the little voice

The big voice is the one that is loud. you’re used to hearing it. It’s the one that shouts at you and likely the one that you listen to most. The one that tells you it has your best interests at heart, that without it you are nothing, that nobody loves or understands you like it does.

The big voice is your ego. Its only interest is its own self-preservation. It is the common thread of insanity that links all un-awake, unenlightened human beings. and it is seductive, soothing. So you are more apt to follow it. The little voice is much harder to hear. Mostly because it sounds unfamiliar to you. It says things to you that frighten you, sends chills up your spine, makes you run scrambling for the more brash comfort of the big voice.

But the little voice is you. your spirit, the you that existed before the you that came about as a result of hardening yourself against the outside world. The you that was before the well-intentioned but ill-advised conditioning of your parents, your schools, your lovers, your friends. It is the you that you sometimes feel uncomfortable seeing staring back at you from the mirror. It is the you that you are least acquainted with, but most enamored with. It’s the you that speaks up when you know you’re doing something you shouldn’t, whether it’s sneaking an extra cookie after dinner or sneaking off with your neighbor’s wife. It is the you that you would be if you were not afraid to be that you that you really are.

Some people have called the little voice intuition, or the sixth sense. But whatever name it goes by, you can pretty much bet that the little voice is the one that the big voice always, always convinces you to ignore.

A long time ago I learned a hard lesson. I suppose I should be thankful, because the lesson could have come at a much steeper price. The lesson? Always – not sometimes, not occasionally, not when you feel like it – but ALWAYS listen to the little voice.

traveling solo: what to do when everything goes wrong

Oh, f**k. I am literally stuck in Portugal.

My heart rate quickened a few paces. I hadn’t really allowed myself to think that the worst possible scenario would happen, so now that it was in fact happening, I found myself momentarily bewildered. I’d made the foolish mistake of traveling to Portugal  without my passport, but since I’d gotten lucky on the flight out of Spain, I thought my luck might hold out for the return trip. It didn’t. After trying other alternatives (presenting a copy of my passport, then my Spanish resident ID) that were refused by the airline agent, it became clear that I was not getting on this flight.

My brain began slowly filling with a thousand thoughts:

Shit.

Um. Ok. What the hell are you going to do now?

This can’t be happening.

Ohmygodohmygodohmygod

What if I can’t get out of here? What if I’m stuck in this airport for months or years like that one movie with Tom Hanks?

How could I be so stupid!?

Shit!

This is the worst thing that’s ever happened to me. Why do bad things always happen to me?

Jesus Christ, I’m sooo stupid!!

I just wanna go home.

*Eyes starting to well up with tears*

If you travel often enough, eventually it will happen. The worst possible scenario. You find yourself stuck in the middle of nowhere. You missed your flight. The hotel booking fell through. You’re lost in an unfamiliar place where you don’t speak the language. Or worse yet, you’ve been pickpocketed or injured.

While I haven’t had any serious travel emergencies yet (knock on wood), I’ve definitely found myself in a pickle more than once while travelling – most recently on a solo trip back to Spain from Portugal. What I’ve learned from these travel blunders is that the best and quickest way out of them is to… keep calm and carry on.

Don’t Panic (Ok, panic. But make it brief.)

After realizing that my pleading with the airline agent was useless, I found a bench to sit on, and let the reality of the situation settle in a bit. I tried to tame my wildly racing thoughts as best I could (repeating over and over to myself, ‘It’s going to be ok. It’s going to be ok.’). Suddenly, a calming piece of advice that a friend of mine once said to me popped up in my mind: ‘Every problem has at least 5 solutions’.

Slowly, I felt the panic begin to subside and a steely resolve take its place. After a few more moments, I went to the bathroom, washed my face, fixed my hair, and touched up my makeup. Then, I set to work.

Gather Your Tools

I knew I would need to rely heavily on my cell phone, so I checked the battery. It was about half full. I started scouting out the airport terminal for power outlets. Then, checked to see if there was free Wi-fi at the airport. No luck. Fortunately, my cell phone data plan worked, and the signal was strong.

Once you’ve calmed yourself down, take inventory of what you’ve got to help you get out of this situation – cell phone, map, GPS, snacks, the phone number of ‘a guy who knows a guy’. Use whatever you’ve got within reach to help you get yourself out of this predicament or weather the storm until you do.

