not get a job is to:

1. Believe that you wont' find one.

Actions follow beliefs. So, if you’ve given up hope that you will find a job, then you probably won’t. You won’t because you’ll stop looking, or you’ll look halfheartedly and inconsistently. And in this market, that just won’t cut it.

If you’ve been searching for months (or years) with no interviews, a few interviews, or several, but no job offers, you could be tempted to believe that this is how it’ll be until the recession is over. You might be tempted to believe that there just aren’t enough jobs out there—that there are too many lay-offs, no new jobs, and too many job seekers. And while there are obstacles--more obstacles than there have been in recent years--employers are hiring every day. Hundreds, if not thousands, of jobs are posted just on Los Angeles’ Craiglist every day. And there’s Monster, Hot Jobs, Cal Jobs, Job Central, and many more agencies publicizing job openings.

So don’t be discouraged. There is hope. One of my good friends got a new part-time job (to add to her other part-time job) last week. She lost her job last year, and is doing whatever it takes to make it financially. If you’re feeling discouraged, take a moment to pray, meditate, or do something that reminds you that there is reason to hope.

Next week, I’ll share some of the things that I did to land my fabulous new job. Stay tuned!

Our Beloved Gary

2010-06-03T06:00:00.000-07:00

He won his way into our hearts with his chubby cheeks, cute face, and charismatic, "Whatchoo talkin' 'bout, Willis?" I still remember the episode where he asked Willis to hang him on the pole in their bedroom closet so that he could grow a few more inches.

For eight years, actor Gary Coleman brought laughter into our homes each week as little Arnold Jackson on TV’s "Diff'rent Strokes." On May 28, 2010, at the age of 42, Coleman passed away. On the surface, his life story reads like the script of a B-level movie, replete with the predictable child-star-gone-bad plot. But in this script, there’s a twist.

Like many child stars, Coleman struggled with his parents over money. He wanted to control it. They wanted to control it. They fought. They became estranged. And like many child stars (and some adult stars), Coleman felt trapped in the shadow of the TV character that made propelled him to fame. Decades of hearing fans yell out “Hey, Arnold!” or "Whatchoo talkin' 'bout, Willis?" kept Coleman in the past, never-ending reminders that to many people, he was a fictitious character who existed only in the past, with no present life and no future.

But unlike many child stars, the trait that catapulted him to fame is the trait that blocked continued fame. Yes, other child stars had to shed their cuteness and youthful personas to establish themselves as legitimate adult actors. (Drew Barrymore and ~~Ricky~~ Rick Schroeder are two examples.) But none of them had to overcome a persona resulting from a disease.

Coleman’s 4’8” frame resulted from a congenial kidney disease. And while it enabled him to play the role of child Arnold Jackson for several years without any “inconvenient” growth spurts, it’s his seemingly perennial youth that prevented us from seeing that like us, he too was aging, maturing.

The show’s eight successful seasons and its years in syndication cemented him in our minds as our little Arnold. His body was ours to hug, his cheeks ours to pinch, and his being ours to photograph, at will. Perhaps this is what abraded Coleman the most—not just that he wasn’t allowed to have his own identity—but that he wasn’t allowed to be a man, the one that he had grown into once the cameras stopped rolling.

6 Lessons Being Broke Taught Me

2010-05-31T21:49:00.000-07:00

I never cared much for money or material things, hence my contentment with years of employment in the non-profit sector. I’ve been fine to buy most of my clothes on sale at Macy’s, T.J.Maxx, and ROSS. (I’ve purchased dresses for $0.99 before.) But now that I have a “respectable” income and way more money than expenses, I find myself missing the good ‘ole days of being broke.

(Now let me qualify the word “broke” here. This isn’t the kind of broke where you can’t go on vacation where you typically go due to a shortage of funds. And this isn’t the kind of broke where you can’t get your nails done every week cause you’re cutting back.)

This is the kind or of broke where you debate if you can afford to spend a dollar at Del Taco cause your stomach is barkin at you, but you don’t typically eat at Del Taco because who knows if that’s really meat in those tacos. This is the kind of broke where you don’t drive anywhere (outside of work) because your gas has to last you until… This is the kind of broke where your friends only invite you out if they’re footin the bill because everybody close to you knows that you ain’t got no money.

