Red Nails

When I was little my aunts and grandmothers told me that red nails were not for little girls, they were for grown women. I suppose I took red make-up in general to then be synonymous of womanhood. Like once a girl was ready to embrace being a W-O-M-A-N than then she could wear the color red. Maybe its why on days, like today, when I feel whole and womanly I reach for lipstick in the reddest red.

I’ve always thought the sexiest outfits a woman can wear are one of two things: a fitted white tee-shirt and blue jeans, or a knee-length little black dress. Simple. Classic. And in many ways, are not about the outfits themselves at all. On my sassy days, I’d pair the outfit with red lips, as I did today, and feel complete. It wasn’t until today that I realized some of the meaning that might be held in my favorite things.

I’ve made it no secret, my desire for love. I was watching Iyanla, Fix My Life and she was speaking about weight. She said we put it on when we are protecting ourselves from something. Nothing new. But something repetitive as I’d read the sentiment in an instagram post a friend made about women holding weight in our midsections to protect our most precious treasures; our reproductive parts. When I heard Iyanla speak I remembered this and it dawned on me that as I’d just eaten McDonald’s for the 2nd time this week that there was something I needed to hear. Then she said, you are using other people to make you feel good about you…you can’t do that!


I do that. In a lot of ways, in the past it’d been far more destructive more…needy. I can see it now…here. For as much as I don’t write for comments in the comments section or likes on facebook…posting “selfies” and smiling when my number of “double taps” exceeds 30…I’d be lying if I said it didn’t feel good. Damn good. And I think that makes me nervous. Because the taste of it is intoxicating and I can see myself reaching for it as I used to reach for….well many things that weren’t good for me or to me.

I went to a coaching session today and was asked, “And what if you are abandoned? Do you believe in you enough?” I answered that I better. But that word, abandoned. It felt like opening the door on a freezing cold morning. My breath escaped me completely. And in my heart of hearts, really in the core of me…which rests in that midsection I’ve protected so well (haha) I knew I did. Because even when I let go of people, I do so holding on to something else far greater than myself. I may get left, and I may feel lonely…but I am never alone. And I recalled that in the moments when I’m trusting, I never even feel alone. I feel full. And whole. And like a woman. Like a mother.

I can’t wait to have a daughter. To share with her all the power she holds as a woman. The power I, for many years, believed existed solely in my physical being. Red nails, red lips, slim waist and a voluptuous body…my womanhood is not limited to those things. And I have arrived at the place where I can say I love women. I love the company of women, I love being a woman, I believe us to be beautiful, magical, strong, and courageous beings. The things that make us us…well I was, honestly, being dated and chauvanistic. Physical beauty or the elements thereof is not where my womanhood begins and it certainly is not where it ends. It is about creation. Innovation. Listening to intuition and trusting yourself. It is about dancing and movement and connection. It is about sensuality and sexuality braided together with an unshakable knowledge of self. That’s red. That’s womanhood. Or at least what I know of it to date.

Lovers Love Jazz

I’ve loved Chicago since Darius and Nina.
Never smoked a cigarette, but I would if love and poetry called for it. Crisp white shirt and a soft worn leather jacket, dressed in twists and intrigue. Spill my soul on a mic to perfect strangers, tell them about him and us.

I haven’t craved a man since the last time I listened to jazz music. The unfamiliar pattern of comfort and knowing, jazz and love just fit. So tonight when I heard Cassandra Wilson and the nostalgia took over me, and like Sanchez I remembered love…I gave in. I smelled the smoke, heard the strum of the bass, and white words sticky with red surfaced. Chicago.

Carrie liked a melody. But Big…Big liked jazz. Its a warm hand on the small of your back. Its merlot and wine glasses with lipstick stains. Its old oak tables you made love on that once. Its a twelve minute song with six words and a chorus. Its pocket squares and high heels, kisses on your neck and hands in hair. Lovers know.

And in the recollection I allowed myself to solicit the universe. Send me, I asked, a lover of jazz. Of love. Of smoke and sanctuary. Of bass lines and scat riffs. Of dancing. Of crisp collard shirts and public displays. Of rainy nights and urgent kisses. Of natural light and endless talks. Of Nancy Wilson and Charlie Parker. Send him to me and I will love him and we will love jazz.