Using travel tools proactively can also be a big help in case of a travel mishap. For example, take pics of your hotel, the hotel stationery, or the street you’re staying on in case you get lost and can’t communicate where you need to go. Save emergency contact info into a notes app on your phone. Save text versions of walking directions to/from your hotel on your phone to use in case you can’t access GPS. Download maps that are accessible offline. Download travel apps you can use to book last-minute flights and hotels and find bus and train schedules.

Brainstorm & Prioritize Your Options

What’s the thing that needs to happen first? What’s most important right now? What’s the fastest, most efficient way to get that thing done?

My 3 main options were: Getting on another flight, finding a place to stay, or finding another mode of transportation to get back to Spain.

After a quick search online for other flights, I ruled out that option. Even if I could get past security for another airline (sans passport), the cost of the flight would be ridiculous. Since I was already out of the money from the lost flight, I didn’t want to pay more than I needed to.

My next best bet was finding an alternative way out. Lastly, I’d look for a place to crash, if finding a way out took longer than I hoped.

Be Resourceful – Know Where to Go for Info or Help

Thankfully, I had apps for Renfe – Spain’s railway system, BlaBlaCar, and Skyscanner on my phone, and I’d bookmarked the site for Portugal’s railway system. I used Google to search for buses going between Portugal and Spain. In under an hour, I’d found info on the next trains, buses, and rideshares going to Madrid. But online bus information can often be out of date, so I ended up consulting with both an airport security guard and the airport tourist info office to make sure the info I’d found online was correct (turns out, it wasn’t). Since there was nothing leaving until the next day, I used my handy AirBnB and Booking.com apps to look for a cheap place to stay in the meantime.

Having the right info at hand during a travel emergency makes all the difference, and knowing where to go to find it is essential. In my case, I relied heavily on online travel tools. But the people around you can also be excellent sources of help and information. Information desks or tourist offices are available in most large cities. Bus drivers and taxi drivers are great for helping you find your way – they know the area well. Hotel concierges and desk staff, security guards and police officers, store workers in commercial areas – not only are all of these people good sources of ‘official’ info, they’re also more likely to speak English than a random person on the street.

Think Positively

Even if you do everything you should do in a travel emergency, there’s no guarantee that you’ll get out of the situation quickly. No matter what happens, though, keeping a positive mindset and being able to laugh at yourself will help you make the best of a bad situation.

In the end, it took a few hours of searching for and confirming transport and lodging, an overnight stay at a cheap but centrally located AirBnB room (15 euros), and a 5-hour BlaBlaCar ride (30 euros) the next day from Oporto to Madrid. During that time, I encountered some rude and unhelpful people, took a walk through what – at first glance – looked like a sketchy area, and suffered a late-night bout of gastrointestinal distress. I tried to view the whole ordeal as a comical adventure, which kept me from getting too riled up or freaked out, even though there were several times when I wanted to do both. In the end, I made it out of a sticky situation without too much incident, feeling like I earned a merit badge in the process. And a ridiculously hilarious travel story to boot.

2 weeks notice

I pretty much began to consider leaving my job, oh…about 26 minutes after I started working here. But I decided that it’d be better to stick it out and see what I could get out of the place before I made my resume look like I have ADD. Anyway, a recent series of fortunate events have opened up an opportunity for me to work in (what I hope will be) greener pastures, so I’ve finally made the decision to switch plantat…er, i mean jump ship.

 The problem with the whole 2-week notice thing is that once you let everyone know that you’re a short-timer, you’re immediately seized by this listless, languorous feeling that is a direct side effect of knowing that you’re no longer on the hook to perform, just to show up. Maybe it’s just me, but it’s awfully hard to keep up the façade of being a hard worker, when you know nobody cares anyway.

Well, tomorrow is officially my last day, so on this, the eve of my departure, I’ve decided to take some time to reflect on the last 10 days . Read: I’ve pretty much run out of other ways to goof off. 😀

Day 10
• In keeping with the 2-week protocol, today I informed exactly 6 people – my boss, the HR lady, and 4 of my regular lunch / water-cooler buddies – of my decision.
• My boss lets me know that, after tomorrow, he’ll be out of the office for the next 2 weeks. I am convinced I’m being rewarded for some good deed in a former life.
• For the rest of the day I traipse around the office like Michael J. Fox in that montage from ‘Secret of My Success’ where ‘Walking on Sunshine’ is playing in the background.

