Monday Notes: Agreement #2

A few weeks ago, a “friend” of mine read one of my FB posts, followed the comments, and then sent me this message via inbox:

You be so fake in your comments.

Or something like that. I can’t give a direct quote because after we conversed, I deleted the message. His unsolicited opinion bothered me that night. It stuck with me because of how I’d replied. Initially, I defended myself. I wanted to show him that I wasn’t being “fake.” It continued to irk me because I’ve worked so hard to be my authentic self no matter where I am, social media, in person, wherever. I’ve made conscious decisions to shine my personal light. Then, it bothered me because it bothered me. Have you ever felt like that?

It lingered in my thoughts for about 48 hours. By that time, I knew I had to remove him and his words from my consciousness. They were both taking up too much space in my mind. That Sunday night, I flipped through don Miguel Ruiz’s The Four Agreements, until I found the one that fit: Don’t take anything personally.

If I see you on the street and say, “You are so stupid” without knowing you, it’s not about you, it’s about me. If you take it personally, then perhaps you believe you’re stupid.”

img_3174After reading a few more pages, I meditated, sipped my lavender tea, and let go of the incident.

About a week later, one of the ladies from the book club I’m hoping to join reached out to me and said, “I like your spirit.” This comment elicited the opposite emotion. I was elated. Who doesn’t want to hear nice things said about her personality? And like I’d mentioned above, I’ve worked on portraying my true self. So, I was overjoyed that someone I’d just met noticed a positive trait.

But I had to remember agreement #2. It still applied. You see, Ruiz continues to explain that even if someone says something that you agree with, then there’s still no reason to take it personally. A person’s opinion, whether positive or negative, is based on how that person feels in that moment. Tomorrow, the same person might have something horrible to say.

don_miguel_ruiz.jpg

The first time I read this it didn’t quite click. After receiving two different opinions within a week of one another, it now makes perfect sense. Not only is taking other people’s opinions personally exhausting, it can also be an indication that you’re not secure with who you are. If I know that I’m an authentic person, with a great spirit, then others’ opinions should be neither denigrating, nor uplifting. They should just…be.

Let me know what you think. How do you deal with other people’s opinions of who you are? Do people offer opinions of your personality?

*Edited for Forgiving Fridays. Participate here: https://forgivingconnects.com/2017/05/05/todays-forgiving-fridays-i-have-a-question-3/comment-page-1/#comment-3373

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Monday Notes: Men

img_2774I have a lot of thoughts. Conversations occur. People ask for advice. People share things about their lives. I overthink the conversation, advice, or experience, and voila! A thought occurs. So, I jot it down in my notes section in hopes of writing about it on a future date. I have 221 notes on my phone. I figured the future is now lol. Here’s my first one:

I’ve listened to how my male friends talk about women and how they interact with them. I also listen to and observe how women interact with men. Sometimes it’s different.

Men don’t treat every woman like she’s their future wife. They don’t treat every relationship like there’s an impending wedding. Men seem to know which women are so-called “wife material” and which ones are not ready to commit. Consequently, they seem to treat each “type” of woman accordingly. Now, I’m not saying this is right or wrong. Please don’t confuse this with a feminist post. I’m just saying some men seem to know.

Women, on the other hand, seem to meet a man, and immediately begin checking off their “Are you my husband list?” Having standards is an integral part of being in a relationship, but every man, date, and even relationship is not a potential husband or lifelong situation. However, even if a woman notices the man doesn’t fit something on the proverbial list, I’ve noticed that she will then make provisions. Maybe he’ll change and go to church. Maybe I can change him and he’ll stop wearing jeans. Maybe this relationship will change once we’ve dated for a while.

What does this mean? Men seem much quicker to say, “I don’t think I can deal with this woman.” Whereas, women are much quicker to say, “I can work with this man.”

What do you all think? Am I overgeneralizing here? Remember, these aren’t fleshed out thoughts, so I’m not committed to one perspective. Plus, you know I really want to hear what your experiences and opinions are out there.

*Natural Responses (The beginning)

In 2010, I decided to wear my hair natural. In 2011, I wrote about it. In March 2014, I decided to send it to a well-known blog, For Harriet. They “loved it.” 1200 likes reminded of what I was supposed to be doing here on this earth. Being myself and writing. While I’d definitely revise it if I were to submit it today, I recognize it as a nudge towards my path. Here’s that submission.

There have been many responses about my natural hair. The most common of which I have become accustomed to is the African-American cashier’s response.

“Twenty-two fifty two,” says the cashier.

Eyes gaze up towards my hair.

“Here ya go,” I reply as I remind her that we’re conducting business here.

Eyes dart back to our hands.

“Out of twenty-five?” she asks.

Our eyes briefly meet, then a quick glance to my hair.

“Yep,” I say.

She counts the change, and presses it into my hand, “Two dollars and forty-eight cents.”

She takes one last look, and says, “Your hair is cute.”

I’ve practiced what comes next. Big smile and then, “Thank you so much. That means a lot.”

