Beware the 1SFA: The Trap of One-Size-Fits-All

Alright, kids. Here’s a little analogy that explains what I think of as,

‘The 2 Basic Approaches to Living Life’.

Imagine life starts out in a large department store. It’s big and brightly lit with rows and rows of fully stocked racks of the exact same garment. Made of the exact same material. In the exact same size. In the exact same color. There are large posters of attractive models wearing the one-size-fits-all garment hanging all around the store. If you choose one of these garments, you’ll also get a lifetime membership to a 1SFA club that gives you access to an array of perks & benefits, as long as you’re wearing your 1sFA garment.

There’s also a section off to the side of the store. In this section, are several tables full of well-preserved but previously-owned items heaped into piles. Some of the items are rack, many are designer. It’s a mixed bag. You can choose as many of these items as you like for one price, and you’ll also be given sewing materials for customizing or tailoring them.

Each of us has a choice… will we select the one-size-fits-all-garment or put something together from the pile of used clothes?

Approach #1 - One-Size-Fits-All, aka, 1SFA

get lifetime membership with your purchase

Join the club. Get perks, benefits & premium access.

The first, and by far, the most popular option is the 1SFA (pronounced: ‘once-fuh’). For many, the 1SFA just happens to fit them perfectly. They are the right size and shape for the garment to look on them like it does on the attractive models in the store. The color agrees with them, and the material feels just right.

For many others, it’s simply the easier option. There’s plenty available, I can just go and grab one and be on my way. Plus, if the models look great in them, I’m sure I will too. Besides, everyone else looks like they’re choosing these. I don’t want to be the only weirdo wearing something different. And… used clothes? Ugh. I could never. I don’t care how designer they are. I want to be the first and only to wear the garment that everyone else is wearing. That free lifetime membership deal is definitely for me. I like perks!

Approach #2 - Create Your Own Look

everything must go

Designer closeouts. Gently-used. All sales final.

This option is less popular primarily because it’s less attractive. A pile of used clothes isn’t much of a match against brightly lit, well-organized racks of clothes with hot models wearing them. So why would anyone choose this option at all? The short answer: because they have to. Perhaps they’re deathly allergic to the 1SFA garment’s material. Maybe they’re just too big to even try to fit into a single-sized garment. Maybe they tried the 1SFA for a while and realized they didn’t like it or that they wanted to try the other approach for a while before making a final decision. Maybe none of the attractive models looked like them. Maybe the perks weren’t perkin’ enough. Any number of reasons could compel someone to opt out of the 1SFA option. And opting out really wouldn’t be that much of a problem if….

The Twist

it’s what everyone who’s anyone is wearing

The New 1SFA Collection

Now available everywhere

Let’s say that the store owner earns way more profit off of the 1SFA outfits than the used ones. The 1SFA garments sell at a pretty high price and they are always in high demand. Since there’s more money to be made, the store owner promotes the 1SFA garments more, maybe even suggesting that 1SFA-wearers are better than the bespoke crowd.

The idea takes hold, then takes form. Some 1SFA-wearers believe that there’s probably something wrong with the bespoke crowd - it’s their fault they’re so big. And if all of us 1SFAs aren’t allergic to the material and we’re perfectly normal, than the allergic must be dysfunctional or disturbed. Those who used to wear 1SFA? Oh, they’re just confused or off the path. We have ways of converting them back.

Now, the bespoke crowd have a problem.

If they continue to wear their self-created looks, they may become targets. Of shame, ridicule, discrimination, violence. The price of the bespoke garment just got a lot higher. Even if they are allergic, even if they’re too big, would it not be less risky to just fit in to the 1SFA garment? ‘Maybe I can just wear the 1SFA in public,’ they reason. ‘I can wear whatever I want behind closed doors.’ For some, it’s a compromise worth making. For others, not so much.

Out of all this confusion around size and style and structure of garment, come all sorts of mis-fits and allergic reactions like:

• imposter syndrome

• masking

• identity crisis

• negative self talk

Those for whom the 1SFA doesn’t naturally fit will have to contend with one or all of these regardless of if they choose to fit in or not. This is the case for many so-called marginalized people - the indigenous, the queer, the neurodivergent, the immigrant… anyone who is made to feel like an ‘outsider’ or ‘other’.