Day 9, I mean 8
• About 5 minutes after I get to my desk this morning, my boss stops by and asks if he can speak to me in private. He does so in a tone that would have me fearing for my job, if I hadn’t already quit. In the ensuing conversation, he basically asks me if I could quit a day early. I can’t disclose his reason for asking here, but suffice it to say, the whole exchange reaffirms that my decision to leave this gig couldn’t have come at a better time.
• Today, no less than 20 people know about my imminent departure – none of them heard the news from me. It’s an interesting affirmation of the power of viral marketing, to say the least.

Day 7
• Given yesterday’s exchange with my boss, I have an even worse taste in my mouth about this place. I spend a significant amount of time brooding on all the reasons I loathe it.

• The lady that sits directly on the other side of my cube burps. Loudly – and often. She’s also prone to whinnying like a horse for no apparent reason.

• The gentleman that sits behind the gassy woman has frequent bouts of upper respiratory congestion. He clears it out by coughing loud enough to wake the dead and then spits the results into his trashcan.

• The vending machine contains 3 types of skittles. The damned red bag is always in front- I hate the red bag.

• We use Lotus Notes for email (I feel dirty just admitting that).

• The PMO – my own personal Gestapo 🙂

• On all of my projects and in almost all of my meetings, I am the only African-American. Out of maybe 15 offices in the building, 2 are occupied by females. There are roughly 12 people in the building that hold Director-level or above positions – none are minorities, none are female. Can we say: glass ceiling?

• To celebrate individuals who’ve made ‘significant contributions’, the company rewards them with – drum roll please – a Lego block.

Day 6
• I take small pleasure in the fact that I no longer have to slip my copy of “The 4-Hour Workweek” into my desk drawer for fear that somebody might read one of the sensational, subversive statements on the cover, like: “Warning: Don’t read this book unless you want to quit your job”
• I officially inform all of the project teams that I manage that I’m leaving. I also inform them that I will not be in the office tomorrow. The development manager looks like I just peed on her sock.
• Other people are starting to look at me like the little green aliens from Toy Story – like I’ve been chosen by…’THE CLAAAAW’!

Day 5
• I am not thinking of my (new or old) job. I am on vacation.

 Day 4
• Despite my most gallant efforts, I can’t seem to get to work any earlier than 10:45 am.
• My major to-do’s today are a 1 o’clock meeting and clearing off my desk décor, which consists of:

• Two framed pages full of quotes from Lao Tzu and Buddha

• A small transparent glass globe / paperweight with the word ‘wisdom’ affixed to the back

• Another frame with a story from Winnie the pooh that I use to remind me not to take my job too seriously.

• Three post-its with the following hand-written self-reminders:

  • Travel Light, Live Light, Spread Light, Be the Light

  • A Clean Desk is the Sign of a Sick Mind

  • Chickens Aren’t Eagles

• A flurry of papers and folders that could be deposited into the trash bin with one sweep of my hand

Day 3
• Today I managed to make it in by 10am. However, I don’t see any point in staying past 4pm.
• Everything between 10 and 4 is a complete and total blank…. I’m not even sure I showed up today – maybe it was a very vivid dream.

Day 2
• Today’s major to-do: Compose my official farewell email to send off to all the people I’ve worked with over the last year and 10 months.

Day 1
• Today my boss called me from his vacation / surgery recuperation to see if I could track down the source of some gross mis-communication about one of the projects I’m working on. Um yeeah, I’m all over that one…LOL!
• The offshore QA liaison on one of my projects asked me in a half-panicked voice: ‘So you’re not going to be at the meeting on Monday?’ I now have a vague understanding of how weaning mothers must feel.

Day 0 (daaaaayyy-ohhh. daylight come and me waaaan go home…. sorry, couldn’t resist)
• Highlights of the day include: the going-away luncheon, the exit interview, and the surrendering of company materials. It’s my busiest day this week!

prickly pears

Every day, 2 times a day, I pass the house with the bountiful prickly pear bush full of fruit. And every day, 2 times a day, I covet. Tell myself, “Imma stop and knock on the door and ask them if I can have some of those prickly pears… they ain’t doin’ nothin’ with ‘em.”