So, here’s what being broke taught me:

1. Getting more usually leads to wanting more.

Once you get one more pair of jeans or another pair of shoes, you just want another one—this one in a different fabric, or cut, or color. Desire breeds desire, and contentment is a shunned enemy.

2. Sometimes, you have to make tough choices.

Which is worse: Going an additional $15 into debt because you are too proud to tell someone that you don’t have the money to go out with them for lunch or risking embarrassment by being honest and potentially being treated to a good meal?

3. Just how important money is.

It isn’t everything, but everything you want to do involves it. Making it (or having access to it) is paramount. I no longer have any idealistic, youthful notions about money. In fact, I respect it a lot more now, as I do the good book’s advice: “Keep your lives free from the love of money and be content with what you have, because God has said, ‘Never will I leave you; never will I forsake you.’”

4. Although it’s rare to get something for nothing, bartering is a beautiful, underutilized practice.

For more than a year, I managed to get free pictures in exchange for posing for free. I traded my smile for photos. Check out my website (www.yougochante.com) to see the results!

5. Having less leads to greater appreciation for what you do have.

One of my favorite activities is finding a quiet nook at Starbucks or a local bookstore and reading or writing leisurely for hours, a cup of hot cocoa in hand. At the zenith of my broke days, however, I might be able to afford one excursion every four to six weeks. But when I did, I savored the experience. I walked into Starbucks, a smile on my face, and thanked God for the opportunity to be able to purchase a drink, and not be one of the coffeehouse “moochers” who plugged in without purchasing a single item. I would read my book, knees tucked into my chest, and feel true gratefulness. I wasn’t thinking about all the times that I couldn’t purchase a drink. I was thankful for the one that I was having in that moment.

6. I want to live a life of continual gratefulness, even though I’m not broke any more.

Right now, I sit in my living room as I write. I was going to drive to Borders, but I didn’t want to spend three dollars on a drink. (I don’t think my frugal ways will ever leave me.) So instead I write snuggled up in a sleeping bag on my couch, grateful that I have a quiet, cozy place from which I can work. In fact, I’m grateful just to have a couch and a home.

What has being broke taught you?

“It’s Okay”

2010-05-22T15:16:00.000-07:00

Monday was the worst day I’ve had in a long time. After I hit my alarm clock, I laid back down, pulling the covers over my head, refusing to venture out. I don’t want to go to work. Maybe I can call in sick. I wasn’t sick. I just had a bad case of dread.

I had an important deadline to meet, and I had a bad feeling that I wasn’t going to make it, despite my best efforts. From Thursday to Sunday, I had tried to write the piece on five separate occasions. The results? Twelve sentences, half of which were cliché-laden. Some were pretty okay. Others sucked. But worse, nothing was clicking. I brainstormed idea after idea, changing approaches and playing with tone. In the end, though, false leads were my only leads.

As Sunday night neared, I knew that I was going to have to call the show’s director and tell her that I had nothing. Again. I had missed my original Saturday morning deadline, asking for more time. I dreaded having to tell her that I had nothing to give her, nothing to present to the composers and the choreographers who were gathering the following day to put music and dance to my words. It was worse than any scenario a horror writer could have dreamed up for me. It felt as if I was in a living nightmare—one that I had self-produced.

I had given my friend an enthusiastic “yes!” when she had asked me if I wanted to perform spoken word as the Walt Disney Concert Hall. I had viewed the sketches of the hall before it was built in downtown Los Angeles. It was an architectural feat, rivaled only by its masterful musicians. The idea of performing there had been too tempting to pass up.

But now, I was wishing that I had given an enthusiastic, "no!" So I pulled the covers over my head, convinced that if I didn’t start the day, I wouldn’t have to face impending failure. Slowly, I peeled myself out of bed and sat on my chair to pray. I cried. I told God that I didn’t want to fail. I asked for some sort of inspiration, again. Maybe this time He would provide some? Then something said, “It’s okay”.

I asked God to help me believe that.

At work, I tried not to think about the project too much. I just prayed that God would enable me to be okay with whatever the outcome.

Once back at home, I grabbed my laptop, said a little prayer, and began looking over my notes. I had allotted myself one and a half hours to complete the piece. I knew that if it didn’t come during that time, then it wasn’t gonna come. I stared at the words, but it felt like they just stared right back at me.