View from high horses

Its been a week riddled with judgment. In my classes as student, in my classes as teacher, in my life outside of academics. A friend of mine asked me how, as a teacher/counselor, you stop yourself from being reactive. I said, you get comfortable with being uncomfortable…and you make peace with looking at yourself this close, and I held my hand inches from my face. I may not be perfect, but I certainly know my flaws.

Sometimes judgment takes my breath away. As in, I am literally gobsmacked and the things that come out of people’s mouths. My knee jerk is always shock, and then I ask myself why am I surprised and then I consider their context. Being who they are, is it any wonder they hold these opinions? If I had lived through their life experiences, perhaps I would feel similarly.

I think I have gotten better at not necessarily internalizing other people’s judgments. Especially their judgments of me. Probably my harshest critique is my dreamer tendencies. And yet, its something I love about myself. To me, if its the difference in an imaginative beautiful fairy tale that exists only in my heart or a crushing reality bemoaning a Jean Valjean solo…I’ll take my fairy tale.

Developmentally speaking, its quite difficult for most people to find value in others who do not “operate” according to the same rules and values as them. Admittedly, I have been one of those people especially when I was younger…I had a very opinionated moral compass. However, as I’ve gotten to know myself better I can definitely say that it alone has changed my view of the world.

Yesterday I went to a luncheon and we had to write on nametags a strength of ours. I wrote loving. When asked why I said, because I’ve noticed that people are mean or rude or judgmental when they are starving for love. So I try to remember that and always answer every call with love. And truly, that is my continual work.

So in those moments where I am seeing intolerance, judgment, whether its directed at me or not, I take a moment and send love to that person. That comes from being able to love myself, though my own mess, through my own scars, through my own flaws. Not in spite of, but because of.  My mom always reminded me of this. She always says everyone has a story. She never writes people off. Whether she would admit it or not, I can see she is all heart. I’m glad of all the things I got from her that I got her heart. Fiery, passionate, and clumsy but love nonetheless.

It is a true challenge to, when you feel triggered by someone else, think about why. Why does the idea of someone living life differently than I’ve chosen to live mine upset me? I had a reaction to a classmate once where I got angry because she placed women of color in the role of the victim. Something, upon later reflection, I realized I’m venomously averse to. I had to apologize to her for my reaction and explain to her and the class where my anger came from. It was a humbling moment for me. But significant because I took the time to figure out why. Mastin Kipp says, the truth is in the trigger. I strongly believe that. When someone else’s life choices upset you, you’re really upset at your own life. How dare they live audaciously when I did not have the ______(courage/means/access/knowledge/support/love)______ to do the same. The truth about ourselves lies in the things that elicit an emotional reaction from us. Study it. Learn from it. Love from it.

I came full circle with a friend last night after an argument we’d had months ago. He understood what we had triggered in one another and he said, you made me realize its not about right or wrong its just about validating the other person’s experience. It was such an endearing moment, but so spot on. None of us is really a foremost authority on anything, and all of us just want validation that its okay to be who we are. Some need it more than others. But we all seek it from one another. And I guess that’s good. Because it means we need one another. To be accounted for, to exist.

Ubuntu indeed. From Archbishop Desmond Tutu: a person with ubuntu is open and available to others, affirming of others, does not feel threatened that others are able and good, based from a proper self-assurance that comes from knowing that he or she belongs in a greater whole and is diminished when others are humiliated or dimimished, when others are tortured or oppressed.


I have been on an absolute journey the past two weeks during my Adult Development class.  Much of which cannot be appropriately described by any language I know. Last night was our last class and we presented each other with gifts; I had been searching my mind for what felt right to give for three days.  In talking it over with Mo she suggested I sing a song (more on that later).  I searched my blog frantically for words or a photo or a quote or something…I write things down so that I have them readily available yet when I was looking for them I could find them not.  I take it to mean  that the things I was looking for were not meant to be found in that moment, especially since I found them readily this morning.