Today, on the 2nd passing of the day, a man was out in front of the house, harvesting the big, plump purplish fruits. I hesitated for a moment. Do I really have time to stop? I’d told the service technician I was on my way to meet that I’d be at my house before he got there. I reasoned with myself, “At least I can slow down and holler out the window at the gent. Maybe he’ll be ok with me swinging back by later.” I slowed my car, let down my passenger side window; spoke: “I’m glad to see you’re picking those, I’ve been wanting to get some myself!” He smiled broadly. “Oh, yeah? You know what these is? You wanna get some?” Me: shocked and delighted at the ease of the invitation, pull over the car and put on my hazard lights. Hop out and deftly avoid the cars passing me to join the man pulling the ripe fruit from the tops of the cactus. The box he was depositing his harvest in was almost full. I eyed it, thinking I’d save my ungloved hands at least a little distress if I harvested from the harvest instead of directly from the plant. As I prepared my second request, the man spoke: “Yeah, I knocked on the door to see if somebody was home, but nobody answered. So….” Wait. What? This isn’t even his house!? I’m dying laughing on the inside. Emboldened by his boldness, I ask, “Can I just get a few outta the box?” “Yeah, gone head,” he cheerfully replies. I’m too far gone as an accomplice to be shy, but I restrain myself from taking too many of the fruit. “Yeen got no bag?” He queries. “Oh, I’m sure I have one in the car,” I say as I take my 2 handfuls back towards my trunk, where there is indeed a stray plastic bag inside. I deposit my pilfered booty, wave an enthusiastic goodbye to Mr. Prickly Picker, re-enter my ride and escape the scene of the crime with the evidence staining my hands.

#fortunefavorsthebold #ripeforthepickin #aclosedmouthdontgetfed #afunnythinghappened #swatl #swats #roguish

expat problems: 6 stages of repatriation

Coming home after a period of time living abroad isn’t always easy. Things aren’t the same as you remember. You aren’t even the same. Finding your place again when everyone and everything has moved on can make readjusting to your new old life seem a little bit like learning to walk again. Plus there’s the emotional toll of leaving behind new friends and abandoning what had become your new normal.

To make matters worse, unlike many other major life transitions, repatriation doesn’t always come with its fair share of support and understanding. The opportunity to live in a foreign country is often seen as just that – an opportunity. Something that you’re lucky or blessed to be able to do. On one hand, that’s true, but like any other self-initiated, out-of-the-norm endeavor (e.g., going back to school, changing careers, becoming a parent) it’s also a matter of sacrifice, risk and day-to-day struggle.

Yet, to friends and family back home (and thanks in part to that steady stream of stunning photos in exotic locales on your Facebook and Instagram feeds) you’ve been living on vacay for the past few months or years. And since ‘coming back from vacation’ isn’t exactly a struggle, you may be left to navigate re-entry back to ‘the real world’ on your own.

I’ve been through the repatriation process twice now – actually, you could say that I’m still going through it – and while I don’t claim to have the science of it all figured out, I felt compelled to share my own process of dealing with and ultimately triumphing over the repatriation blues.

6 Stages of Repatriation

Reverse Culture Shock

From the moment you step off the plane, everything about your home country seems familiar, but in an eerily unfamiliar way. It’s like you’re in The Truman Show or The Matrix. You recognize it all, yet it all seems just… a little… off. Things that you once took for granted as completely normal are now shocking, weird, amusing or maybe even offensive to you.

In my first two weeks back in the US, I had the following moments of reverse culture shock:

At the airport, waiting on my bags:  

Why is everyone so fat and poorly dressed?

When greeting old and new friends:

Must remember to shake hands, NOT double-cheek kiss. I almost made out with that guy just now.

Shopping for groceries:

Gawd, it’s expensive here. I mean, $8 for a bottle of wine… and it’s not even good!?

Catching up on TV shows:

Seriously? Is EVERY commercial on TV for a prescription drug?

Getting behind the wheel for the first few times:

Wow. Atlanta drivers exhibit a LOT of aggression.

At any given moment on any given day:

This feels suspiciously comfortable. What is all this knowing where I’m going and understanding what everyone around me is talking about?

