Sistah Take A Seat

Sistah Take A Seat: Eating WhiteĀ 

I will never forget the time I was working at a local high school as a school social worker. Sometimes the students would come up to my office and chill during lunch time. I’d usually take a break and eat with them. I don’t even recall what I was eating this particular day, but there was a lot of greens/veggies-no rice or French fries in this particular lunch meal. One of my students took it upon herself to ask “Ms., why you keep eating white people food?” My brain stalled on that one and years later I’m not even quite sure what to say to the countless curious Black folks who ask the very same question in different ways when they see me eating kale, quinoa, bulgur wheat, chicken that isn’t fried or whatever they just can’t readily identify on my plate. 

This whole notion that eating healthy is a white people thing or a “bourghie behavior” actually leaves some people *insert health conscious Black folks* feeling some type of way. That if salmon trumps ribs as your choice on a menu you’re just being extra. That eating healthy is other people’s habits and people of African descent only acquire this taste in food once they earn a couple of degrees and take flight to other parts of town. 

I’m Haitian. So I’m quick to remind folks, our ancestors ate and Haitians are today still do find their sustenance from the land. Our juices are made fresh. Our vegetables are a melange of eggplant, chayote (that’s militon for my Zoes), carrots, scallions, onions, garlic, parsley, bell peppers–all to create the legume meal that I love so much. I don’t need meat in mine. Some crab maybe. Some lambi (conch) maybe. With some white rice. And “sauce poi blanc”. Mezami, my tastebuds just took a detour! 

I remember being raised in a home where neither pork nor any shellfish was permitted in my diet. Part of that was my mom’s personal Levitical biases and part of that was that she knew better so she did better with our meals. Olive oil was a staple. Except for the time we lived with another family and overdosed on hotdogs and bologna, she preferred sliced meats from the deli that didn’t have all that salt added. Oh! Did I mention my mom wasn’t white and that we didn’t live in some uppity neighborhood? So it irks me to no end when people make broad stroke comments about diets being white or black. Granted I do maintain that Haitian food is THE best food in the world-and since this is my blog I’m only stating facts. Lol! Digressing again. 

So I got me and the hubster back on a juicing plan. I dragged out my Breville juicer and it is holding court right next to my smoothie machine on the kitchen counter. One bottle per day. Nothing major. He’s 45. I’m 42. Our bodies demand extra attention and what better way to do so than to make a concerted effort to get some extra veggies in our system the raw way. So we got celery, carrots, ginger, apples, lime, strawberries, kale all up in this latest batch. The celery gives it this refreshing taste. The ginger spikes it up a notch. The carrots and apple balances it off with some sweetness. And the lime, believe it or not, brings it all home flavor wise. 

There are some of us who didn’t grow up with the best cooks or best diets in our lives. And if you’re like me, living on my own in college caused all types of rules to be broken. I went from eating no pork to eating the Friday night griot. Every Friday. Of every week. These days I probably eat it once per quarter (yes I mind my junk food intake in terms of quarters) cause it takes about that long to leave your system anyway! 

Circumstances may not have allowed for healthy balanced meals. We all joke about the red juice that causes ADHD to go undiagnosed in many households. Food deserts is a reality. For me to get a juice on the go, I would now have to leave my predominately urban community and head either east towards the beach or west towards the Everglades. It takes effort to do right by your temple. It takes money and time. The first time I got back juicing I promise you I burned 1500 calories between the setting up, breaking down, washing and then mopping my sticky kitchen floor. Then you think of the time and energy you take to do some random activity and you realize the return on the investment really does beat out the annoyance. 

I have had non-Black colleagues quickly hide their amazement when I ask about the nearest vegan option or plant based option eateries. Once they get over the shock that I’m not asking for the nearest bbq joint (and no offense to them cause I can gets down with some ribs too), they are more than happy to share in the love of healthy foods. 

