You Could’ve Been A Brave Bih!

Shout out to Barack.

I always have a theme for the New Year based on lessons I learned in the previous year. For 2019, my theme was “Apply Pressure.” I’d pretty much coasted through the previous year out of need for peace, stability and self-preservation. At some point, though, I realized that I was no longer “just chillin”— I was hiding. Not from anyone or any situation, but from myself.

Or more specifically, from my best self. From what a truly realized me could be. From the impact that a fully actualized me could make if I actually showed up in the world and in my life. And I realized that by not showing up, I was not only depriving the world of me, I was depriving myself of my full potential and, more egregiously, I was depriving my daughter. It’s a messed up feeling to realize that you’re trying to give your kid the world, but, to them, you’re the world and that’s what you’re withholding.

So, I got to work. I started formulating and grinding it out personally, professionally, physically, and spiritually, to varying degrees. And as I was leaving the gym the other morning (because f—k what you feel like), I had the thought: I’m really doing it. I’m really moving the needle on everything I said I wanted;on everything I said I would do. I was doing it.

And as soon as I had that thought, I had another one: Don’t get too excited. You can still flop. You can still come up short.

And that thought made me think, who taught me to be afraid? Of failure, of disappointment, of rejection, of not enough?

When did I learn that it was best to hope, but not for too much in case it didn’t work out. So you don’t wind up looking stupid?

Like it’s okay to hope as long as you don’t do it too loudly, too openly, where people will talk or point fingers if things don’t go your way.

Like a bih really got to be brave, or I’ll say it—AUDACIOUS—to hope out loud. 

Well, I came to serve notice on you today, saints—F*ck them people. And f*ck that voice in your head that’s waiting on the other shoe to drop. That loud, scary mf’r can get back on the horse it rode in on and head west.

We’re here. We’re present. Fully. Capably. Confidently. Deservingly. Audaciously. Humbly. Present.

Ain’t a chick I know that walks out the door for their special occasion knowing she’s half-steppin. So, why would we show up for our dreams that way? For our lives? Afraid to have a good time in case we look silly? 

Look silly, sis. Celebrate a little. Pat yourself on the back. Gas yourself up and stand on your own proverbial tabletop.

It doesn’t matter if you fall. You’ve got to leave the ledge to fly anyway.