Even though seeing an old place through new eyes may initially be disorienting, eventually your vision adjusts and things begin to appear a bit more normal.  It may take a while, but it will happen.

Mourning / Loss

Once the excitement of being home and the disorientation of reverse culture shock start to fade, a new feeling may settle in. It may come on as just a bit of a funk or it may swell into full-blown depression. For me, this stage was much like the aftermath of an amicable breakup.

At the start, it was all too raw and tender. I’d be prone to spontaneous outbursts of tears, complete with shaking my fists at the heavens wailing, “WHYYYYYYYYY!!!?? Why can’t we be together anymore? Why did I have to leave you so soon? We were just getting to know each other! Will I ever see you again?”

Even after the initial pain had dulled and I found myself only thinking of my long lost other home maybe once a day – I couldn’t bear to look at pictures of the place. The images brought back too many emotions, too much of that feeling of loss. I couldn’t stand to hear anyone else speak about my host country or talk about what they knew of my once-beloved. When others told of their trysts with my ex – whether good or bad – I’d invariably think to myself, “But you don’t know it like I do. You can’t possibly. It was mine! All mine!”

Melodramatic? Yes. But true nonetheless. The feeling of grief that I experienced on returning the US, I found out, was common for many returning expats. Expats interviewed by the Wall Street Journaldescribed their own feelings of loss as: “a punch in the gut,” and, “like having somebody dying.” Though I didn’t know that my feelings were common, I did know that they’d have to pass eventually. I remembered an old rule-of-thumb I’d heard ages ago about how long it took to get over an old flame. According to this completely water-tight scientific rule, it takes one week per each month of the relationship to get over post-breakup heartbreak. I tried to use this as a point of solace as the days on the calendar crawled by.

Comparison / Nostalgia

“It’s 11 o’clock here. If it were 11 o’clock there I’d be….”

“What I wouldn’t give for a churro or a cortado or some boquerones right now.”

“The eggs here are nothing like the ones I could get at the stores in Spain.”

 “You know what I never had to worry about there? Mass shootings.”

This stage could be part of the mourning and loss stage or it could be a separate stage all its own. This is when you begin comparing even the smallest details of your daily life with your life in that other place. And invariably, your old life is always much, much better than your new life back home. Or, at least, that’s how you’re remembering it now.

Suddenly, all of the little things that used to absolutely irritate me about living in Spain were forgotten. I could only remember her virtues. While America, my home country, suddenly appeared to be riddled with flaws. In my mind, I was only verbally registering all these little humdrum things that I’d taken for granted while living in Spain, things that now had value since I no longer had them. But I’m sure I sounded like I was constantly kvetching. Either way, friends and family are likely to find you insufferable during this stage. Some may even let you know it.

Isolation / Withdrawal

You think nobody wants to listen, so you cut them off. You don’t go anywhere. You don’t speak to anyone. You’re starting to feel like you can’t talk about anything that happened to you in that other place. You think you’re only sharing tidbits about what’s been your daily life for the past months or years, but you know all other people hear is you bragging – yet again – about how awesome your time abroad was. Your friends all talk about what’s been going on in their worlds for the time you’ve been away. Parties they went to. Dates they’ve been on. Jokes they’ve shared. You don’t think they’re bragging. But you do feel like you keep walking in on the middle of a conversation where you have no idea what anyone’s talking about, yet you’re still expected to follow along. So instead of going out, you’d rather stay at home and Skype or Whatsapp with friends from that other place, or watch movies in your host country’s language. Or, if you’re lucky enough to know another former expat, you’ll only hang with them.

In small doses, a bit of isolation can be good. It gives you time to examine your own thoughts and feelings, take a break from the sensory overload and recharge your batteries. But too much isolation and withdrawal can be detrimental, so it’s important to keep up with regular social activities, even if it’s only with one or two close friends.

Memorializing

You don’t want to forget or discard all those memories you made, the lessons you learned, all the beautiful people and places you saw during your expat life, but you know that you can’t keep living in the past. Sharing stories with friends isn’t going over like you expect it, so you begin to think of different ways to capture and honor your experiences. Creative projects like writing, scrapbooks, and films are good ways to preserve your travel experiences. Speaking engagements at local schools or clubs offer opportunities to share your travel stories to more receptive audiences. Even speaking with a therapist can be a much-needed outlet for your memories and emotions. The most important thing is that you find a suitable medium that lets you express the highs and lows of your expat experience in a way that can be appreciated over and over again, not forgotten.