I have grown used to these types of responses. The ones that end in “Your hair is cute” are always easy to receive. What I have not become used to are the reactions of individuals with whom the relationship is more intimate. The colleague, the friend or the in-law’s response is much more cherished, and subsequently when perceived as negative, much more hurtful.

The first uncomfortable conversation I had about my hair was at the university where I work. At the time, I was one of three African Americans in the College of Education. My two closest colleagues were white, middle-aged women who were self-proclaimed, progressive educators who had researched and taught complex concepts, such as white privilege and critical race theory. My co-workers had only seen my long, brown hair in a relaxed state; therefore, I felt it necessary to prepare them for the upcoming change. It went something like this:

Me:                 I decided to go natural.

Colleague 1:     YAY! I can’t wait to see what your hair is going to look like.

Colleague 2:     What’s that mean?

Colleague 1:     It means she’s going to wear her hair the way it grows, like um, Halle Berry. I bet it’s going to be pretty. This is going to be fun.

Colleague 1:     Oh, does that mean you’re going to have an afro?

Me:                 I don’t know. Cause I don’t know what it really looks like.

That wasn’t as bad as I thought. The conversation seemed supportive, inquisitive and possibly uplifting. However, that was the discussion that ensued when my hair was still relaxed.

It wasn’t until I wore my transition hairstyle of flexirods that Colleague 2 shared what seemed to be a concern:

Colleague 2:     Your hair looks nice, but I hope that it doesn’t get like Esparanza Spalding. Her hair is just obnoxious. I really don’t remember how I replied because quite honestly, I had no idea who Esparanza Spalding was; you see my musical taste only include rap and R&B. I had to Google this Esparanza Spalding person. To my surprise, Esparanza Spalding had the biggest and most gorgeous afro I had ever seen. What was obnoxious about this? In fact, how could hair be obnoxious? Unfortunately, the conversation had passed, and there was no reason to re-visit the topic.

Then, something strange happened.

Eight months later, when I was fully natural and sporting my teenie weenie afro (affectionately referred to as a TWA in the natural community), Colleague 2 and I had another hair conversation. I was describing how my youngest daughter likes to feel my hair and sometimes jokingly hides items in there. During this conversation, she asked me if she could feel my hair as well. I’m pretty open about this, so I agreed. Lo and behold, she said it again, almost verbatim, It feels…it feels, kinky. But I hope that it doesn’t get like Esparanza Spalding.

Her hair is just obnoxious.

I know. I know. This time I knew who Esperanza Spalding was. This time I knew exactly how much was implied in this singular comment. I had an opportunity most people would kill for. I had a “do-over.” You know the kind where you’re re-telling the story, and this time you say what you were really thinking?

I also know that an educator like my colleague, who is well-versed in and even teaches others about white privilege should be able to understand how her comments are situated in a history of racial oppression and expectation of beauty espoused by people who look like her. And given all of these factors, I, of all people should have been able to have an honest dialogue with Colleague 2 about this very subject.

But I didn’t.

Perhaps it was because I could not believe that Colleague 2 had said this not once, but twice, symbolizing a true thought of hers; a big afro is obnoxious. Perhaps twelve years at predominantly white institutions had taught me to hide initial responses to similar comments because I’ve learned the price for speaking candidly is sometimes not worth the lesson. Whatever the reason, I managed a quiet, “Hmmm.”

Another missed opportunity occurred with a family member. Last December, my family and I traveled to my husband, Dwight’s hometown of Detroit for his cousin’s wedding. This visit was special not only because of the occasion, but also because we had not seen some of these family members for over five years. All of his family would be there.

We pulled up to my in-laws’ house at the same time as his aunts and cousins. We exchanged the usual pleasantries. You know the, oh, have you lost weight? And the, so tell me what do you do at your job? And, the girls are getting soooo big! comments. So far so good, I guess. No comments about my afro. Until, an aunt stopped me in the middle of the kitchen. She and her two sisters had worn very short, natural curly styles for at least ten years, so I didn’t really expect what came next. It went something like this:

Auntie:                        So, you went colored, huh?

Me:                                (chuckles nervously) Yeah, I guess so. You are a mess.

Auntie:                        Well, I went colored a long time ago, but you went aaallll the way.

This is one of those situations that your girlfriend re-tells, and you proceed to describe how you would have given Aunt So-and-So an African-American history lesson on how comments like these destroy our people’s self esteem. You would have also referred her to rent and view Chris Rock’s Good Hair (2009) or at least re-visit Spike Lee’s School Daze (1988) scene “Good and Bad Hair.” And if she’s not into popular culture films, perhaps she could read up on the issue through a couple of blogs because you love your natural hair.

But this is not what I said.

What I did was continue the conversation. Maybe it was because I was not as confident as I had thought when we first arrived. Maybe it was because of the intricate and delicate relationship that had developed between my in-laws and me. Maybe it was because I didn’t have the language to respectfully engage in the conversation. Whatever the reason, we continued with the pleasantries.

Auntie asked me what I was doing with my hair. I told her. She asked me if I performed this routine every night. I answered her. She told me it was “nice.” I thanked her. We went back to discussing what I do at my job.

*Originally published on For Harriet.