How to Ineffectively Solve Conflicts with Cornbread

I wouldn't consider myself a pacifist. The need for me personally to resolve conflict with physical conflict is as rare as finding a Moltres or Articuno in the wild. Let's begin, 

I know people may argue that it is what wild beasts would do, as people stand around and watch two grown adults fight at a baseball game (hold the phone sideways to be professional.) but I am not sure. I don't want anyone to touch my mother or father or niece or brother or cousin or bowl of Tostitos but there are other things to do than to actually harm someone with your body parts. Which oddly enough, ends up hurting you normally.

It's just I have other stuff to do, ya' know? Like whenever I was younger and I was being bothered or teased and things got physical, it was easy to walk away. I had an Xbox and two loving parents in a home. A dog needed to be walked. Tostitos were waiting at home. If a fight were to manifest then I would get suspended. No Xbox. Get but whooped (so technically two times I get beat). Teachers would take me out of the "Student of the Month" awards. No gift card to KB Toys.

Whenever I got older and grew into my body and played sports, obviously it popped up. But using words was even more effective versus flinging a wild haymaker at someone's temple. "Sticks and stones" blah, blah, blah; words will forever and ALWAYS hurt me. What's mightier, the pen or the sword? The silver tongue laced with poison *chefs kiss* was developed throughout my childhood, even as I managed a speech impediment (shout-out to Ms. Faye!).

But also recognizing to always defend yourself. Most people have some sort of community. Whether it be personal or professional or platonic or what have you, someone looks to a person for love and commitment and support. Sometimes the homie needs you to opt-in or square up when there is conflict. There will always be conflict. There will never not be conflict. 

And that's house this life works. There's a problem and a solution happens. It may not be pretty at the end, but an end will come. Most of the time it is within someone's self. Like maybe the kids who bullied me during grade school were mad that they didn't have a father figure. Or Halo 3 on the Xbox 360. I am sorry your family's lights went off but please stop teasing me about playing the bass clarinet. I was All-District, 4th chair.

"You gonna' let him talk to you like that?"

"No! I am going to walk away, so I won't be able to hear him talk to me like that."

Again, I am the guy who will eat the food even if my order is wrong. But also the guy who will ask for a manager because they ran out of curly fries.

#knowyourworthking

 

To Grow Old in Norfolk, Virginia

I never thought about too much in the future when I was younger. But I was constantly, painstakingly reflecting on my past. My past year, month, week, day, hour, minute, second, millisecond, etc. Like how could I have done that differently being aware of every time I make some sort of mistake or a quizzical choice.

But as I grow older and my mistakes become more frequent and more costly (because remember, it's literally about me at this point in my life) I do start to ponder the bigger yet more concrete things that matter. People asking what I am going to do in my life, I'm not sure. There aren't really too many big-big plans besides getting my degree and opening up a studio. But even those two things I am not obsessed with. 

I am obsessed with being a great friend and being a great teacher and being a great student and being a great coworker and being a great partner and being a great parody dancer. But I'm not doing the things to do that right now. It's as though it's okay but not really. Because remember, I am constantly reflecting on these tasks and myself. I am past the first E, I've already identified and know how to fix the problem.

Those big goals, divided into smaller, measurable attainable goals have been what keeps me going. If one of my goals is to stay joyful, that means I need to sleep 6 hours a day or eat 3 servings of leafy green vegetables or run 3-4 miles, 3 days a week. Then the big goals slowly but surely are within my grasp and I won't even know it until it's already been passed and accomplished. Fortunately reaching my goal but unfortunately not celebrating the milestone, 

But I am tired, we all are and I sometimes just want to get through my days. And that's a huge issue, there are so many cool things that happen throughout my day and I want to enjoy them. But the days and weeks and months run together and I am not able to process anything.

If you made a pie chart of my 24 hour day, 2 hours would be spent exercising, 12 hours spent working, 6-7 hours sleeping, 1 hour school work, and then the rest hopefully is decompressing but rarely. 