When Dr. Green said, “…and tell this person why this gift is for them…” I broke down in tears.  I wish I could explain the origin of the emotion, they came from my core…my soul.  I was paralyzed with emotion and ended up being the last person to go and when I tried to find my voice, it failed me. Telling.

Backing up…this year for Lent I was in Terri’s class and I carried around a microphone everyday to remind me to use my voice, and to speak my truth.  It felt like that again. Only back in March I was searching for my voice and now I had it and was too overwhelmed to use it.  I was completely IN that moment. My body felt unsure, as though I were a fawn standing for the first time. My head was swimming, searching for the language, and perhaps LOL I could say my false self swooped in to offer the gift, but mid-sentence my truth stepped up and I was crying again…I was like Alice floating in a sea of my own tears. I felt like my own levy had broken.

I looked down at my Klenex which contained my $30 mascara, my $40 foundation, my $20 eye shadow…my face was literally wiped clean by my tears and I was there, in this classroom, in my group, bare.  None of it even mattered, I was happy to be able to give to them and share with them something that I never share with anyone.

I remember thinking of the person, Jax, I wanted to give a gift to…because he has given ME so much throughout this class.  The more I tried to prepare my words, the harder I cried–this feeling was seeping out of my center into my extremities leaving them heavy as lead.  My heart was heavy and yet it felt brand new, as if finally I could feel it again. I wanted to be on my knees in child’s pose. I wanted to surrender to that moment but I could not move. I was so incredibly emotional and I only remember one thought, “I don’t want to be touched.”

As I described parts of this to J this morning I said to her, “there are some people who you don’t want to touch because if you touch them they’ll change you…” I knew at some point there would come a time for embracing my classmates and I was dreading that time. I was particularly dreading hugging the Col. and Jax as both of them have come to mean so much to me. I felt myself holding my breath when that time came with the Col. Counting down from ten…then came Jax and I had pull away. I really didn’t realize how much I hate being held (figuratively) until I was faced with it literally. I recalled my meeting with The Healer. I wanted so badly to embrace her but I felt if I did I would explode.  Sometimes when you feel people too much, you can’t imagine being any closer to them because you might lose yourself. You might come far too close to what true pure love is like. Not romantic love… but the stuff we’re all made up of.  You risk the chance of being TOO connected to Source energy.  So my body did what my heart could not, and even then I had to step back and throw the veil back on. I had had enough connection for the evening.

God it was beautiful in that moment.

When I woke up this morning I wanted to write about it but I had no words. I found myself saying something then having to clarify or qualify it. I kept coming back to love, but trying to explain myself to make it clear. I had to keep retracting and editing and side-stepping when I really just wanted to flow.  I came back to my blog and I searched for this picture…

paige bradley "expansion" sculpture

“Expansion” by Paige Bradley

Though this was not my pose, this is how I feel. That bright spot in the center is where last night I existed. Those cracks are all that I felt bursting out of me.  This broken beauty is where I sit somewhere in the space between my soul and my body. I have been humming ever since last night. Literally, vibrating and on the verge of tears at any given moment.

As I sat moments before I offered my own gift I contemplated Mo’s suggestion to sing. I ran through the words to the song in my mind and I grappled with many of them.  I mixed up stanzas, I forgot the bridge…but the thing was it did not scare me and it did not feel an outlandish thing.  Maybe I am getting closer to singing in public.

One thing that Jax said was that he was grateful for a professor who pushed him and a class who held him.  I share in that sentiment. As uncomfortable and new as it felt to be the one in need of comfort rather than the comforter, I am so BEYOND grateful for the experience we all shared.

Crystal said yesterday, “I didn’t realize I was holding my breath until [the card] told me to breathe.” Similarly, I didn’t realize how closed I was until I was cracked open.  The good thing is its beyond repair.  The scary thing is, its beyond repair.

I am sitting in the midst of my own autumn; fresh in the world of unknown.  Not only that, I am bare, no pretense, and am seeping emotion out of every seam. I asked to be loved, to be changed in my last petition…I did not specify how.  Point taken, universe.  I asked for companionship and the cards told me I was not yet ready for it.  My own inability to even accept physical touch reaffirms that. There is work to be done, I am definitely in progress.  But I still stand in awe of how far I have come.