So next time someone makes some off color comment about your coconut black rice, adashah, kale, toasted coconuts and avocado lunch (and it’s usually some poor, misguided brotha or sistah) don’t give them the side eye. Take the time to let them know what’s on your plate and point out the health benefits of your meal. They may roll their eyes and go about their high cholesterol, diabetic living or they may dwell on your comments and who knows? You may have gained a convert to eating healthy–not White. 

Our ancestors would be honored to know that you too are eating off the land and honoring the food traditions that transcend race and yes even color lines. I’m Black. Been eating Black since 1975. Whatever that is. šŸ™„šŸ˜‚


Sistah Take A Seat

Sistah Take A Seat: Declutter Your LifeĀ 

I spent an entire day doing laundry, trashing old CDs and just getting into all sorts of fits each time I saw a corner of my house that had clutter piling up. Piles of books. Piles of junk mail. Piles of shoes. Ugh…

We usually assign Spring as the time to place back all the winter gear, go through our checklist of what to update around the house and tidy up our living spaces. We take inventory of what we have and promise we the retail gods they will never see us in a mall or on Amazon ever again! Yeah right. 

How many of us actually take the time to do the same with our lives? I mean if I’m going to try and get my house in order, may as well take some time to inventory my life and see what’s worth keeping or getting rid of. Right?

 *inserts sense of discomfort*

Take An Emotional Inventory                            

I’m entering a personally emotional season in my life. And I know every Spring my feelings are a bit raw this time of year.  Two weeks from Mothers Day means a loss of my mother. Since I know it’s coming up, I get myself mentally prepared for it. It’s usually a time when I will be around a lot of folks (weddings, graduations, etc.) so I know that I have to spend some time beforehand taking care of me. Journaling. Lunch with friends who have been down this road. Whatever it will take to make me be okay. That’s what you have to do. Take an emotional temperature of where you are with things. Marriage. Dating. Grief and loss. Children. Life. It happens. What should also happen is you making sure you’re okay. If that means therapy-go. If that means calling a mentor on one of your long commutes to work-call. If it means visiting a house of worship where nobody knows your name-visit. If it means praying without ceasing-pray. If it means camping with some friends-do it. Go. Do. Be. Take care of yourself. 

Take A Physical Inventory                       

That darn right ankle of mine really set me back some with my working out. But I had to reflect on how much of it was my ankle and how much of it was me just not making the time to workout. Yeah, work had exponentially picked up but I’m sure if I dug through all the hours I found to binge on some random TV series, I would certainly find the time to make it to the 24 hour gym that was five minutes away from my house. Guilty.  I read somewhere that physical beauty is a given in youth but not in the aging. It takes work to keep some thangs wrapped up tighter in your 40s! And I’m not talking about buying one of those body armor things that leave you breathless and about to faint either. Werk! If you can take the time to slay your face, your hair, your nails. Take the time to slay the very thing that houses it all. 

Take A Soul Inventory                                

French philosopher, Pierre Teilhard de Chardin surmised it best, “We are not human beings having a spiritual experience; we are spiritual beings having a human experience.” I believe my soul is eternal and that what happens here is just the beginning of my eternal existence. I believe God’s plan for my life didn’t start on the day I was born but well before the two human beings who procreated me even had a clue. I believe that my actions on earth have a ripple effect for eternity. So in that belief I’m ever humbled by the sacrifice made by Christ on my behalf. He died so that I may live. Live eternally with Him that is. It makes me take stock of my life not in the way of checking to see how much money is in the bank or how many likes I get on an Instagram post. But rather what kind of impact is going to earn me the “Well done, good and faithful servant.” When I get frustrated with humanity, I have to believe I MUST believe there is more to life than this. 

As much as I want to grab huge garbage bags and just dump everything in there and haul it out my house and start fresh, even I know that won’t solve the issue of clutter and disorganization.  It’s not the stuff that’s the issue, it’s the whys and the hows behind the stuff that I need to sit and deliberate over.  Just like our lives. It’s the sitting with it, the embracing it, the digging deeper that will yield a “spring cleaned” mind, body and soul. 