I did that in a space and time a while ago and I was like poorly made grilled cheese: burnt out, melted down, broken down. Just pieces, on the ground, eaten up by street rats wings. I didn't want to grow old and die in Norfolk, Virginia or Denver, Colorado. If I can't process my days and decompress, then the repeat happens then it'll be a wrap like Saran. 

But once again, this has happened and I have been able to pick up those pieces and become the best Jon or JODY that I can be. It happened twice. But I have to slow down and provide maintenance when needed. Because honestly, I need me! Jon needs me. Jonny needs me. Jonathan needs me. JODY needs me. Hell, even Jo(h)n needs me. Hopefully this weekend I can go over everything and get it going. Wait hopefully, I mean it'll get done. I don't have a choice,

I Got You Boo

 People always talk about their “authentic self” and being in a particular space for themselves. I have no idea what that means, being honest. Sometimes I feel like going for a 12 mile run because I can. Sometimes I feel like moving to a new city to try out a different area. Sometimes I’ll put on a skirt. 

I don’t know how anyone in this world can tell me if I’m being myself or fake. It’s become a competition to become unique and innovative for social media. Yeah yeah sometimes I do it for the gram but most of the time I’m like “oh I have to try it AT LEAST once” because why not? There’s literally a ba-jillion things I don’t know how to do and everyone I’ve ever met , including my students, can teach me a skill or give me a new dataset I have never considered. Isn’t that cool? A lot of kids can speak two languages , that is so freggin’ amazing.

Anyways but I’ll pinpoint my quick entry to this point in time . I was with some friends having a chill night with wine. I spilled the wine on pants that didn’t agree with the color. They contrasted like Dame and Jay. For some reason my friends house didn’t contain replacement ones for a Shrek sized man. But apparently skirts apparently are one size fits all. 

We decided to go out that night and my friend took that picture in my super flamboyant sweater (that was mine and I still have/love it) and I wasn’t trying to be my “authentic self” as strutted down Hancock Street downtown. I was just Vivian vibin’, I felt comfortable.

I’m a science teacher and unnecessarily super reflective for a long time. I know for a fact when I’m being myself (me) being genuine to myself and I know when I’m doing it to be recognized. People yelling out “you’re so brave” or “you’re a (bad word)” was endearing but I just wanted to go dancing with poetry geeks and eat a chicken biscuit. Not a statement for myself but if someone else needs it as positive reinforcement, I got you boo. 

Plus skirts are super breathable and I can do super high kicks. Feels fabulous,

Me, You, and Ya' Momma Pt.1

I always thought it was important to check in with yourself and what you need on a daily basis. Or at least weekly. I am fully aware of the minus and plus that come with living on Earth as a young black man in the United States of America with two college-educated parents. I understand that is not normal and as well. 

As a child, I would be holler out "Hey dad" and he would holler back "Yes, son" with that in itself being a big flex.

The privilege I have to check in on myself, as I have been doing subconsciously through my journals since around 3rd grade has been above all things, terrifying. I lived in the suburbs my entire childhood, and I remember being terrified even to go asleep. 

9/11 happened, what if it a plane runs into our house? The DC sniper, what if he is waiting outside for me? What if I have a heart attack from all of this soul food by the age of 12? What if I never make it into the Justice League?

The world is huge, massive yet the world in itself is tiny, bite-sized compared to everything else. When I listened to the words of Carl Sagan talking about being a speck of dust on a speck of dust scientifically speaking, what do you do? Where do you grow from at that point? How is someone who was afraid of any and everything, supposed to develop into a semi-functional human. 

Where did any sort of eternal sustainable happiness come about after so much self-conscious, degrading thoughts that were proven to be true when life hit as an adult.

Maybe it is when I got to college and started meeting folks. Maybe it was when I went to Alaska for a summer and was isolated. Or maybe it was between Me, You, and Ya' Momma.

Hello!

 Hello! 

I mean goodbye.

I was only here for a minute, so you can say hello to the "bad guy" since every protagonist needs an antagonist.

 I sent positive vibes your way, sweeter than some wild berry poptarts and cornier than a party-sized bag of Tostitos, hoping that a connection would last longer than Rondo's wingspan.