I waited to feel the inspiration that comes when I write. I waited for a feeling, or an image, or a string of words. I waited, but nothing came. I sat for twenty minutes. And then another twenty. And then I cried. Again.

I could have remained there another fifty minutes, but I knew that my problem couldn’t be fixed with time. I had nothing, and nothing was going to come. I had known it all day. I had a date with failure, and I was out of rain checks.

I would have to tell my friend and the director that I had failed, and that I was a spoken word artist with nothing to say.

Tears fell on my laptop as I typed an email to the director, detailing my failed attempts. I was slightly embarrassed, but was too tired and spent to be completely embarrassed. I had done my best, and for the very first time my best was nothing.

Never before had I missed an important deadline. Never before had I been unable to deliver on command. But surprisingly, the cloud of mini-depression that had been hanging over my head the entire weekend was gone because I knew that it was alright. I had tried, and failed. And tried, and failed. Received help, and tried, and failed. I did all that I knew to do, and I fell short. It felt awful, but Monday was the first step in knowing that it really is okay.

Meeting Faith: The Forest Journals of a Black Buddhist Nun

2010-05-10T22:14:00.000-07:00

Hungry for a good read? Meeting Faith is two hundred eighty-one pages of deliciousness you don’t want to pass up. I now know why the book won the 2005 PEN Beyond Margins Award for Best Memoir and received an enthusiastic thumbs up from O Magazine. In it, the author does what good writers should: She takes me on a journey, shows me something beautiful, and makes me not want to come back.

Meeting Faith details the period of time in which the author, Faith, on the verge of flunking out of college, takes some “time off” from school. But unlike most students, who travel to Paris or Italy, backpacks in tow, Faith Adiele travels to the Far East—to the remote areas of Thailand. A self-declared sociologist, she jumps head first (and hairless might I add) into a Thai wat seeking to understand Buddhism and women’s roles in the religion. (Are you sensing her ardent commitment?) She exchanges comfort, pleasure, and daily communication for a commitment to refrain from entertainment, touching money, all forms of entertainment, sleeping on soft surfaces, and consuming food at inappropriate times, which is most of the time. Sound fun?

The reader follows Faith as she attempts to live by seemingly impossible rules (You try not killing a single bug while living in a forest!), watching her comical failures and her thrilling successes. Pushed by her teacher, Maechi Roongduan, she progresses, so that what once seemed impossible for Faith’s mind and body becomes customary.

Fusing together journal entries, detailed sociologist’s notes, classic Buddhist texts, and childhood memories, Faith weaves together a tale of her time with a group of Thailand’s maechi (Buddhist nuns) that is educational, yet extremely personal. Faith learns that while studying them, she must examine herself, and in discovering their faith, she must uncover her own as well.

Yes, this book is about faith, but it is just as much about identity—what defines us—what drives us. And whether you are a person of faith or one who is searching, I would definitely recommend meeting Faith because she writes with an honesty that is refreshing and challenging. With bravery and beauty, she bares her being:

“…The surprising decision to ordain and what I learned during my short, short tenure as a nun revised the very premises of my life. I’d been raised to believe in myself, in intellect, in the Western tenets of self and science, and I’d taught myself not to fail. Soon everything I knew and counted on would be stripped away. As it turned out, failure was the first step toward real life.”

Daily Affirmation #5: I Persist Until I Succeed

2010-05-05T19:52:00.000-07:00

I arrived to class thirty minutes early. The room was packed. The professor took roll. He peaked over his wire-framed glasses, and mumbled, “I don’t know the best way to do this…” As he spoke, two more people walked in and stood by the wall. They wanted to add, too. Dang it!

“The only fair thing to do,” he responded, “is to have a raffle. Everyone who wants to add this class, write your name down on a slip of paper and put it in this hat. I only have room for thirty-five students.” Paper tears echoed throughout the classroom. I wasn’t excited about a raffle. Couldn’t we find a more fair system—like who had arrived first? I had arrived in class thirty minutes early, but I had arrived at school an hour and a half early. Didn’t that count for something?

As the raffle began, I was hopeful. Surely my name could be one of the six picked to remain in the class. After three names had been selected, my hope began to diminish. By the time the fifth name was called, all hope was gone. My name was not going to be called. And it wasn’t. I sat in my seat, surrounded by a blanket of disbelief. But I had felt that I should take the class. How could I not get in?