Sistah Take A Seat

Sistah Take A Seat: Don’t Do It For The LikesĀ 

I don’t know when I decided that when people shared information with me that I just couldn’t keep it to myself. Maybe it was while growing up and seeing an entire immigrant community of people being deprived of basic rights while their immigrant peers from other countries got the first pickings. Maybe it was when I sat in my college counselor’s office and received all the college applications for free; while my classmates walked around clueless. Maybe it was having a college roommate whose parents bought everything she needed while I had to run to the dollar store for a frying pan that peeled metal after one week’s use. 

You get to a place where you say “When I … I will … for people who…” So when you get there. You do your part. You pay it forward. You do right by humanity. 

I have been guilty of overcommunicating. I have been accused of over-emailing and secretly maligned for over-posting. “If she sends out one more thing today,” they say. I’m sure they wonder what’s in it for me. I’m sure they are convinced that I get some type of commission. I laugh, mutter some not so nice thing under my breath (keeping it real) and continue being me. 

What’s in it for me?

My commission is seeing a fellow entrepreneur get her small business training certificate. Making room for others to come behind them. My bonus is hearing that a colleague jumped on that job opportunity and nailed it. Being a contributing member of society. My raise comes when parents taking advantage of free community activities with their kiddos. Making memories for years to come. I can’t tell you how much considering others before self tends to keep you humble. I mean, who doesn’t like to pass along info? I guess there are some grinches out there. Phooey to them! And they wonder why they can’t get off the ground with their goals. Smirk. God don’t like ugly and He ain’t too fond of pretty either. 

I think of the God-sent angels who guided me in my youth when my parents didn’t have a clue on how to navigate the education system. To the counselors who placed me in the coolest after school extra-curricular activities. My parents didn’t work for government offices, didn’t come from legacy, didn’t have access to the resources never mind could they afford to pay for it. To mentors who have groomed me over the years to simply walk through doors that Haitian girls weren’t expected to enter. So when people start bad mouthing public education, I’m ready to flatten tires and key cars! And give ZERO cares! Oh … wrong blog. Never mind! 

*Red Haze Lifting*

I don’t do it for the likes. If it were the case, my train of goodwill would have screeched to a loud halt years ago. People can be ungrateful. They can be mean. Darn right mean. And the most hard core person can be affected every now and then. The sheer waves of mean spiritedness can bog a person down. Yet God reminds us His eternal rewards surpasses what man will ever do or say on your behalf. That He will confound the wise and leave others continually perplexed about the favor on your life. Christ reminds his believers that if they could place him on a donkey and herald him as the next King then turn around and malign him on the cross-well heck don’t expect any less from the world we live in. But you carry on. You press forward. You do what is right before His eyes. 

When you do it for the passion, the purpose or simply because your rent on earth is a bill that will always come due, you will find plenty of opportunities to be a blessing to others. Where your right hand will never know what the left hand is doing. 

“Let us not become weary in doing good.” Galatians 6:9

Don’t do for the likes. Do it for the love. 

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How To Be A “Type A” Living In A “Type B” World

My husband makes it his life’s mission to remind me that my brain doesn’t function as others. That very few plan their birthday trips 18 months in advance. That it is a rare species who labels their shoes, office supplies and anything else an Avery label can be slapped on. That ‘OCD speak’ is a dying language. That Pinterest Boards for everything in life is not normal. I’m convinced he’s telling me the truth and taking jabs simultaneously. 

The Business Dictionary defines a Type A Personality as:

“A temperament characterized by excessive ambition, aggression, competitiveness, drive, impatience, need for control, focus on quantity over quality and unrealistic sense of urgency. It is commonly associated with risk of coronary disease and other stress-related ailments.” *Strike that last part.*

Type B Personality:

“A temperament characterized by moderate ambition and drive, accommodating attitude, cooperativeness, focus on quality over quantity and, in general, an easy going approach to life. See also type A personality.” *No ailment inserted?* 

Basically stated, the former will die a painful death while the latter gets to skip through fields of lilies with nary a worry. 