But now I'm sitting in a FedEx Kinko's parking lot, trying to update my resume after working at Dollar Tree for two weeks, wondering how this warm feeling in my tum-tum turned into rolly pollies.

I cried out, a more severe pain after I stub my toe on the coffee table, screaming louder than a theatre kid doing the 'Mr. Feanie' call. 

I only have a finite amount of "I Love You's" and when I say "I Love You" it 99% of the time means "I Love You", so "I Love You" but, eh, ya' know.

That's eternal sunshine but I guess suns explode eventually. Or maybe just dim out like the light in your eyes when you don't follow your childhood dreams and become numb.

Well, I thought about sending you the longest text message ever but I didn't. I just went for a run. I'll call later. Probably.

Goodbye!

I mean hello.

The Off-Season

The Off-Season is upon us. Two months of recalibration, remediation, relaxation, recovering or what have you. It's a time not to be taken lightly as expired sweet peppers and avocadoes sit patiently in my vegetable drawer, waiting for me to take them out behind the barn to end their misery. I was going to throw them out and clean out my fridge during the winter, but I had to get disfectant spray on layaway on the Dollar Tree. I'm definitely taking time now to reevaluate my close personal and professional relationships. My social, emotional, physical, spiritual simulations, needs, wants, and desires. As soon as I left school today, I felt that exhale finally happen like I was Loretta Devine trying out new swimsuits after a BBQ. I did get through the last school year with a relative smoothness but still fell into my vices quite easily, as they tend to send out false vibrations, playing with my emotions. I feel like for every 1 vice I have (let's call them Tom Cruises), I need about 10-15 positive things (let's call them Bill Murrays) to only REDUCE the effectiveness of the Tom Cruises. Not eliminate, just reduce. And not doing those vices isn't very helpful because then there's a fear I'll fall back into them and just dive deeply into it more when I get back to that level. I always come back to them, like a deadbeat dad after their son makes it to the NBA. For example: Tom Cruises: Overeating, Overdrinking, Maintaining a failed relationship, Undersleeping, Overexercising, Over Social-Mediaing, Not Drinking Enough Water, Ignoring Warning Signs of Anxiety, Saying Yes, Stealing disinfectant spary from the Dollar Treem, Not expressing Needs from a relationship because it's "inconvienent" Bill Murrays: Eating vegetables, checking in with friends, Hydrating, Running, Yoga, Meditating, Listening to (informational) podcasts, Calling parentseekly, Keeping up with my sleep pattern, Burning incense or sage, Getting/receiving hugs, Making my bed in the morning, Petting dogs, Cursing positive affirmations at my plants, Saying No, Writing this blog that only my mom and Dee reads, Listening to Hans Zimmer when I am doing mundane activities, Dancing awkwardly around people I love, High fiving people until their hands hurt, Making up secret handshakes with people, Knowing when to go home, Performing entries from this blog only my mom and Dee reads, (TBC) And I feel it more, ya' know? I feel this over indulgence as I round to my 28th birthday, I feel the uneasiness of it all. It's there and always ready to serve to medicate me but I needed to meditate. Yes there's Jon, Jonny, JODY, and Jonathan but there is really only one Jon. And I need to take care of him, I need to take care of me. Whether I am wearing a wig or not. And damn that fridge needed to be cleaned out so long ago So how does the Off-Season going to effect my Tom Cruise-Bill Murray conundrum this year? It won't unless I sent some intentions soon. Like right now. I think it's important to see everything from the lense on how it effects not only other people but me. It's all about me when it comes down to it. I came into this world with my parents, a brother, probably some white dude slapping me on sight, and oversized heads. But ultimate-ultimately I was alone. And I will die alone. My intro and outro. But that middle, juicy, meaty part between those things is where I get excited. I'm overworked, overanxious, underslept, sometimes more sad than not but I am here with a lot of joy and a lot of faith, which I need to extend to myself. I am and will continue to turn up. I don't have a choice in the matter. But I need to breathe. I need to slow down and be with myself and in this sh*t or I'm never going going to attain the 5th and final Jon. #savethetostitos