“If you didn’t make it in this semester, you can try again next semester,” the professor told us, in hopes of absolution. For a moment, I thought that I should just take the class the following semester, but the next semester was six months away.

That was six months of putting off my dream. Six months of trying to figure out the art of writing by myself. That was unacceptable. I thought, I persist until I succeed. With heavy backpacks in hand, and heavy faces to match, the rejected students walked out of class. “Or, you could try again next week. Maybe some folks will drop…” the professor muttered.

I sat in my chair. I couldn’t—wouldn’t move. I had to get into the class. Two other students sat in their chairs, unwilling to move. Eventually the professor said, “If you’re not enrolled in the class, you should leave now.” I walked up the front. “May I stay for a little while, just to see what the class is like?”

“Sure,” he responded, hesitantly.

Hearing the professor detail the books and topics to be covered, I became more convinced that I did belong in the class. So, I decided that I would just stay. I would participate, like I was a student, and then return the following week, like he said we could.

So, as he walked us through the syllabus, I took detailed notes. He divided us into groups and had us brainstorm story ideas. I created my list and shared it with my group. They liked it so much that they selected my idea to share with the entire class during discussion time.

During the break, the professor looked at me intently and inquired, “You’re not in this class, right?” “No…but I will be,” I responded confidently. “How?” he asked. ”I don’t know, but I figure that if I leave now, then when I do get in, I’ll be behind.” He looked at me and smiled, very slowly. “I like your persistence.”

“I persist until I succeed,” I responded, almost robotically.

Then he gave us our first assignment. “Interview someone in the class and then write a story about them. If there is an odd number, one of you can just interview me.”

I walked up to a beautiful Filipina woman and asked her if she wanted to be partners. “Sure,” she responded. But just as I began to interview her, I realized that there was an odd number of students in the class. One of my classmates was stuck interviewing the professor. I walked up the front and told the guy to take my spot because I wasn’t actually enrolled in the class yet. This way, I wouldn’t be disturbing the flow of the class, plus I would get to talk with the professor, which would increase the likelihood that he would let me in the class.

“What was your very first writing gig?”

“Who was your favorite interviewee?”

“What would you tell your daughter if she wanted to become a writer?”

Thirty minutes later my professor was smiling as he reminisced about his twenty plus year career as a writer.

“Now it’s time to write your stories,” he instructed the class. It was at this moment that the weight of my predicament hit me. Yes, it had been a good idea to interview my professor because it enabled me to build a relationship with him. However, is it ever a good idea to write a story about a writer? Especially if you’re a novice writer and your subject is a professional writer with credits that make you salivate?

I began to type. The words came, ideas emerged, but fear lay submerged. What if I misquoted him? What if I got the facts wrong? Was my tone okay? It had been years since I’d taken a news writing course.

I handed the story in to the professor, very hesitantly. In fact, I took it back. (I wanted to spell check it again, just in case.)

To follow up, I sent him and email the following day:

“Professor Stambler,

I had a lot of fun in class last night. (I wish that I could say that I had interviewed Quincy Jones! )

Anyways, I am eager to join the class. If space becomes available during the week, you can email me the add number. If you don't know until Monday, however, then I can add it when I arrive.

Thanks! I'm looking forward to learning a lot this semester.

Sincerely,

Chante Griffin”

I arrived at class the following week early. I looked around for the people who had left the week before. None of them returned. Professor Stambler handed my interview to me. “Chante, “ he wrote, “How can I refuse you now? Here’s your add code: 282983022.” Then, he took roll. I was number thirty-six.

You Ready to Set-It-Off?

2010-02-04T11:57:00.000-08:00

Have you ever felt that there was so much to do, and not enough time? Is there a long list of things that you want to do—projects that you want to complete, but you’re unsure of how to tackle them?

Fall of 2009, after completing a summer teaching gig, I found myself underemployed with a laundry list of career and personal goals. I had promised God that since I was only working part-time, that I would steward my time especially well, making it a point to do a lot of the things that would be much more difficult if I worked full-time.

Then, voila, I heard that Set-4-Life* was beginning! Set-4-Life is a 90-day game that helps you reach your goals and work towards your life’s purpose. Each player creates a list of goals, including an accountability plan, and is paried with a partner, given a coach, and placed on a team. Individuals compete against each other & teams challenge each other. But the most intense competition is the one you have against yourself.