And this is why us Type A’s (my name is Delphine and I am…) should really get it together and compete to maintain our sanity. While it is easier said than done, it can certainly be done. You may be surrounded by the others who could give a rat’s behind about keeping to rigid schedules, dissecting data, or going way above and beyond, but it doesn’t have to be the death of you. Here are some tips to keep your sanity while remaining true to thineself. 

Build In Extra Time

You’re planning an event and the reservez s’il vou plaits are trickling in like Flint, MI water? Give yourself an additional two weeks to factor in time to make some individual calls. People get busy with life and while you are the person who logs everything in your electronic and paper calendar right away, not everyone does that. Build in some extra time for follow up. Whether it’s a work related project or major event, people are people. Life happens and you have to anticipate as much as you can. 

Plan 75% Trust 25%

Type A’s have some serious trust issues. Our inclination to compete can be at the cost of others’ feelings. Unless you’re willing to lose some friendships/partnerships along the way you might just want to avoid railroading people’s feelings. Working on a project for a community event? Allow for input and feedback. Give others the space and opportunity to assert themselves. While you may think people could care less and that you may as well do it all by yourself–some do care. They care enough to see you do well but may frankly get put off by your intensity to get things done. Because it is your pet project or your name riding on the line it’s okay to plan most of it but give the benefit of the doubt for others to help along side you. You need people who can check your blind spots and make sure you’re on the right track. 

Let It Go

Yes. Sing the song. Hum the song. Yell the song. Pray the song. Make it your mantra. If you elect to omit any of these suggestions, don’t let this be the one. Type As are notorious grudge holders. We don’t, I mean they don’t forget a thing. We are the absolute worst when it comes to just throwing it to the wind and walking away. Yet, there will be more times than we care to admit where it’s really not worth the fight. You already know who is who and what is what. You shouldn’t expect more or less based on that. So they come late to your party. Greet them and keep the festivities going. So they have ignored every deadline known to man. Remember the 75/25. Make it 100 and keep it going. 

Your locus of control is yourself–not on anyone or anything else. Understand what is within the realm of your influence and what is not. The world is a much well managed place with us in it. We just want to be sure it is also a well loved one too. 

Curious about where you lie on be personality spectrum? Disclaimer: there is no “type” written in stone. Check the link below. https://psychcentral.com/quizzes/personality/start.php

Uncategorized

Every Day Livin’: Only In America

Uber Opportunities

Only in America would both my Uber drivers today be non-English speaking immigrants.  The second one only eight months in from Cuba.  He’s learned “left, right, stop, yes and no” and was thankful that I knew some Spanish to get us there.  When he dropped me off to collect my car at the mechanic,  he even waited around long enough to make sure that I was talking to a mechanic and not just standing there alone.  He gets five stars for that.

International Women’s Day

Today I celebrate every real life XX Chromosome carrying chick.  It has been one of those unifying posts across my Instagram feed.  Men honoring their mothers, sisters, nieces, grandmothers.  Women honoring each other and enjoying the brilliance and beauty that is our true essence.  I remember my mom and her bestie (Madame Babier), both of whom now serve among the cloud of witnesses in heaven.  They had a great work and home life together.  We lived with Mme. Babier and her family for the first two years when we moved to Miami.  I never got the sense that there was ever any competition between them.  My mom was quiet.  She was outspoken.  They made sense together.  They worked together for years in a sweat box factory, always complaining about the management but never giving in.  I miss them both on this day.

My Kinda Funny

I’ve been on this Golden Girls series binge for the past few weeks.  I watch it when I get ready to leave for my day and at least one episode before I fall asleep.  I know why I’m watching it.  It reminds me of my mom.  It reminds me of afternoons spent hanging out with her in her room when my dad wasn’t around.  The wisecracks and sarcasm are epic funny.  “I haven’t been a virgin since The Louisiana Purchase was in escrow!” barks Estelle Getty’s character.  I died a thousand death on that one.  My husband doesn’t understand the binge but whenever he’s around long enough to pay attention, I hear him laughing at some odd situational comedic scene and I know he gets it.  He even humors me and sits through an episode-or two.  Not sure if it’s because he knows why I’m watching it or cause he finds it funny too.  Just glad that he gets it.

