The Alchemist

Twice in my life I’ve run into the right book at the right time. I’ve read a lot of things that have taught me something new or enlightened my mind but it’s a feeling you get when you read something so profound that just clicks on a light in your brain, that’s what I’ve had two times. The first time was in 2001 when I read For the Time Being by Annie Dillard, I won’t go into that now cause I’ll go off in a tangent, and this time it is the Alchemist. I haven’t gotten that far only to page 67 so don’t worry about spoilers anyone (and if you haven’t gotten to page 67 stop reading now) but already I have that click. The story is about a shepherd boy who abandons all he knows and has to go off in search of his Personal Legend. In the story he runs into a King who explains to him that everyone has a Personal Legend waiting for them to realize it and once you set your wants on something the universe will set things in motion for you to get it. This is an extremely vague summary of this story so far but this is the basis of the point I’m trying to make. Now I have read the Secret by Rhonda Bryne and I do believe in invoking positivity to attract the things I want and the power of that but the perspective of that concept Paul Coelho creates is an eye opener for me. I wonder all the time if I’m preventing myself from realizing my dreams because I can’t step out on that faith and not depend so much on the things I “need” to have to make me, me. I actively “pursue” all of my dreams. I put pursue in quotations because I know, because I can be honest with myself, that I don’t even live up to half my potential while pursuing those dreams and I know that’s a result of me clinging to what I know instead of reaching for what I could have. I dream of having 2 things at this point in my life:

Creative Freedom: I want to write so bad. And I have; I write for myself and for this both of which don’t really count because that’s so safe and I’ll never be able to know the feeling of someone else enjoying the words I wrote and knowing they were from me. This blog while offering me an outlet that was much needed is anonymous it’s me but it’s not me I could bear my soul to you and walk past you on the street and never know the difference. Not that I want fame for my creativity but I would like to know that feeling to stand and say yes that came from me. I’ve been writing since I was a little girl making up illustrated story books for my Dad to read and I’ve never stopped, books are my life line and words are my food so it’s always come natural to me to express myself in this way. I dream to go further with it though I dream for my own ISBN numbers. I dream of taking that step and submitting my work to literary agents and getting published. What’s holding me back? Fear of rejection, which is strange for me to admit because usually I could care less what people think or say but what I write is so personal to me, it’s with me. If someone said something harsh about it I’m not afraid to say it would hurt. I’m also afraid of not being accepted as a writer. I didn’t study anything that would lead me into that career, nothing on paper so that makes me apprehensive. In this book though the boy learns very fast that there is a language spoke by everyone and it’s a language of enthusiasm and wanting something of your own. So if I have the same passion as the next writer what’s stopping me?

Professional Freedom: Starting my own business is something that I've wanted to do seriously for the past 4 years. My idea is practical, realistic and I think it has true potential. I've been working on my business plan for about 2 months and my brainstorm is begining to evolve into a blueprint. So what's holding me back? Fear of losing or drastically decreasing my current lifestyle. Fear of failure, get this, fear of sucess. Is that strange? Let me explain that. I wrote a young adult novel about 4 girls and I have so much more of their story to tell I can feel another story in me maybe even more. But I worry that if i achieve sucess with the first one maybe my creativity machine will dry up and I won't be able to produce. But again that's a limitation I place on myself.

Stepping out on faith for me means fully relying on the talents I have and taking the road I know in my heart and desire is right. The career I have now jobs I've had have only been stepping stones to learn and grow on until I reach my dream.

Dear Mr. President

Dear Mr. President,

You have cracked my view of America and for that I am grateful. I have grown to have a sick sense of comfort in living the wrong way because although I had hoped I never dreamed things could be right. I have lived in this country feeling like a visitor, a stranger, a refuge placed here under a system and a constitution that called me an incomplete person. I have cried here many times but the first tear of joy fell on your victory. As I have said before I don’t trust politicians, I am not a hypocrite; I am a radical so I still must hold to my own beliefs but you Mr. President changed history and anyone that can’t raise their hand to that has no pulse. My people came here in shackles and you are now standing amongst the men who once ruled over a country that condoned that fact. How strange this feels to know your face will be next to theirs in history.

Because of what I believe I have never encouraged integration, I have never felt that we needed to strive to be with them, do what they do and have what they have. I have however encouraged segregation to give Us a chance to repair our wounds without feeling the need to taint our race with their opinions and rules. But when I saw those thousands of people in Grant Park, in my city together I realized that this is not the same country that hardened me.

My niece has a white friend. I have censored myself from discouraging that relationship because I don’t want to teach her hate but I have to be honest and admit that I didn’t like it. I grew up in Englewood in Chicago, and for those of you who have never had the pleasure I will tell you Chicago was so segregated in some areas to see a white person growing up, who didn’t work in my school, was like an oddity. I grew in that segregated world never wanting to mix and even guarding myself and my secrets from these outsiders. She did not grow up in that world, for so long I feared for her future because of that but now I envy her for it. Not because I want white friends, because I feel that those youth who didn’t grow up with the barriers that I did achieved something in you Mr. President that I don’t think I can appreciate the way that they can. I see in you what I hoped for them and seeing that dream achieved is where my appreciation lies.

I have never expected much from the government before you, before you snatched that carrot off the stick we’ve been chasing for decades. I have never ever supported this “democracy”, because of you I can now remove my sarcastic quotes, democracy. I have never believed that following this system will lead us to our destination. My militant way of thinking has always steered me clear of this government and political system allowing me only to visit every now and then to vote and pay homage to those who tried to change things before me but now as I watched you break 300 in electoral votes, hope glimmered just a bit in that corner of my mind where I have dumped the lost causes. Because I still must hold up my end of the bargain for my people and fight for what is right; because I will hold you to your word and we may disagree, I will thank you now. I will thank you for a feeling I have never had, pride in the country I live in. Thank you.