*You can play the game from anywhere in the U.S. or the world!

My Set-4-Life goals included:

A spiritual goal—continuing to pray every day (or nearly every day) for a specified amount of time.
A physical fitness goal—working out 5 times a week.
An intellectual goal—5 hours of book reading each week.
Numerous career goals, which included writing, memorizing & practicing scripts, and projects.
A financial goal, which shall remain anonymous because this is the Internet, after all.

The Results:

Here’s some of what I did in my 60-day game (the fall game was shorter):

I wrote 6 articles, read 7 books, learned countless scripts, created a website, developed a more fit, and yes-bangin body. And I became best friends with Jesus.

I got more done in two months than I had in the previous nine months of 2009! Set-4-Life took my understanding and application of achievement to another level. But just as important as what I accomplished is what I learned.

I learned:

What motivates me vs. what creates a sense of drudgery within me.
That sometimes the thought, “I’m tired” is a good reaston to stop working, but a lof of the time, it’s just a state of mind that, if ignored, fades away.
That laser-like focus and painful sacrifice are necessary ingredients in the pie of life. (Cheesy? Yeah. True? Oh yeah.)
Lots more, but this is blog, not a book! (But if you wanna know more, just ask!)

The next Set-4-Life game begins on Monday, February 8, 2010. It’s 90 days that will change your life!

If there’s anything you’ve been wanting to do—any project you have yet to finish, any habit or discipline you want to cultivate, then you should play Set-4-Life.

Go to http://web.me.com/georgebthompson/Site/Set_-_4_-_Life.html NOW to find out more info and to register!

Is The Recession Hurting You?

2010-01-29T12:46:00.000-08:00

As we progress into the thickets of the Great Recession, I realize that I’ve come across two types of people—those who are depressed by the current economic situation, and those who are motivated by it.

One person complains about applying for myriad jobs without a single interview, while the other revises his cover letter to make himself more competitive. One person stops searching for a job because, “What’s the point? I don’t have the qualifications for most of these jobs.” The other person realizes a gap in his skill set and decides to learn a new computer program. (Heck, an even more ambitious person starts to learn Spanish because an increasing number of positions either prefer or require that candidates are bilingual!)

One woman looks for jobs solely in the legal field because she’s a trained paralegal and that’s all she’s every done; A different woman expands her search to include administrative work. One young woman without a college degree realizes that the job market is fierce, and is finding it difficult to obtain a temp job. She brainstorms what additional marketable skills she has, and starts buying clothes from thrift stores, redesigning them, and selling them, so that she can drum up any sort of income. Last week, I even had a woman come up to me and ask me if I wanted to support her by buying a chocolate chip cookie for one dollar. “Support you for what?” I inquired. “I’m broke, and I need money!” she replied. She sold several cookies that night.

In the midst of this economic crisis, yes, some people’s dreams are being crushed, while others’ dreams are slowly dying. However, other people are choosing to reinvent themselves and are dreaming anew.

Which person are you? The quitter or the persistent one? The pessimist or the dreamer?

Now’s the time to be enterprising. If not now, then when?

Why wait until 2010? Start Now!

2009-12-22T19:43:00.000-08:00

My fifteen year-old cousin arrived in Los Angeles a few days ago. “I’m a vegetarian now,” she declared, while plopping down in a chair in my kitchen. “Oh, you are?” I asked, skeptically. “And how did this happen?” “Well,” she began, smiling brightly, “I just happened to go an entire week with no meat, and I felt that I had so much more energy. I would wake up, and I wouldn’t be tired. So, now I’m not eating meat anymore.”

“Sounds good,” I responded, slightly impressed, yet somewhat skeptical still. As she jumped out of the chair and ran upstairs, my grandma entered. “Yeah, Rayne says she’s a vegetarian now. How long do you think that’ll last?” “Well, when did she start?” I asked. “Right after Thanksgiving. She wanted to wait until after Thanksgiving to start.”

“Oh,” I replied, more skeptical than ever. “She hasn’t even made it through a holiday yet? I don’t think she’ll make it through Christmas.”

The next day, Rayne sat down next to me with a plate of shrimp. Probing, I said, “I thought you weren’t gonna eat meat anymore?” “I’m waiting until after Christmas,” she responded.