Integrating

In the final stage, you recognize that you don’t have to completely abandon everything about your old life in order to adjust to your new life. You begin to adapt the things you gained from your expat experiences or things that you miss about your life in your former host country to new contexts and your new locale. For me, cooking has always been a passion. After my return from Spain, I began cooking more and new dishes in my kitchen – not just Spanish tortillas and paellas, but dishes I’d eaten at restaurants and in homes that were German, Ghanaian, Moroccan. After getting used to a daily bike commute in Spain, I began biking more upon my return to Atlanta. I noticed that I was now able to understand every single word of the Spanish conversations that I overheard when I was shopping at the farmer’s market or paying a visit to my favorite Mexican taquería. I was even unafraid to reply back in Spanish (something that used to make me nervous). I felt like I had gained a superpower! One that would allow me to engage with the world and its inhabitants in ways that I couldn’t have done before. All of a sudden, I started to feel less sad that I didn’t have Spain in my life anymore, I was simply grateful to have had it. For weeks, the lack of it was all I could think about, all I could focus on. Now it felt like a playful streak of color in my hair. Something that added just a little pop of interest to my backstory.

And in the end, that’s what each expat experience is. It’s an extra patch on your personal quilt, a new sworl in your uniquely patterned self. You have been irreversibly changed by it. And you will carry it with you always.

clay jug

You find a clay jug that mysteriously refills itself. you do not ponder the source, the reason for this mystery. instead, you return with your empty cup a thousand times to drink your fill.

when, one day you arrive again with your wanting vessel, you are surprised to find the jug almost empty. you do not question what made the magic stop. you take the last drop, angrily cursing the jug for ceasing to quench your neverending thirst.

Another arrives. he sees the magic in the always-full jug. he falls to his knees and thanks the gods for this gift. each day he comes to fill his cup, he says a prayer of thanks and leaves behind an offering to the gods. he teaches his children to do the same. for him, the vessel never empties. his lands flourish for generations to come.

**

When you are connected to the source, there’s an abundance that flows from you. It attracts many. Some will come with hungry hands and bottomless bellies to fill themselves from you. When your reserves are low, they will disappear. A welcome few will be worthy receivers, accepting your abundance with grace and gratitude. With these, your abundance will extend and expand to become almost endless.

At times, you may be tempted to curse yourself for being such an always-full, always-open vessel. Don’t. This is how the one who created you created you to be. Instead, practice discernment. Learn to recognize those who come wanting and be patient as you wait for the grateful and worthy.

7 things to do the day after getting fired

Canned. Sacked. Let go. Forcibly retired. Getting fired, no matter what sweet-sounding name you try to pin on it, is still a pretty bitter experience. Even if you’re expecting it to happen (or you’ve been secretly praying for it to happen), nothing ever quite prepares you for the day you get fired.

Yet, in our continually uncertain economy, getting fired is an experience that more and more people are having to deal with. Naturally, most people react to a firing in an emotional way – with tears, anger, idle threats, feelings of isolation or low self-worth. But the 24 hours after you’ve been fired is not the time to be paralyzed by emotion, it’s the time for some very simple actions that can pay off big in the long run. You can always come back to the 5 stages of grief later.

the 5 Stages of Grief, by Jack Donaghy

Here are 7 suggestions for what to do the day after your last day on the job.

Tell Everyone

Though shame and embarrassment at losing your job might make you want to keep the whole mess a secret, don’t. Think of it this way: if nobody knows you’ve been fired, nobody will know you’re available for new opportunities. A quick email message (or tweet or Facebook post) to your network of friends and associates saying something like, “Guess what guys, I’m looking for employment again,” followed by a very brief, very clear description of what kind of employment you’d prefer, could work wonders. Many of those people that you tell will likely reach out to ask for more details. Resist the temptation to go into a long diatribe about what an evil cad your now ex-boss was, or how you never liked that filth-flarn company anyway. There will be much time for ranting in the days to come. When pressed for more deets, simply say, “I’m not in a space where I can talk about it right now, we’ll have to get together soon so I can tell you all the gory details. But if you can keep an eye out for (fabulous next job I’m looking for), I’d really appreciate it.”