For them, the double-sided trap of the 1SFA is this:

Either force yourself into a garment that doesn’t fit or change yourself to fit the garment.

This typically means a literal or figurative modification or ‘cutting off’ of things that are essential to the shape and size of you, including your:

• language

• name

• hair

• clothing

• behavior

• practices of cultural significance

The often-missed irony in this choice is that in doing so, it can become more difficult for you to stand out when you want to. In short, when you fall into the 1SFA trap, you may lose your most strategic advantage.

poor little mermaid

now in theaters

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how do i know what my purpose is?

Audio Transcript:

I used to feel like, 'Oh, my purpose is something that I need to really clearly delineate and get exactly right. This statement that's 100% correct. And, I feel like this is it. It's unchanged. I've defined it, it's finite, it's in stone. This is what I'm about.'

And that's not it. I don't think that's what purpose is. I think the very fact of having a big why is in itself the big why. The desire to find purpose is in itself a purpose. So I think this need to wanna get it just right is this sort of old way we're used to relating with ideas of highest self or higher beings, or religion or callings or all of this is that there's a right way and a wrong way and you gotta get it right or else you're wasting your time or you're not gonna reach enlightenment or whatever it is.

But I think when you really look at any of the ways of living, the religions, the philosophies, whatever. They are, just that. They are ways of living. So when we're even thinking about purpose or something like that, that is also a driving force, a guiding North star in our lives, it's not so much about what you're doing, it's about how you're doing. It's about how you're living. Not 'am I doing the right things', but, 'am I having the right experience?' Am I doing these things in a way that represents all of my values, my goals, my role models? Am I doing my life in a way that aligns with whatever the tenets of my innermost religion are?

So I think when it comes to the 'big why', resist the temptation to get hung up on clearly and precisely defining it to the Nth degree or with a very specific set of words. Now, if you're able to do that, hallelujah. That's great!, But also be open to that, changing every 5, 7, 10, however many years. It may not stay the same for the entire of your story, and that is fine because that would suggest that you are still an organic living, volatile evolutionary being.

Declaration of Self: How to Create Your Personal Manifesto

I recently completed a 5-day self-directed, self-clarity exercise.

Each day, I took one of the following self-assessments designed to reveal insights about my personality and natural talents:

• Natal chart

• Typefinder

• Enneagram

• Life Values Inventory

• StrengthsFinder

On the 6th day, I did a final self-clarity exercise where I perused the Ultimate list of Archetypes and selected the top 3 archetypes that fit me best.

On the 7th day… I rested. :)

Mainly because at the end of all of that self assessing, I was swimming in self-information.

And… I’m not that strong of a swimmer.

So - I set out to create something that would let me assemble all of this self-information into a statement I could actually USE to keep myself focused and afloat in times of uncertainty, difficulty or great change.

The result: My Declaration of Self.

It’s like my personal manifesto or mission statement - a declaration to myself and to the world of WHO I AM and WHY I’M HERE.

Here’s how I crafted it.

How I Created My Personal Manifesto, aka, MY Declaration of Self

Based on what I know of each of the self-assessments and what they were designed to tell me about myself - for instance, the Enneagram tells me about my ego and how I face challenges; the ascendant sign in my natal chart tells me what role others usually see me as playing - I drafted the template below.

Each self-assessment provided a result that was very similar to an archetype or that could be translated into an archetype.

WHAT IS AN ARCHETYPE?

I like to think of an archetype as a symbol or a character. Archetypes represent known patterns of behavior, a set of personal characteristics that can be summed up in a single word.

Watch MY IGTV VIDEO on ‘Defining Yourself with Archetypes’ for more on how I define and use archetypes.

By translating my assessment results into corresponding archetypes, I was able to come up with a list of words that could be plugged into my templated statement, mad-libs style.