Salvation from wandering and wondering

You know those relationship non-negotiables? For so many people I know one of those is rooted in religion; they would not marry someone who was not a believer in God.  I never really commented even though I suppose I never really saw myself with someone who held drastically different spiritual views than myself.  It was not until today when talking with NCS that I said with absolute conviction that my future husband has to be rooted in faith.

We were discussing a dysfunctional couple and why they are together when their actions (cheating, lying, etc) suggest that they really are not committed and I told her, “they fill a void in one another and that need gives each a sense of reason and purpose.”  It was then that it hit me just how dangerous it can be to not have these things independent of another person.  I remembered the words of Bishop TD Jakes,

There is nothing sexier than someone who knows WHO they are, WHERE they’re going, and WHAT they were created to do. People who are on point are attractive!

You have to know your purpose, you have to know why you are here.  I do not know anyone who can answer that question with without hinting to a higher power.  When you know yourself, you know God.

There are times in life when things make absolute sense. Having that last thought was one of them.  When NCS told me that not every relationship was like that, of course I knew that…but I told her that I just want honesty in my next/last relationship.  I want it to be honest like the absence of lies, honest. I do not want to lie to myself, I do not want to lie to my partner, I do not want there to be lies in our expectations of one another.  I want it to be honest because as I have recently realized and verbalized, honest living is the best living.

I think about the notion that all women just want to be saved…and I find some piece of truth in it but I challenge that instead of a white knight, it means so much more to be the one who saves yourself.  It feels remarkable to be able to look myself in the mirror and know that I deserve love. Not shards of love, not pieces of it, not loves 1st cousin lust or her brother infactuation…I deserve love. The purest of pure, richest of rich and rarest of rare–unconditional, concentrated, god-like love.

There is great freedom in that knowledge.

Because I can say I know these things, and because I have given them to myself first; I will be able to recognize them when they come from him because they came from Him.

Early mornings and olympic victories

Its 4am and I’ve just woken up for the 3rd night in a row on my couch and had to drag myself into bed. Falling asleep trying to watch the Olympics has been the cause of my bed’s nocturnal loneliness.

This week has been a crazy one. So crazy that all day yesterday I thought about writing and all I knew was the name of this post would be Rollercoaster. Oddly enough when it came time to scribe, it no longer felt appropriate. The events of my week were pretty up and down. I got a scholarship…I lost the condo I thought I was going to be living in…I was happily back home in my own space…I got locked out of my apartment for 3 hours after a full day at work due to a faulty lock…I got an amazing job offer…payday comes and I had no paycheck.

We’ll start from the end; as I sat in payroll while they asked me all sorts of questions and tried to troubleshoot where in the cracks my money was it took all I had in those moments to not cry, not grow frustrated, and to breathe. As I leaned up against the beige wall I remembered the strong desire to slide down and release all the emotion I was feeling. I did not. The fact that not even 24 hours prior I had been offered a teaching position within my university’s counseling department couldn’t escape my thoughts. I was am so incredibly elated that I could not allow even the lack of a paycheck completely dissolve that joy. I breathed through the pain, and it all got sorted out. At 8 o’clock last night I went out to eat and paid for myself, something I haven’t been able to do in months…

It is such a rare thing for me to brag on myself, or even feel proud of myself. Those things are usually nonexistent for me, although I was extremely proud of completing my Masters degree. I was, however, truly beaming when it was made official that I could teach this fall. I mean here I am, a student (that’s how I see myself) who is 20something with only 1/4 of a doctoral degree to her name and I am getting to teach Graduate students at a 4-year university. That, my friends, is huge. This is not a teaching assistantship. This is an adjunct professorship. It was overwhelmingly wonderful to feel I have something to contribute, and not only that but for the department chair and the students and the dean to agree.  I was told, usually we only allow those who hold PhDs teach in the department, but we made an exception because you’re exceptional. Such an amazing compliment.

I am proud of myself.

I am more proud that I feel pride, and not the ugly kind.

I am not so silly to think it is about anything “I” did. To God be the glory.