Social Worker Month

I never need an excuse or reason to celebrate my profession.  I figure if I don’t do it, who else will?  I’ve been working on some projects to exponentially move forward the field of mental health personally and professionally.  What I’ve discovered is that unlike five years ago when people would bow their head and pass the collection plate in pity when they heard what I did for a living, folks are now paying more attention-really pay attention.  In this climate where people are looking for answers, looking for direction, looking for anything; I’m humbled to be a part of what it is going to take to bring about hope and perspective to those who are searching.  I never take it lightly when a total stranger decides to entrust him or herself into the hands of another total stranger with their story.  There is no definitive role that a social worker plays.  He or she can be a political figure one day of the week, a play therapist another day, life coach, therapist, case manager, consultant–you name it.  The sky is the limit.  So pardonnez-moi as I scream from the rooftops that “I LOVE MY PROFESSION!” It’s more than a job, it’s a calling.

Un-Fastening My Potential

I’m two days into my 40 Day Fast.  I get the sense that people are becoming less traditional in their walk with Christ and more “progressive”.  Christ was the most progressive human being who ever walked this earth, so I know he’s provided me with enough tools to maintain a level of constant renewal in my spiritual life.  No need to reinvent the wheel in that department.  Some days it’s like automatic.  I can read my Bible, pray and remain centered.  Other days it’s like searching for a light switch in a pitch-black room.  Both types of days require my trusting in God for the answers regardless of whether they come easy or hard.  

Abstaining from certain foods and activities is part of that.  I have never been disappointed.  Tested, yes.  Annoyed, yes.  Bothered, yes.  Disappointed, no.  It doesn’t mean that I become some hermit and go in a cave until the day before Easter.  The Bible actually warns against those who would have themselves look like they’re in misery during a fast.  Nothing changed but my choices.  Limiting my social media and news intake to Pulse and Instagram.  I figure I still gotta consume news to remain updated and I still want to learn from others who I don’t even know in areas that matter to me.  Those two outlets meet those needs.  I’ve always grown personally during these fasting periods.  It’s not something I can place my fingers on during some years.  In some years, I can see the hand of God just moving in ways only He could take credit for.  In other years, it’s been quiet shifts in my paradigm.  Just one degree of change still means change.
I’m having major caffeine withdrawals and it’s not pretty.  Just thought I’d throw that out there.  Prayers needed.
Solo Field Trip

This weekend I get to go to the much talked about Game of Thrones Concert Experience.  The nerd girl in me is super psyched to be in this space.  The introvert in me is extra psyched that I don’t have to share this experience with anyone else.  Going it alone. Solo dinner and solo concert experience. Can’t wait to tell ya all about it.

Life Coach

What’s Your Therapy?

I spent four hours the other evening revamping my church’s bulletin board. It was on the shabby side and my discerning eye was truly aggravated by it each time I saw it. Just the thought of redesigning it got me excited. I would get to do something I love and make me feel good in the bargain. 

The casual observer would have gone nuts with the number of times I had to get on a chair, get off a chair, walk away and return only to move something on the board for the hundredth time. “You look happy doing that,” someone said. Mind you I wasn’t humming or grinning from ear to ear but the person realized I was in my personal zen just cutting away and stapling away on this board. “It’s my therapy,” I responded. 

Baking is my therapy. Reading is my therapy. Turning chaos into order is my therapy. What’s yours?

There’s something in us that finds peace when we do it. Something that others find perplexing and frustrating to do, but you find it as your outlet and it brings a sense of calm to your soul. 

Some people run. Frankly pounding my knees on the pavement one in front of the other is more of an obligation, but I know folks who lace up and run to escape. 