See How You Fly

"When I couldn't move, you showed me how to crawl. When I could walk, you showed me how to run. When I could glide, you showed me how to fly." Now see how they fly, from the mountains of Zion, roaring down the hillside, along the county lines, through Dollar General alleyways and flyways in the Mississippi where I saw Bobo and them earn their wings earlier than expected but were always accepted, But the King is dead, the tostitos are crumbled, and they tried to clip my wings. I howled that day for 3 summers and 4 winters, waiting for my chance at the throne and my seat at the table and I hobbled to Valhalla on one knee over 38 countries and 8,000 miles. I told them I was a humble knave, traveling along the piedmont for the past 13 years. And they told me "no" at the door like they worked for Fedex Kinkos. "No, no, no, no, no no" NO. I shook hands with Yahweh, consumed the blood of Christ, etched my body with ancient images, and I saw how they flew! I have done the spectacular and watched all 5 seasons of Living Single. What do you mean "no" I met the Oshun and she supplied with the ether and new bag of only a few crumbled Tostitos at the bottom. I asked "why" , they asked me "why would they let a knave fly" I told them "I can" They told me "if you can fly then you're not a knave. Walk first. Then Run. Glide. And THEN show me how YOU fly, King."

I Love You Too, Jo(h)n Whiting

 "Who am I becoming as a teacher?"

I love talking about myself. I mean I love talking about myself. I am a black man, college educated born from a middle class family who loved me who always seems to have something new to reflect on every two seconds. And it is lovely because I have been unpacking “who I am” since I was young JODY. But throughout middle school, the grade I have been teaching since 2017, has opened up a magnitude of suppressed memories and feelings throughout my entire life. More specifically, my career as a teacher.

I was a “B+” student in school; I did my work at a fairly high level, I loved to read, loved to learn new things, loved that I had two, hardworking college-educated parents, loved to earn and give respect to my teachers and colleagues. I was bullied higher than average in reference to my peers, as I attributed to my geeky yet shy personality. My middle school was a nice pool of diversity, with mixed socioeconomic status and sociocultural differences (until a new school opened up years later, making it a low SES). My friends included a band geek, basketball player, low achieving student, book lover, a physically handicapped friend, and mentally handicapped friend. Not plural but all singular, as I had one of each. School was good to me and I reciprocated those feelings.

I began journaling privately in 7th grade, as I started to find my identity amongst my peers. I loved talking and reflecting about everything in that journal.  I played basketball, loved reading, loved playing my bass clarinet; I loved doing hobbies. My parents continuously (somewhat forcibly) encouraged me to follow different pursuits and numerous activities and I even have somewhat of an interest in. I liked them but not necessarily loved them. But I wanted to know the how of everything due to my eagerness to try new things and learn new things from my peers.. This was an ideal that is now extremely important and relevant to me as a 27 year-old, as my amount of interests only increased as time went on. 

Fast forward to my college years, the same amount of energy came up. Wanting to know how things work and how I could possibly make the world a better place through education. I wanted to hold that space for folks who may not have a group they belonged too because I couldn’t find one either. College gave me this platform to finally be a facilitator of information for anyone who wanted to learn. I was a part of running club, clean-up club, gardening up, environmental science club, dance club; anything that would prescribe me this piece of mind of me finding this identity. But as I people found these loves and passions in college, I became discouraged. How was I going to find what I was looking for and become this high-level professional adult in my career?

My teaching career started primarily due to me trying to figure out what I wanted to do post-college life.  All of these skills and talents I had and learned from working as a biologist, tour guide, recreational assistant, etc. had gotten me nowhere. I did not know what to do with my college education and my vast amount of knowledge and experience for someone who was 22 years-old. And I went into my first year of teaching, tiptoeing and I got exposed. Heavily. Terribly. I wasn’t a trained teacher when I first walked into a room full of 7th graders. I was a scared 12 year-old who used to get bullied by EJ and them boy and only talked to a bunch of weirdos. Whether I was 5’3, 130 pounds or 6’4 200 pounds, I walked into my first year of teaching 7th grade like I walked in my first year into 7th grade, as 7th grader. And I cried a lot those first couple of years I taught. Not because of the kids, mostly because I had an identity crisis. If I love teaching and love these kids and can’t teach these kids then who else is going to do it? 