My advisor, who I really should come up with an alias for…she calls me sunshine. It makes me so happy when she does because I think of my grandmother who has been calling me that since birth. When I told my grandma about it she laughed and said don’t try to replace her. Never.

I bring them up to say, that usually I would need some sort of validation from someone like my advisor or my parents to tell me good job. Or even P2AD.  I would always feel a pressure to do well for an audience almost like an Olympian…and await my score from the judges before I celebrated my performance. I suppose, though, there has been a bit of a shift. Borrowed words from one of my favorite blog pieces Tyesia wrote about SATC:

Now, Aleksandr Petrovsky will blindside you if you don’t stay woke. He is a manifestation of the dream. He is prince charming. Aleksandr is what happens when you start to feel yourself again. He is way too good to be true but you have walked through fire and deserve ego stroking, so you eat it all up. Aleksandr is overkill. Way over the top. He makes you wish you hadn’t been praying for his perfection since you were a little girl. You begin to crave simplicity, but convince yourself that you are just too conditioned to misery to enjoy him. You settle. You need an Aleksandr Petrovski so that you know you CAN have it all. He is the only one who can give you enough to know that you don’t need it all. Your values are less complex. You are aware of yourself. Big’s immensity has faded. Aleksandr is bigger, richer, more powerful. You allow Big to be human. He is no longer a force that drives you to insanity. The only power he has is that which you gave him. You find the courage to forgive him, and forgive yourself. You choose his company instead of seeking his validation. You are strong enough to brave him in the place where he once conquered you. Your life belongs to you again.

Its kind of like that. When you’re being offered so much its too arousing to the senses and you hone in on the things you really want. That simplicity is everything. And in that simplicity you don’t make room for expectation, you take every day every moment as it comes. And the guys…the guy…who used to be your judge and jury becomes just another face in the crowd. An old familiar one, but not one that matters in the same way. You’re dancing for you now. Its not about them, or him, or anyone else. This dance is a covenant between you and the wind, the sun, or hell even the rain. No one can take away your joy unless you give it to them. I do believe I am done with that.

And I do believe that’s olympic gold medal worthy.


What does it look like when your life catches on fire?
When you set your trail ablaze with passion rather than smolder in mediocrity…what does it feel like to be the sun?
Giver of energy for the whole of all things, light in the sky and breath in the lung, what is it like to be vitality?
Refusal to lie down, you rise and you fall–both are necessary for the dance. But the way you mark the sky clears any sadness one might have for an ending. Standing ovation and tears on the lashes of babes for such an awe inspiring exeunt.
I want to be life.
I want to be light.
I want to dance.
and so I will study the sunrise as my first lesson. You will be my only teacher; Baryshnikov doesn’t begin to rival your lines nor Copeland your passion. My master and I your apprentice, teach me love.

Truth Hurts

Wifey says, “Nobody ever told me a lie that hurt my feelings.”  Well…this week I had lunch with CR and we were talking about how he learns so much about himself by dating.  My roommate, Albi, said the same thing.  I, however, hate the whole concept.  So CR says, “So what do you expect? For love to just find you?”  To which I said, “Yup.”  It went on like this:

CR: But you have to be open to it. 

Jess: What does that even mean, ‘be open to it’

CR: you have to be open to exploring something with someone, and you have to have inviting energy…a boyfriend or husband isn’t just going to show up, you know? 

JW: *makes face* 

CR: what is THAT face about?  Oh I get it…you’re afraid of commitment. 

JW: I’m not afraid of it…I just don’t like it…or no, I like it so much that I have to really take my time in deciding to do it, you know? 

Later that day I got to thinking about being open to commitment.  My friend EmJ told me recently that I need to let some of my walls down which took my by surprise because I honestly feel more open than ever.  And its true, I likely am but that does not mean that there aren’t still some walls up.  E once asked me (rather abruptly) “Why are you afraid of love?” It really rubs me raw when people associate me with being fearful about a thing.  I thought about that question for years and have come up with many answers to it, none of which are relevant right now.  So I take CR (and really E)’s question to the table now and ask myself, what is it about love and committing that makes me so uncomfortable?