Some people bake and have a kitchen dusted over with flour. They find the measuring and watching this mĆ©lange of ingredients turn into something others drool over is rewarding. 

Some people enjoy a good swim or anything dealing with the water. For them, subconscious reminders of their first nine months in the womb brings a sense of escape. 

Some people clean their house from top to bottom and erase the old and bring in the new. Their idea of peace is trashing huge bags of stuff they no longer need, decluttering their lives one piece of junk at a time. 

Some people enjoy all things music. Some play around with makeup. Some love quiet moments in reading. Some journal. Some blog. Some climb mountains in search of new adventures. Some like long rides. Some binge watch old episodes. Some do triathalons. Some travel. Whatever brings you a sense of relaxation or reward should be considered your therapy. 

March is social workers month and half of my work in therapy is guiding others in the discovery of their inner peace. We go stretches and stretches in our lifetime running towards illusions without settling down and finding contentment. We go miles and miles being unhappy in our skin without finding that “thing” that makes us smile on the inside and look forward to doing it. 

On this night, working on a bulletin board is what I needed. I also needed an Ibuprofen when I was done! Getting on and off a chair, stapling, unstapling, moving, removing. When it was all done, my sense of accomplishment of this task eased the long day I had endured. 

Find your therapy. Commit to taking care of yourself. 

Sistah Take A Seat

Sistah Take A Seat: Traveling While Noire

I’ve been traveling since I was in my mamman’s belly. Once she found out she was preggers with me, she made sure to hop from St. Maarten back to Haiti to be with her mom and aunts as they fawned over her and prepared her for mommyhood. We then went to Haiti as children and spent beautiful weeks near the capital on Rue Delma with the Palace looming over us as a huge white edifice. 

My first memory of being on a plane was as a young child vomitting and my parents having to pull down the suitcase to clean me up. Motion sickness remains the bane of my existence ever since. We traveled to Miami for what I thought was a two week vacation in 1984 and never returned. There were the silent years of traveling. After all, hard working parents could scarcely pay the mortgage and finance a vacation now could they? Thankfully school trips kept me on a bus to some school competition or other and Disney World didn’t have to worry about not getting my money. 

Thankfully, I married a wanderlusting husband who trekked the world as a missionary as his gap years experience. Our modest honeymoon spent in Bahamas was just a foretaste of things to come. His being in Romania right after the hanging  of a communist dictator (Nicolae Ceaușescu) faced a firing squad had to be interesting. Being one of two blacks on the team was too. During our second year, we traveled as missionaries (again just us two melanin popping souls) to Zacatecas, Mexico. Dead center in the country’s landscape, it was rich in culture and rich in poverty. We ate good. While our white peers searched high and low for KFC and Burger King, we ate whatever they placed in front of us. There was this green spicy pepper with cheese in the core that they grilled. Good home cooked meals. My AUTHENTIC Mexican food palate has never been the same. Nothing compares stateside. Nothing. 

Most of our traveling then became heavy on the domestic side. With trips up and down the east coast, heading as far north as Canada one winter. Saw the Niagra Falls. Experienced the brutal upstate New York winter. We’ve driven up the Smokies, straddled North Carolina and Tennessee. To this day neither of us can’t listen to Norah Jones without thinking of the winding roads in Sevierville, TN. Hiking up random hills, passing by random head stones as the crunch of leaves beneath our feet echoed in the trees. 
I’ve driven to Oklahoma for a friend’s graduation and had the pleasure of of being stopped by one of their “finest.” Definitely not one of their finest moments. We’ve flown into Chicago, driven to Indiana to collect our first new car together.  Seen why The Jacksons got the heck up outta Gary and saddened by it all. Saw snow for the first time, ran out and twirled around in it and ran right back in. The introvert in me opted to watch the Shaka Zulu marathon instead of venturing too long outside. My older me kicks my younger self for not carpeing the darn diem on that one. Drove our Honda CRV from Indiana to Florida. That was fun. We’ve heeded the call of friends moving from Minnesota and helped them make the trek back down with their newborn baby. That’s what friends did for each other. Fly up to drive back down! Lol! I’ve honored my beautiful state of Florida with the trips to the Keys, Sanibel, St. Augustine. Saw Henry Flagler’s beautiful home and dreamt of the time when men bought grand homes for their new brides. The romantic in me stays on high volume. D.C., MD, NYC, NJ, NC, CA, NV, OK, GA . . . whether it was for work or pleasure I have made the best of my travels.  From riding the rails in San Fran to dashing in DC’s museums, I have no regrets. Nearly lost my life water rafting in TN! Still no regrets. 