  So I continued to teach without any regards to my emotions to a point I was gently asked to leave my career. The career that exemplified all of amazing attributes was exemplifying all my insecurities. I didn’t know how to talk to 7th graders, I didn’t know how to talk to my black 7th graders. It’s because I was the kid who talked to all of my teachers or read during lunch break. I was not going all in with little bit of gas but constantly going full-speed. All I had to do was push it to a gas station and gently drive off. 

The feeling of not being the best or not fitting in was a common trend. Yes, I had a wave and pool of friends but I only chose those outliers who helped me learn that specific skill. Managing and holding a space for groups of people became a talent I didn’t know I had until my current year in teaching, as my culture-setting for each of my classes is now beautifully executed. My family is a big deal to me and rarely do I like something but I always love something. The glory and pain of failure is a driving force for me. All of the teasing and isolation really hurt me growing up, especially from my black peers, especially from peers that I know are hurting as well. Sometimes I took it too personally but I always knew that if someone made even the smallest attempt to connect with me, whether it be as a peer or as a teacher, they were going to have a safe space to be in. Even if it was only for 5 minutes at the bus stop.

When It's Over

I have to remember, remind myself constantly that things don't last forever. Maybe elongated, like the Elongated Man but not forever. Circumstances come up, things change, but I never thought things change. I always thought that was a lie. Things just...reveal themselves.

I've spoken about this on numerous occasions, but my time in Colorado was some of the best years and more tragic years of my 27-year-old life. I was able to be in a space that allowed my creativity and high-functional self, ergh, function but with consequences of not maintaining my social or emotional well-being. And one of my growing points is to sustain my joy/happiness/what-have-you after relationships with friends, coworkers, romantic entanglements meet their end.

Relationships ended so often in Colorado, I just kept to my dogs that I ran on the weekends. I always resented that "coworkers are family" relationship, I never thought it was real. Well until recently. But even with that, I have to learn to move forward after loss. If I don't then I won't be able to deal with something that really is dissipated or more so extinct from my life forever.

But that revolving door of friends and sometimes family isn't healthy for anyone and that definitely affected me in my childhood in which transferred to my adulthood. I can't imagine any other primary school child verbally ending friendships are unreconcilable differences. I know exactly what I have earned and deserved, and San Antonio is the first city to begin to offer me everything I thought was impossible to attain. My life quote "You can try to change but that's just the top layer, you was who you was before you got here" resonates with me a lot. 

So if you ever hear me say "I don't care" or the more vulgar alternative, I do. I do a lot. And you have no idea how much it takes me to say that it's over.

Lunch in the Library

"This can't be the mind that read 2 novels per month in 5th grade" I used to read. I used to read a lot when I was younger. The letters, words, and sentences would leap out at me and pimp-slapped into a stories I could never have dreamt of. Reading became the source of my happiness via escapism when I was a child. Escapism. Why was I always trying to leave a space? Whether it be mentally or physically. I wondered if I truly was unhappy when I was younger or even 'til now. My teachers would recall me wanting to sit in the classroom during the lunch period or getting the rare and special privelge of having lunch in the library. The library: the place that held all of the stories of triumph and heartbreak and grown men running around half-naked with kids (apparently that's funny?). The books I read had nothing to do with what I wanted to read with at the time, I just read them. If it book was there or existed, I picked it up and started reading. How else was I going to learn about homoerotic fan fiction or how finnese a single mom into marrying you even though you don't like woman and have a second family. I didn't want to be in the lunchroom; their stories were boring and -spoiler alert- school lunch raises your chances of getting heart disease. And of course, their stories made sense. I wanted to learn about some little white boy killing a Michael Jackson doppelganger who had alopecia and was for a vampire for some reason. From reading my journals, I could tell a lot of my time was sitting and waiting around, yearning to be an adult. An old, boring adult. Well congrats Jon, But why wouldn't you want to travel to middle earth realm or go to a high school where everyone is endowned with special powers? Where would I be without E. Lynn Harris or Kurt Vonnegut? Maybe a white picket fence with a beagle. Or extra bags of Tostitos.