Finding the Archetypes  for my natal chart signs and houses

To get the zodiac sign archetypes for my Sun, Ascendant, North Node, South Node and Moon signs, I relied on Kathryn Hocking’s 12 Archetypes of the Zodiac. You can find it here: https://kathrynhocking.com/the-12-archetypes-of-the-zodiac/

 

To get the house meanings for my North and South Nodes, I used the Zodiac House meanings from Labyrinthos. You can find them here: https://labyrinthos.co/blogs/astrology-horoscope-zodiac-signs/tagged/houses

The final outcome was my personal Declaration of Self:

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create Your Own personal manifesto

How to be more resilient

How do you build resilience?
The question came up in today’s leadership meeting. We were discussing overall team morale. The general feeling of anxiety at another pending org change was acknowledged by all, but so was the inevitable nature and frequency of change within the organization.

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“What can we do to help people deal better with this?”

“How can we help them to stop being worried about what’s going to happen in the future?”

“What if we bring in a speaker? I’ve heard of this guy who sailed around the world alone… it was a grueling challenge… he’s written about it. Maybe he could share his story.”

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I listen. More ideas come… a class, a series of articles, role models within the organization, cubicle posters.

I go within myself and ask… how did I learn resilience? How did the other leaders at this table learn it? 

From reading? From listening to a speech? From motivational posters?

No. 

From hitting a proverbial wall and pushing my way through until I found the light.

From realizing in that moment that if it was to be done, it was to be done by me.

From recognizing that the only way out, was through.

And most of those moments occurred outside of an office building. Outside of a classroom. Outside of a lecture hall.

Out in the real world. Sometimes in the literal wilderness. Others, while I was a stranger in a strange land. Most, when no one else was there to encourage or support. 

Some things can’t be taught.

If you aren’t intentionally placing yourself in uncomfortable, unfamiliar or undefined spaces in your real life, you probably aren’t developing the skills needed to deal with the uncomfortable, unfamiliar or undefined in your work life.

Anxiety often comes from a vague fear of what is not known. But how do you come to know the unknown if you avoid it entirely? 

Spoiler alert: the truth is, you will never come to know the unknown. But after repeated tussles with the unknown, you will come to know you.

You will come to know what you are capable of, not just what you’re used to or what you’ve done successfully in the past. You will know what you look like, how you behave when there is no easy way out. You will know what it feels like to grit your teeth, hunker your shoulders down and press forward – yes, even with doubt or anger swirling around in your head, with tears stinging your eyes, with the naysayers throwing jibes at you from the sidelines, with false friends showing you the broadside of their backs.

When you come through the unknown, you will – if you have been paying attention – recognize that you are in league with the Creator.

When you come through the unknown, you will – if you have been paying attention – recognize that you are in league with the Creator.

And whatever was broken or damaged in the coming through, can be recreated again and again in whatever image you desire.

And that is resilience.

Not knowing that the sailing will be smooth or that the storm will pass soon. But knowing that from the wreckage, you have the power, the endless power to say, ‘Let there be light’.

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Looking for proven ways to build greater resilience?

I’ve put together a Resilience Resource Guide - a collection of advice, exercises and motivational content gathered from top researchers and experts in psychology and alternative wellness. 

It’s 100% FREE and available for immediate download.

Get yours below!

Slow Down And Count The Results

Welp. We’ve got fewer than 60 days ‘til the end of the year. What are your goals?

Look. I’m not gonna hassle you about year-end goals right now. Now is not the time for goals. It’s the time for a slow count.

 (You see what I did there?) 

I'll be honest. I had absolutely no faith in you people when it came to this year’s election.

Take a good look around at the things you have now that you didn't have before. Pay special attention to the things that aren't there any longer - because it was time for them to go.

I didn’t think we’d pull it off. I thought the bad outnumbered the good, and I was resigned to what that meant for me. For the country.

It’s kind of the same way I’ve been thinking about this year. I.e.,

‘Oh, 2020 has been terrible! 2020 has brought so much drama and suffering.’

Which is true. But it isn’t THE truth. 

It is true that there are way too many people in this country who continue to represent the worst in us. This year’s nail-biting election made that fact very clear. But THE truth is:

• Georgia is a blue state.

• A ‘Blasian’ female HBCU graduate is the next VP of the United States. 

• And the biggest narcissist I’ve ever seen has been dethroned from his seat of power.  

Go slow Now, so you can go fast Later.