Island hopping trying to recreate some of childhood memories has also been a thing for me. Mexico saw me for my 33rd year. The year that Jesus died. That’s what you do right?! Go to Cozumel! Lol! Oh the irony in that one will be left at just that. Smirk. 

You have never been to Jamaica or the Cayman Islands unless you have taken a walk on their very “un-beaten paths”. Ever had curry crab from a big pot on the side of the road?  You gotta do it once. Just once. I have yet to return to my homeland of St Maarten. My mother’s passing is creating some level of urgency behind going back, for I fear it’s going to be one huge experience in exposure therapy. My mental health folks can certainly sympathize. 

Remember my wanderlusting hubster? Well he’s definitely not the jealous type and has no problem dropping me off at the airport and wishing me well. He’s always encouraged my adventurous side and it helps that he is secure in himself as my life’s partner. Really. How many husbands would send their wives off to Vegas for her 40th and say “have fun, don’t spend all our money we got bills when you get back.” How many would have their wives experience Hawaii not once but twice in five months? And text you to remind you to celebrate hard. Even helped me countdown this last time. I simply love him. Hawaii saw me once for a family wedding and once for a girlfriend’s birthday which bookends as my birthday by the way. 

As I listen to the roaring waves outside my two story rented home, I’m amazed and humbled to experience life through these eyes of mine. Being one of six Sistahs on Hawaii Air was an eye ‘popping’ opener. I had gotten up to mention something to the stewardess and before I could mention my seat number she said “Oh, I can find you when I need to.” Me-puzzled. Oh yeah… that’s right.  It’s like SIX of us Blacks, all women on this flying coffin. She could point us out blindfolded in a line up if she had to. Yeah her with the waist length Sisterlocks that kept getting caught in her face under the sleep mask. Yeah that one. 

 I think of my mom, the traveling merchant who herself island hopped the Caribbean and Latin America searching for goods and wares to return and sell in St. Maarten. She saw a need and met it. Buying beautiful things that could only be bought if only you traveled the world to search. As I wrap up this recent trip, I question my hesitancy to share where I’m going in my travels with people. Particularly other black folks. It’s less about the “they just being nosy” but more about “oh gosh, what must they be thinking of me now.” And granted I could give ZERO cares (ya’ll know I don’t cuss–but you get the gist) I’ve been known to say “I’m going out of town” before I say I’m going to Hawaii and will be celebrating my birthday in all my cuteness in four time zones before making it back to South Florida. I hesitate to say I’ll be on a cruise celebrating another 40th in a couple of months. I’ve been mum about taking a quick jaunt to ATL not once but twice this Spring to celebrate some of my babies graduating. Or that Jamaica will see my husband and I again and this time I want to try something else that can possibly cause my death. Heck. My demise may as well be in Jamaica as anywhere else. 

My next blog is going to touch on being a black traveler in foreign places but through the lense of other black traveling friends. Stay tuned for the questionnaires and phone calls wanderlusters! The perceptions of black folks on black folks who travel will also be explored. We can be some of the most savage hating meanies when it comes to celebrating each other’s ability to collect passport stamps rather than things. White man travels to Dubai. No one blinks. But let Sistah girl snap photos of her trip to the Louvre and her posts gets screen shot and shared around the world in less than sixty seconds. With words like “doing the most” and “girl bye”‘laced in the convos. 

Haters. 

Stay tuned.