The people are sovereign in America and because of what we did last night I can speak that statement as truth.

Today

I voted for Obama just 2 blocks from where Emmit Till's funeral services were held. Damn.

One Man's Trash is Another Man's Treasure

My Dad’s birthday is today, although I can’t see him until this weekend I called this morning to wish him well and tell him I miss him like crazy. I love my dad to pieces he’s been everything I want and didn’t know I needed since he came into our lives and I’m so grateful for that.

When we moved in with him, wow, over 10 years ago we were in such a bad place I’m shocked he stuck around with us. My Mom and I were going through what all teenaged daughters and their mother’s go through times 10 because my Mom and my real Dad had just recently split and I was carted from the south side of Chicago to the freaking boondocks in the suburbs. Culture shock is an understatement, seriously I woke up in Mayberry and I was neither happy nor quiet about it. Things were really rough those first couple years but my Dad stuck with us, we were his “girls” no matter what. The fights my Mom and I had should be recorded as some of the greatest battles in history. I got kicked out, arrested, caught up with the wrong crowds, partied all night, hardly ever went to school, fought girls, fought boys and dated all the guys that parents hope their daughters never give the time of day and he stuck by us. He was so patient and understanding because he knew how scarred we all were and now that we’re kind of better (some wounds never heal) I can fully appreciate him as my Father, no step just Father.

When my real Dad finally left it was in handcuffs. I was 13 going on 30 and I remember listening to my Mom scream up and down the street as he chased her and struck her up and down the block we’ve lived on all our lives (still do). I had my baby niece that night so by the time I realized it was her screaming I still couldn’t get to her but my brother did. He also left in handcuffs that night because he got to my Dad before the police so you can put 2 and 2 together there. All my life he had been my teacher and my best friend. My Dad and I would sit for hours on end talking about everything under the sun and then some. He taught me all he’d known about religion and race, politics, history he was an intelligent man and I admired everything about me that was remotely similar to him. He was the one who taught me the answers to all the questions I will ever have are in books. It was no secret in our family that we had a special relationship and connection he just didn’t have with the other kids, I was his baby girl. But on that day when I sat on the porch with a crying baby girl and watched my family fall apart he washed his hands of me too.

This wasn’t the first time he’d hit her but this was the first time the police knew. When I was a kid and I came home with the standard 911 emergency coloring book that teaches kids how to go for help my Dad told me if I ever called a cop to our house I’d be sorry and we all understood that. Police were a no, no. So when he used to hit her all we could do was watch, hell sometimes he made us watch. He kept guns all over the house, a shotgun at the front door in plain sight and always a handgun under his pillow. Long after he was gone we searched the house and found so many more that we had no idea he had. Still after the terror and the abuse he was still my only friend, I was too young for the most part, to know what he was really about.

So, he left. My uncles came around to make sure of that, they had no idea of the kind of life we were living he isolated her from her family and friends to the point where no body knew the real deal. I was team “Momma” all the way so there was never any question of who I’d stay with but all in all he was a bad husband to her but a good Dad to me in a sense so I still wanted him in my life. She even came to me at one point and said what’s between me and him is just that and I don’t want that shaping your decisions. He was closest to me out of the three of us so I knew for sure he’d want me but he didn’t. He didn’t call, try to see me or anything. My Granny lives literally 6 blocks from our house and he’d go there on a regular basis my Granddad said he wouldn’t even ask about me. It stings just a bit now but not really so much anymore.

So, life goes on and I grew up some more. I tried to contact him, got a cell number so I didn’t have to give out the new house number when we moved in with my other Dad but he still didn’t call. He would stop by and see my brother and sister all the time but not me. They passed along my messages and my digits and he disregarded them. Graduation and prom rolled around and I invited him but he didn’t show. Started spreading some bullshit rumor saying my Mom told him to stay away but it wasn’t true. I got really sick with kidney infections shortly after I graduated and ended up in the hospital, I called for him and he responded the first time in almost 4 years only to tell me that my Mom owes him 45k and how sneaky she is. After that I gave up. I figured if he doesn’t want me that’s cool you can’t force love on anyone so I gave up. Around that time my Dad that I live with now came to me and told me that he would be my Dad and he’s proud to be and that’s the greatest gift I’ve ever received.

My real Dad still has strong relationships with my brother and sister but he still won’t have anything to do with me. On those rare occasions we do cross paths he’s always careful to tell me as quickly as possible that he doesn’t have any money like that’s what this is about. He went to jail about 2 years ago on a bullshit charge that let him out 60 days later but the crazy thing about that is I just didn’t care. Even my Mom checked into the shit to make sure he wasn’t sitting down for some years or something but me I didn’t care in the least bit. I saw him a little while after he was released and he gave me a Biggie CD as a late Christmas gift, yeah thanks. I still don’t know why he divorced me, he was my best friend and I was caught in the middle but no child deserves to be cast off like trash. I found out recently that before he came to Chicago and met my mom, he left a wife and a family of six kids (all his biologically) in the south. I go back and forth in between wanting to contact them or not but for now I take it as consolation that I’m not the only kid he didn’t want, if that makes sense.

My Dad, my Father was at my graduation, he took pictures at my prom, drove me to college for the first time, let me cry on his shoulder when I first got my heartbroken and he’s proud of everything I’ve ever done. He is my rainbow after the storm and I can’t appreciate him enough for making me feel like somebody wanted me.

Happy Birthday Daddy, I love you too the moon and back!!!