So… yeah. No goals right now. We’ve done enough. You’ve done enough. 

Let’s pull out those receipts instead.

Now is the time to take a look at what you've actually accomplished. What you made it through. What you triumphed over. What you transformed. What transformed you.

Take a good look around at the things you have now that you didn't have before. Pay special attention to the things that aren't there any longer - because it was time for them to go.

And if there are any unnecessary things that are still hanging around… well, just be sure to get rid of any and every thing you don't want to carry into your future by the end of this year. 

Because the future is just around the corner. And it doesn’t have time to wait.

In the next post: How to Do Your Own Year-End Review 

I wish we would stop pretending that we love Breonna Taylor

I wish we would stop pretending that we love Breonna Taylor.

You do not love Breonna. You would not have loved her when she was alive.

You would not have loved her because she was too fat. Because she had a facial piercing. Because her skin wasn’t light enough. Because she had a perm. Because of that one time she showed up late for work. Because of that one time she smelled like weed. Because she talked too loud. Because she clapped her hands and threw her head back and cackled when she laughed. Because she wasn’t married. Because she was laid up with some dude. Because she dated the wrong kind of dude. Because she didn’t have kids. Because she worked a regular job. Because she lived in a black neighborhood. Because she had a black-sounding name. Because she ate pork. Because she didn’t go to church every Sunday. Because she watched BET. Because she went too long between pedicures. Because she didn’t get a university degree. Because she ‘talked black’. Because she never traveled abroad. Because she listened to ratchet music. Because she had a tattoo. Because...

You do not love Black women.

Because you only love or like Black women when they are good.

When their edges lay down just right. When they talk cute, or look cute or act cute. When they don’t have opinions or make too much sound. When their bodies are shaped in the way you find most pleasing. When they dance for you. Or make you laugh. Or act sassy without seriousness. Or serve as your meme, or your hashtag or your poster child. 

And if you only like something or someone when they are ‘good’, you do not actually like that someone or something. 

So stop pretending that you love Breonna. Or that you cry for Breonna. Or that you like Breonna.

Or that you like me. 

Hell, you only like me when I do something cute or entertaining. You don’t like me when I just wake up everyday and go about my business of minding my business. No. You don’t. Because if you did, you wouldn’t tell me, ‘smile’, ‘make friends’, ‘stop being so extra’, ‘you gotta...’, ‘you know what you need to...’ ‘why you always gotta..?’ ‘Ain’t nobody gonna want...’ 

You would simply see me going about my business of minding my business, and you would smile and nod, or smile and wave, or smile and say, 

‘Hey, girl. It’s good to see you. I’m glad you’re here.’

And i would say:

‘Hey, there. It’s good to be seen. I’m glad that I’m here.’

But it’s not good. And I ain’t glad.

So. Let’s just stop pretending. 

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Kisha Solomon is an Atlanta-based writer, knowledge worker and serial expat. She is also the founder of The Good Woman School. When she’s not writing, working or travelling, you can find her in deep conversation with herself or her four-legged familiar, Taurus the Cat. www.kishasolomon.com

This year is f***in' hard.

This year is f***in’ hard. And we’ve still got a ways left to go.

I swear, it seems like each week of this year has started off like an epic, emotional, unpredictable adventure that brings victory coupled with loss. Severs old ties to fertilize new ground. Makes you get rid of yet another old comfort so you can grow yet another new branch for yourself.

I can barely get my bearing from the last tidal wave of WTF, before a new one starts charging right at me.

It’s a tough time, but it is also a potent time. This swirling energy that’s upsetting so much normalcy is also charged with possibility. With manifest-making magic. You are knee-deep in it, and if you can just keep focus, engage your core, not get swept away in the current, you can make things happen that you only imagined before. And they will come fast, hard, and unexpected. And they will last.

So be very intentional about what you are creating and calling forth now. With the relationships you begin and end. About how you are entering into contracts, projects, relationships. What is created now will not be easily undone.

And if you have not been focused on creating, if you have just been being tossed about or holding your little piece of normal ground with your head tucked down, that won’t do any longer.

It’s time to make the most of the rest of this year.