10 Things I Hate About Jo(h)n P.

I am one of those people from my childhood that secretly hope their bullies are slightly inconvienced for the rest of their lives. I am one of those people from their childhood that would be too afraid of thunder and lightning and go sleep in their brother's bed then went the bed. I am one of those people from their childhood that only believed in two main ideas: hate and fear. Everything else was secondary or tertiary. Love, faith, friends, family, hot pockets, education, bass clarinet, video games were the foundation of my life back then but the feelings . Well based off of my childhood journals, that is how I came to this conclusion. My childhood journals started when I was 7 and I wrote in different ones, on and off until now. It seemed liked I was afraid that people would not like me so I would bake them goodies, help them with classwork, play with the one kid no one cared about, etc. From my writings it seemed like I did not enjoy these tasks, at least as the intentional way I do them now. I also despised the way people seemed to hate one another, it seemed like a waste of energy. Hearing my family argue, hearing how much people do not like each other, hearing kids from my childhood call me any name they could think of. Reading through my journals I, like I do but not so much now, try to find a reason behind everything. "Why would they do something that I told them that makes me feel bad over and over again?" Jo(h)n P. wasn't the meanest person I encountered during my childhood but the most consistent. From 3rd grade to 9th grade, he found some way to make me, his 'friends', his teachers, and his own family feel bad. I remembered he would do these awful things and I would read everyone's reactions to his actions. They were just...disappointed. Like when he stole my bike and blamed it on his little brother and I had to go to his house and ask his mom for it back. When he would make my 8th grade World Studies teacher roast because he would not stop talking during tests. Being the first person to call me the 'n' word and being the only person I have attempted to punch outside my family. I am not in the energy to dwell on things and somehow also not the one to forgive people. Me and him had the almost identical titles and he was making me look bad. Whether it be running XCountry or living in the same neighborhood or being in the same classes or being in the same band, why would I ever accept mediocrity from someone Jo(h)n? So being the healthy adult human man I am at the age of 27, I take all of those childhood insecurities and negative energy and put it to a ball of rubberbands and put it as my foundation. All of the laughs and cries and police harrassment and miles ran and cocoa butter kisses and matchmaking on Halo 3, I through it into who I am, put some soil on it and use it to help me grow. Along with Jo(h)n P. Without him I wouldn't have learned how to manage energy or deal with growing emotions or interact with humans who are hollow casts. I am not going to be able to eliminate those terrible things that happen but I can remember how many wonderful things came out from being bullied and harrassed in my childhood. Maybe fear and hate do not motivate me quite as much but it still there. Without him or Thomas B. or Edward P. I would be this big mass role of cotton candy all fluffly and naive. Now I am just cornbread,

Life After Blackface Pt. 2 (Revised)

I think it's important to note that I feel almost everything. My foot striking the pavement when I run, the saxophone melodies off of Jay-Z's American Gangster, my Papa's excitement when I pick up the phone, the gaze on the back of my neck when I enter specific stores, etc. With that amount of feels, there comes an amount of cares. I know I am using that word incorrectly, please give me a minute. On average, the most average person interacts with trillions or ka-billions of molecules every minute of every day. That's the most mayonnaise, basic, carbon copy Joe-Smoe just existing in any space on this planet. This person more than likely ignores most of these interactions between single and compound molecules because in all actuality, who is going to intentionally interact with a ka-billy-jilly-ion particles every single minute. Who would care? Now does Jody interact with all the oxygens I breathe per minute or sodium chlorides I consume at every meal? Heck naw. What am I, a psychopath? Do I think about interacting with those molecules? Heckers nopers. Do I look like a 7th-year senior on a trust fund at Penn State? Do I feel even one atom? I don't think so. When I meet people I tend to put them into 2 categories. A human or an empty vessel. I interact with numerous people so often, whether it be through teaching kiddos, teaching yoga, telling people not to touch me, Zoom sessions, graduate school cohort, etc. I think I do snap judgements and it's not fair of me. But also being fair is subjective. People doing pro-racist things whether it be disacknowledging BLM or doing blackface o supporting the orange or not udnerstanding sarcasm (I have a point, let me finish!) just throws me for a loop. I think I am a nice guy but why do people take their mask off to seize? That's brain neutral energy, Sometimes I am drawn to a certain energy. But sometimes I am always draw a certain energy. It is as though that energy immediately needs to be handled and maintained properly even if that energy has literally no connection or tie to me. And what happens when a battery is powering a flashlight and runs out of chemicals and molecules and such to power this source of illumination? What happens when you're supposed to be the light to guide souls to a beautiful-land but runneth out of wax? Where does the candle get its wax when the wax maker hasn't shown up to work, but the candle still has to light the way? I don't know And I don't know if wax maker is a word,

