(In Progress)
I spent my early twenties reading Osho and sleeping to Alan Watts, earning money fast and spending it even faster, chasing sunsets and staring at the moon, and dancing my heart out whenever I got the chance. I wore the brand of free spirit very well — traveling solo around the world and making friends with strangers, with a tattoo here and there whenever the mood struck or a quick kiss goodbye to someone I knew I'd never see again. I loved my beautiful life full of several mistakes but far more blessings.
Despite my liberated lifestyle, I rarely felt unsafe. Whether I was in a hostel in the middle of London, living alone in Downtown Atlanta or crossing the border into Mexico, I always felt protected. I think I was born with a gift of trusting my inner compass. Plus, I stay strapped with either a gun or a taser. Cruising into my late twenties, I felt nothing but optimistic about the path my life might take.
Traveling was lonesome but it taught me to form less attachments to people and things, and find creative ways to hold on to special memories. Afternoon daydreaming, deep conversations and stellar music kept me full. And no matter where I was at in life or around the world, I was fine being alone as long as I had a journal. My collection of journals was a safe of my thoughts, my fears and my dreams — a tiny sanctuary for taking baby steps towards my healing. For as long as I can remember, in all aspects of my life, I have searched high and low for love, clumsily turning me into an artist.
My head was in the clouds as the world became more artificially connected. I noticed my life and business were at risk but I wasn't aware just how much. It turns out there were people who stalked me enough online to learn that writing was my outlet and, to those who weren't a fan, an avenue for exploiting me. In short, my home started being broken into by neighbors and my journals were exposed. Daily micro assaults built up to unwarranted and nonconsensual breaches of my privacy, and premature feelings and ideas were shoved into the world.
The stings were like that of a cherished mixtape leaked far too early or a beloved and grand painting destroyed before it meets the public. I learned that female mosquitoes particularly are torturous to their victims; they will bite and bite and bite until they feel completely satisfied. An incessant bullying of the soul and a unique breed of heartbreak — This, I thought, is not love. What I experienced was evil. It was a deliberate hate crime for being a Black woman with a voice.
It's true that you'll be crucified once you prioritize respect, peace and love. I've spent my twenties preserving my humanity with the help of celibacy, meditation and art. I'm proud to say that when I look into the mirror of my soul, I love who I see. I've traveled inward enough in my vehicle mind to slow dance with angels. When I look up at the sky, I see a space for myself in the stars. As I approach my thirties, I get the pleasure of defining the kind of woman I will become.
My love as a woman is an ocean. I practice gentle love and emotional safety. I seek to mirror a beautiful glow of care like that of a full moon or a mystery of colorful warmth like that of a morning sunrise. I read the hearts of my friends and crushes and offer them the kind of affection, attention and/or assurance that I pray suits their spirit. I question the areas and times where I may fall short and I answer to healing by springing towards improvement. I respect the privacy and agency of those I find wondrous and I try to wait patiently for the universe to do its natural work.
On the evening I finished LOVE TALK, I witnessed a mighty sunset. My loft at the time had gorgeous 1916 industrial windows for walls. I was deep into fine tuning the questions when the artwork being created in the skies caused me to pause. I looked up from staring into my laptop with awe as the entire studio turned bright red. I sensed that God was giving me the green light — one that I eventually found strength to let guide me. What I thought would be a life and career launch forward actually turned out to be a long and rewinding road back into my childhood.