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Kisha Solomon is an Atlanta-based writer, knowledge worker and serial expat. She is also the founder of The Good Woman School. When she’s not writing, working or travelling, you can find her in deep conversation with herself or her four-legged familiar, Taurus the Cat. www.lifeworktravels.com

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Celebrate Your Own Damned Season - A Different Way Of Celebrating For A Different Kind Of Growth

A younger coworker was doing her best to convince me to go to the company holiday party. I smiled at each of her reasons for why I should go, but was not moved in my decision. Another coworker closer to my age who had been observing our exchange joined in... “You’re just not there right now. You’re not in that space.” She said it with such knowing, such easy acceptance that I was not only grateful for but comforted by her understanding.

End of year is usually a time for celebrating. Celebrating what you achieved, what you survived, what you learned, how you grew. I’m usually the first to call out to my group of friends: “Who’s hosting?” Or, “Who wants to come over for...?” during the holiday season. 

But this year... 2019 has been a different kind of year for me. And I feel the need for a different kind of celebrating. This year was one of many losses for me and for several people close to me. The losses themselves were a shock, emotional bombshells each one. But each loss came with a gift inside. A jewel of learning and of becoming that the loss necessitated. There was gain and growth this year as well, but not the flashy growth and gain of here-and-gone spring annuals, but the unfurling of a few leaves and a slow, upward stretching and outward thickening of a central trunk - the decidedly unshowy growth of evergreens and perennials. 

Celebrating that kind of growth looks a little different. It looks like more intimate gatherings with smaller groups of friends - people who appreciate leaves as much as they do flowers. It looks like quiet time alone to reflect and sigh and smile and cry. It looks like notebooks filled with lessons learned from moments of confusion and hurt. It looks like opting out of the company party to go to a neighborhood gathering where the conversations will be more authentic, the hugs inappropriately long, the food cooked by hands I know. 

When I look back and recall the ways i chose to celebrate the end of this year, this decade... I believe i’ll be glad that I consciously chose to not just celebrate the season as dictated by calendar or custom, but as dictated by my own life’s season. 

Today, another coworker sent a text, “You missed out on a great party...”

I replied: “I didn’t miss out. I chose.”

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ms. mcknight

In elementary school, my PE teacher was a drill sergeant.

Her name was Ms. McKnight. She had a sort of hi-top fade – mostly black, speckled with here-and-there grey. She sported a couple of matching chin whiskers.

To be fair, I don’t know for sure if Ms. McKnight was actually ever in the military. I do know that at the start of every PE class, before the actual PE portion began, Ms. McKnight would have us perform military drills. Well, not drills, really… formations.

After ‘dressing out’, we’d all line up in neat little rows, alphabetically by last name. We each automatically assumed the ‘at-ease’ position – feet firmly planted hip-width apart, hands lightly crossed behind our backs, backs and shoulders straight, eyes straight ahead focused on some imaginary point in the distance. We looked like some kind of Smurf version of S1Ws. We were a class of less than 30, none of us more than 10 years old, most of us, black. Our contrasting light blue top and dark blue bottom uniforms drove home the militant midget image.

How long had we been lining up like this?

By this point, the routine wasn’t so much memorized as it was ingrained. Was this not just the way one stood when standing around doing nothing? Would I not stand this way in similar situations forever into the future? In the grocery store checkout line? At the DMV? When waiting to ride the Scream Machine at Six Flags? When I looked to my left and right, whether it be now or 20, 30 years from now, would I not always find Ashley Davis and Greg Dinkins flanking me in line?

Once lined up, we’d stand there and await our instructions from Ms. McKnight. She’d take her time, finish with whatever she was looking at (‘How To Weaponize Adolescents (Revised Edition)’? ‘Retired Drill Sergeant’s Monthly’?) on her clipboard, then slowly walk to her starting position in front of us.

“Ah-TENNN-HUUUTT!!”

We’d spring into action, in one synchronized motion, we switched to the ‘attention’ position. Feet and ankles close together, bodies rigid, eyes alert, arms stiffly extended by our sides.

“PREE-zennnt ARMS!!”

Our collective right arm engaged and landed in a taut salute.