To answer that…another conversation.  CR asked a group of us whether he should call or text this girl he was thinking about asking on a date.  Everyone said text except me.  He asked me why I said to call and I told him that I expect a guy who wants to get to know me and is serious about it to step his game up and make a phone call.  He said, “You have high expectations anyway, you want like grand gestures.”  We laughed it off but then I remembered the conversation that night with Deeds.  Do I expect for guys to make a grand gesture to prove they like me, or am I expecting for guys to make a grand gesture to prove I’m worth one?  Maybe its a little bit of both (I can’t lie).  What girl doesn’t like feeling like she is a treasure???   There’s nothing (really) wrong with that, right?  And yes, I want a guy to pick up the phone. Yes I want him to ask me out, no I won’t be asking him, yes he should offer to drive, and pay.  Call me crazy, or Southern, but I do expect those things.  I know, I know “reap expectation, sow disappointment,” but honestly I am not budging on effort.  I just need to see some thought went into it, that’s all.

So…am I afraid of commitment? No.  Am I afraid of committing to the wrong guy? Yes. So I’ll take my time and be cautious in like but wrecklessly abandoned in love.  That’s just how I prefer to operate.


P.S.–Getting your Ph.D is hard. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.

The difference between a Harry and a Trey

I’ve been thinking a lot about love. Maybe its the fact that my friends around me are getting married or engaged. Or maybe my own biological clock is ticking, but the other night I told A that Charlotte said were get two great loves. I believe that one is the one as want it to be, and two is the one if was always supposed to be. After seeing a post on tumblr I realized that what this was was a case of pragma versus agape.

“Harry was the total opposite of what Charlotte desired from her men. He was bald and chewed with his mouth open. Charlotte knew that she could let her guard down around Harry, since she would never fall for anybody like him. That is, until she did.”

Of the six different types of love I think its safe to say we all want and in the end believe we have agape (selfless altruistic love; spiritual love). I wanted to believe that. I am guilty of being a salesman, trying to convince myself that I had everything I needed and that I was okay. I think its safe to admit that wasn’t always the case. I think in past relationships we all fall victim to trying to make someone the one.  Lauren (Conrad) did it with Jason, Charlotte did it with Trey, Gaston did it with Belle, the tale of pragma (love that is driven by the head, not the heart; undemonstrative) just keeps repeating itself.  When I was going through my break up, as much it could be considered that, I kept thinking back to the movie Closer, that scene in the end with Natalie and Jude in the hotel room…

In particular the lines “I can’t do anything with your easy words.”  In the end it really doesn’t matter what is, if you don’t feel it then you can’t really sell yourself on it.  I’m not in the business of living lies.  I had a friend tell me the same thing that I told a friend a while back…then I remembered how another friend of mine told me stories of how she financially sacrificed so much in her previous relationship and how she thought she was doing it for love but then when the relationship ended she was left feeling used and stupid.  I think we all have things we did in previous relationships that when we look back we swear we will not repeat in the next one.  Back to what I was told, she said she knew my ex was not the one for me.  Something I found interesting because I did not tell her a whole lot about us, well not intimate details.  But, she knows me. She said she felt I would go to the end of the earth for him but did not get the feeling it was mutual and reciprocal.  I understood, but its hard to agree because then I have to admit certain things about myself; namely that I would allow it. Regardless of whether I agree or disagree with her is irrelevant, the relationship is over now.  The thing I am taking from it is the lesson.  She also said I stayed too long knowing what I knew.  Now there I will agree.  That was a case of being afraid.  Too many things in my life were changing, I just wanted a haven even though in the end it was more stress than shelter.  Though it took me more time than I would have liked to leave, when I did leave I let it go.  I am proud of myself.  I think when we mourn things we don’t want to let go, and we don’t want to accept our new realities.  I did neither, and I am a better and happier person for having done so.

Charlotte York has been teaching me a lot lately.  Who knew that she was the personification of the ticking time bomb that is our biological clock.  I keep having cravings for a husband. Sometimes its to open a jar, and sometimes its to have pillow talk with.

I’ve been dating since I was 15! I’m exhausted, WHERE IS HE?!