New-New-New Apartment (rough draft)

I remember quite a few years talking to this lady in her later 'teens, flying from Denver to Atlanta. It must've been 2am in the morning, multiple flight delays, I was hungry. I had done my pre-flight stretches (I always sit 'Econ' on Frontier/Spirit) and was more awake than someone that wakes up in the morning who had synced their circadian rhythm. And she was kind of cute.

She discussed how godawful and terrible her life had been growing up in the prestigious Oak Hills, Nashville in her young adult life, drugs to drugs, men to women, moving from place to place, home to home, and ruining anyone's life who allowed her too including her loving parents, she admitted. But she claimed to have repent and finally settle in the rehab, for good this time. I asked her how many times she moved during from the time of her birth until now. She said 15. She asked me. I said 21.

--

The transition to Norfolk, Virginia to the metropolitan area of Denver, Colorado was the most gentle transition one could have. Leaving my high-paying job, destroying any chance of having a decent relationship with my ex, running up my credit card, not having any place permanent place to stay, and of course no job. It was probably the most important move of all. It was the only place I wanted to move to when I was in college, besides Atlanta. But I had and still have 200% faith that it needed to happen. I began to perfect my yoga practice, had free reign to run any and every time in the city, and I lived in one home for over a year, the longest time spent in once place since I was 14. But during my time in the midwest the details could have been more tight. Leaving my suitcase out in the middle my bedroom was psychologically breaking me and the inability to just go over someone's house and do nothing was heavy a strange yet relevant uneasy feeling. Everyone was "on-the-go" and it seemed like I made 100 associates for activities and 2-3 actual friends, who honestly had left or talked about leaving. 

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Conyers, Georgia to San Antonio, Texas was (is, right?) found me in a move strictly to achieve my professional goals as an educator. It was the first time moving and having no desire to move. Georgia was and is my home, and I wouldn't have known if I never left for those 4 years. I rekindled and maintained friendships as well. Honestly it's not about where you live, it's only about who you're with. Plenty of times I exclaimed I would have stayed in Denver if a few friends and family were in the area. But the few months in Georgia, there was no reason that I didn't have to leave but plenty of reasons to leave. It's nerve-racking because this is the first area ever where I know absolutely no one and we are in a freggin' pandemic. But if someone offers you graduate school and a job then... 

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Chester, Virginia to Norfolk, Virginia. First full-salary job. First time not backing down (professionally) from bullies. First apartment. First time getting a gun drawn on me. First serious relationship. My early 20s was a world-wind, mostly spiking in the area of the Hampton Roads. The 757 showed me literally what not to do in any sort of setting. The way I carried and conducted myself in that area was nowhere near the attitude or standard of any other area in my life. Everything seemed to be right in my face; whether it be bugs, my student's mothers, poverty, racism, lack of synergy. I never could fit in and build anything there. It was such a polarizing community and it made me wayward. I was going on a run and had to keep circling one block because the surrounding areas got me shook. My relationships with the people I loved made me feel comfortable sometimes but that place ate me alive and left me as crumbs. I hated the socioeconomic aspect of 757, even more than Hannibal Burress. 

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But out of the dozens of places I moved, I've always appreciated the time and effort of living in those spaces. Moving to Texas also includes its firsts as well, but hopefully it'll include some lasts.