Ms. McKnight would begin to walk slowly among our ranks, inspecting each of us for flaws, misalignments, sloppy or incorrect dress.

“AT EEEEZ!” she’d shout out as she continued walking, peering.

We’d shift back into our resting position.

“Ah-TENNN-HUUUTT!!”

Back to full salute.

 “Ah-BOUUUT-FACE!”

We pivoted swiftly and curtly to the rear, one Smurf army united in motion.

“At EEEEZ!”

This would continue for several minutes. Ms. McKnight shouting orders at us; us responding with the appropriate movements.

Occasionally she’d stop in front of one of us and bark a question that we were all to have memorized and be ready to answer at a moment’s notice. There was no way of knowing if you’d be the one she’d ask to spout off the answer like a Marine reciting the Rifleman’s Creed. It was as random as being singled out in a game of duck-duck-goose.

She’d slowly stalk us, row by row, scanning her eyes over us, while we dared not break formation by looking at her, moving or even breathing too much. All of a sudden, she’d stop and address one of us by last name.

“Demps! What is physical education!?”

To this day, I remember the answer to this question. It is tattooed on my brain. It is a part of my nervous system. If I were ever in a coma, and someone asked me this question, I’d probably wake up and respond,

“Physical education is that part of our education that strengthens us physically, mentally and spiritually!”

If we stammered, forgot or responded too slowly, we’d get a demerit. Ms. McKnight would note it on her clipboard then continue her inspection, looking closely for any other infractions.

Ms. McKnight was always stern, but never harsh or cruel. In fact, I’d dare say that we all liked her. We also feared her, but it was the same kind of fear we had for our parents, and we liked them well enough. We didn’t even mind the drills much. It was simply one more of the peculiarly unique things that was a part of being a student at the little red brick schoolhouse on Ward Street.

Was it odd to have a bunch of kids pretending to be tiny soldiers? Certainly. Was Ms. McKnight and her approach to physical education likely a holdover from her own childhood PE classes in the 1950s? Probably so. But if it were only the drills, the whole thing would have probably become a source of childhood trauma. Whenever I happen to reunite with my former Smurfs, we tend trade these old memories like survivor stories. But, unlike typical survivors, it’s not scars we have, rather a wistful sort of awe that what once seemed so perfectly normal is now bizarre for its quaintness and simplicity, and, for that reason, all the more precious to us.

Yes, if it were only the drills, Ms. McKnight’s methods might have been considered truly weird. Even questionable. But it wasn’t only the drills. It was the question. The question made the whole routine mean something more. I didn’t know it at the time, but there was a reason Ms. McKnight asked that question.

She could have asked any number of questions.

“Demps! What’s the school’s alma mater?”

“Ferguson! How many bones in the human body?”

“Bentley! If you were a hot dog, would you eat yourself?”

But she didn’t. She asked the one question that would remind both us and her of our reason for being there in that class – outside on the playground-slash-parking lot behind the little red schoolhouse in good weather, downstairs in the social hall under the church when it rained. Why we were performing those drills. Why she was inspecting and correcting every detail of our movements and dress.

She was there to instill pride, discipline, a basic and physical understanding of teamwork and cooperation. She was there to remind us that at this small Catholic parochial school in an all-black neighborhood, there were many kinds of education to be had. There was religious education to strengthen our spirits – the nuns and other clergy saw to that. There was classical education to strengthen our minds – our dedicated staff of lay teachers handled that; but only physical education addressed our entire selves. Spirit, mind and body. And only, she, the Commander-in-Chief of Physical Education, had the privilege and the duty of delivering this most complete form of education to us.

In hindsight I think we Smurfs were damned lucky to have a Ms. McKnight.

But that doesn’t mean I didn’t I feel a certain kind of way the first time I saw Full Metal Jacket.

Photo by David Pennington on Unsplash

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Kisha Solomon is an Atlanta-based writer, knowledge worker and serial expat. She writes witty, poignant stories about the lessons she’s learned from her life, work and travels. She deals with the sometimes frustrating and often humorous side effects of being black, female and nerdy. When she’s not writing working or travelling, you can find her in deep conversation with herself or her four-legged familiar, Taurus the Cat. www.lifeworktravels.com