Yeah, right, I thought. And my friend is going to start her cleanse after Christmas, just like my aunt is going to start her diet at the beginning of the year, for the tenth year in a row.

Although my skepticism remains high, I am hopeful for each of them. But not very, cause the truth is it’s easiest to start a new diet, a new exercise, a new habit, or program at the beginning of something—the start of a calendar year, a birthday celebration, a new week, a new month. It’s a lot harder to do it now, at the end of something.

It’s more difficult to do something different when you’re in the middle of something, and it’s been a struggle. It’s easy to write off the now and instead fantasize about the future. It’s easier to fantasize about the you who you will be in the future than confront the you who you are presently. One is disciplined with massive will power; the other greets struggle and disappointment in the mirror.

But the beautiful thing about the now is that it is immediate. You can change now. There is no need to wait until next year, after Christmas, or even tomorrow. You can do _________ (fill in the blank) or not do _________ (fill in the blank) now!

I know that the holidays can be a difficult time to diet, exercise, and do the important things that often get pushed to the side because of the urgency of buying gifts, travelling, cooking meals, and preparing for guests. But now is the best time to test yourself—to prove to yourself what you can do, despite the many distractions and temptations, including your grandma’s sweet potato pie! If you’re planning on giving up sweets in 2010, start now. Yes, you will miss out on the many tasty treats Christmas provides. But, you will gain the satisfaction of knowing that you maintained self-control at the height of temptation.

And as you enter a new year, you will enter it knowing that if you can maintain your fitness goals during what is arguably the most difficult time to diet in the year, then you can do it throughout 2010, especially when you go to those special events where you and your diet usually mutually agree to “take a break.” These events include but are definitely not limited to that special Valentine’s day dinner, your friend’s St. Patrick’s Day party, that enormous Easter buffet in March, your cousin’s wedding in April, your friend’s wedding in May, …you get the picture.

If you start now, you will have set yourself up for success in 2010. Why? Because you will have done the hardest thing first. You will have started something new not when it was easiest, but when it was the hardest. You will have done the difficult thing in the most difficult circumstances.

And as the year starts, you will enter it not talking about what you’re “going to do”, but instead continuing to do what you already started in 2009.

This confidence will aid you as you’re running (or walking) on the treadmill in January, knowing that you have a few less pounds to lose than everyone else who said “yes” to the pound cake, and the peach cobbler, and grandma’s sweet potato pie.

So, what new thing are you doing in 2009?

Still Standing, Barely

2009-11-10T20:56:00.000-08:00

I feel for Carrie Prejean. On national television, in front of millions, she dared to voice her opinion, knowing that it was the voice of the minority. And her opinion probably cost her the Miss USA crown. It was her actions, however, not her voice, that cost her the Miss California crown.

At the Miss USA Pageant she exercised her right to express her opinion. She did not, however, have the right to appear in concert with various organizations, speaking out against gay marriage. She didn't have the right to take the Miss USA title and use it to lend support to a controversial social cause.

And she certainly didn't have the right to retain her title after photos of her posing topless surfaced in the tabloids. Before she became Miss California, she signed a contract verifying that she hadn't ever posed nude. The contract also stipulated that she would make appearances on behalf of the Miss Universe Organization, and that she could not use the title to advance any causes / organizations not approved of by that organization.

Donald Trump, feeling pressured from people within and outside of the Miss Universe Organization, graciously allowed Carrie to keep her title, despite the photos. However, once she became a spokesperson for anti-gay marriage organizations, she was in violation of her contract, once again.

What Carrie Prejean failed to understand is that as a titleholder, you relinquish your right to act as an independent entity. Yes, as an American you have the right to free speech, but as a titleholder, your words are censored, because you don't represent yourself. Yes, you have the right to advocate for various causes, but those causes must be approved of by the pageant. You are their representative and are technically employed by them.

Carrie Prejean crossed the line of what was acceptable behavior for a titleholder, and she lost her crown as a result. Was she targeted because of her unpopular opinion? Maybe. Was the Miss Universe Organization within its rights to fire her? Absolutely.

Just this last week, news reports verified the existence of a sex tape that Carrie made as a teenager, as a present to her boyfriend. This third "breach" of contract is perhaps the final confirmation that Donald Trump made the best decision when he decided to fire Carrie after all. The job of a titleholder, at any level, is to be a role model. All of Carrie Prejean's actions have made me question her ability to be that.