I guess I’m not that bad yet.  Don’t we all want the one we can ‘wear our glasses’ around to just come the the hell on already?  Charlotte willed her marriage to Trey which makes me think of The Oracle’s warning to me that women will do anything to get down the aisle.  But Char also willed Trey, he was good on paper, bad in bed (and I believe Samantha Jones when she said  how we are in bed is how we are in life), and didn’t really meet all her needs.  She wanted a husband though.  Carrie nailed it in the bathroom when she said, “you’re missing it! You already had the perfect wedding and the marriage, not so perfect…” Let go of your thoughts…eff your head! Eff Pragmatism.  Essentially that’s how Charlotte found Harry. She had someone she wasn’t even interested in and she screwed up and let her hair down, only to find a man smitten looking back at her.  I’ll take it.

Black Barbie White Ken

Now for those readers who know me personally, this post may elicit a -_- face.  Here’s why:

I have never (seriously) considered dating outside of my race.  The reason why this makes 0 sense is because my step-dad is white and my mother is black, he has been the live-in father in my life since I was in elementary school so clearly I have had intimate proximity to interracial love.  Why now is it just coming up on my radar? Oddly enough, this article I read by Tamera Mowry where she addresses the topic, she says to (Essence) Do you have any advice for women considering dating outside of their race who may be apprehensive about it?
TAMERA: Well, I always find these questions so interesting, because I’m a product of an interracial marriage — and I never really grew up seeing color. I honestly realized that my dad was White when someone told me in middle school. They’re like, “Oh your dad’s White?” I’m like, “Oh, my gosh, he really is White.” I knew what race was, but it didn’t matter to me. Yes we are an interracial couple. The thing is we do still deal with that. People always question that. If anything, it hurts, but we do have more people supporting us than making stupid comments. We kind of just ignore it and focus on the positive. Love is love and a lot of times people might be in the situation they’re in because they put barriers up. Like some people only want to date a model, or an actor, or an athlete. You’re only limiting yourself. Open up to what’s out there because God made us all.

Honestly I never thought twice about her dating a white guy…I was more concerned that he worked for Fox News to tell you the truth. In any case, it bugged me that I could be openly on the bandwagon for GLBT but still gave black guys with blonde girlfriends major side-eye.  Do I mind interracial dating?!? Of course I can never really say that I do because I am so close to it.  I love my sisters more than anything, and without the “swirl” there would be no them.  Plus having my white side of the family has definitely been interesting, I doubt I would have been exposed to such jarringly different traditions and customs had my mom married a Black guy (gross generalization, yes I know). It’s all shaped me and my family so much I can’t objectively answer that question.

When I look at the picture above of Taylor Kistch (Tim Riggins) and Jessica White all I see is sexiness.  I’m not thinking about race relations, if he cares about weave, if his mama likes black girls, if she hates herself, none of that.  I see HOT.  Could I ever see myself with a white guy? Mmm technically I’ve semi been down that road but as we all know my serious boyfriend tally sits at 1: Deeds.  However, my Senior prom date was white…and before and after prom we dated, just very fun and casually though there were kisses, and other random date-like-things of that nature.  I never really “count” it though.  I guess even then I was skeptical of his intentions…and if his mama liked black girls.

I look at one of my favorite celeb couples, Khloe and Lamar Odom, and I never think about all the negative things either. Maybe because Khloe openly identifies with her Armenian ethnicity, or maybe because when I see them all I can see is love.  Truly.  I love seeing them because it just shows how much two people with big hearts can take care of one another.  Maybe that’s silly or naive, but that’s all I got.

So perhaps I can start to open my eyes to it a bit more. Not just for other people but for myself as well.  Just ingesting the fact that love is love, and beings are beings.  Our skin color is just a part of our story, it doesn’t mean we are incapable of creating new chapters with others.  Every time I think I’ve opened myself up to infinite possibility I find some new area where there’s more work to be done.  So I guess I’ll proclaim it, whoever I’m sent, if he is black, white, or otherwise if it is right, I will not fight it.  Tamera was right, so often we put up these barriers, but ultimately God made us all.  I know, as with everything, that who ever God made for me is just for me.  Who am I to put preconceptions on a blessing?