Ask for Recommendations

Even if you were fired for less than stellar performance, there’s probably at least one person you worked with who actually liked you and the work you did. Instead of avoiding them like the plague, reach out and ask for a quick letter of recommendation. Or better yet, send them a LinkedIn request, so they can put their glowing recommendation of you on the interwebs for the whole world to see. Wait. You do have a LinkedIn account, right?

Get LinkedIn

If you don’t already have a profile on LinkedIn, shame on you. I’m sure it’s because you were so busy with work before that you didn’t have time to get it done. Well, now that that’s no longer a problem, it’s the perfect time for you to create or update your LinkedIn profile. Search for and make connections with your now-former coworkers. Consider this the part of the job loss chapter that you get to write yourself. You decide which characters you want to continue in the story, and how you express what your experience was like.

Update your resume

Even if you don’t intend to start looking for a new job right away, it’s best to update your resume while the details of your last position and accomplishments are still fresh in your mind. You may even consider putting up a free or inexpensive website to post your skills, your resume and examples of your work.

File for unemployment

Labor and employment laws differ for every state. And if you were fired for misconduct or negligence, you may not qualify to receive unemployment benefits. But it never hurts to try. Even if you and your former employer disagree about the reason for your termination, you may be able to appeal an initial denial of unemployment benefits.

Schedule some coffee dates

The unexpected change of routine that comes with a job loss can be a bit jarring. You’re probably used to getting up, getting dressed and going somewhere at the same time every day. The day after you get canned, reach out to a few friends and schedule at least 2-3 coffee or lunch dates for the following week. That way, your daily routine won’t be totally obliterated, and you won’t be tempted to hide in your house like it’s a dark cave of emotion. Plus, when you meet with your friend, you’ll get to vent, rant, ask for advice and suggestions, or receive a much needed dose of cheer.

Write your own training plan

Take some time to envision what sort of job or position you want next. Spend an hour or so searching on Careerbuilder, Monster and other job hunting sites for job descriptions that are similar the position you want. This will allow you to see what sort of skills or certifications are preferred for those roles, and which ones you may need to brush up on. Make a list of 2-3 classes you want to take, certifications you want to pursue, or professional skills that you want to improve upon. In the coming days (or weeks or months), your new job will be to find and complete training classes, self-directed projects, or pro-bono gigs that will prepare you for your next job.

Let’s be honest, it is statistically probable that you’re going to get fired at some point in your life. Your reason for being terminated may not even be your fault. And even if it is your fault, it isn’t the end of the world. Life goes on. You learn from the experience, pick yourself up, and move on to the next chapter. You aren’t the only one this has happened to, and you certainly won’t be the last. By taking small, immediate actions you’ll go a long way in dispelling the feelings of powerlessness that may come with a job loss. And by taking those actions you’ll remind yourself that, in the end, you are the only one responsible for your career destiny.

on desire

A word of wisdom: never trust someone who desires you.

They do not think rationally. It is much better to be admired, respected, or even cherished than to be desired.

When someone admires you, they tend to emulate you or at least honor who they perceive you to be.

If someone respects you, they generally won’t do anything to or around you that would decrease the amount of respect they have for you or you for them.

If someone cherishes you, they treat you like a precious thing, something that they consider worthwhile and have placed a high value on.

Yet if someone desires you, they will do anything to have you. At first, that may sound like a promising (or even profitable) situation to be in. But maybe not so much when you look at it for what it really is.

Have you ever heard someone say, “I was out of my mind with desire”? Conversely, have you ever heard someone say that they were out of their mind with admiration or respect?

The reason people say they’re out of their mind with desire is simple: unchecked desire makes you do things that, under normal circumstances, don’t make any sense at all. Things that run counter to every bit of logic or common sense you have in your body. Desire is an emotion that burns hot and fast, in direct opposition to the ‘cooler’ faculties of logic and common sense.

Desire seeks the attainment of a thing (or person or state) not the maintaining of that thing – which we all know is the more strenuous part of any endeavor. It requires more stamina, discipline, and commitment to see a thing through than it does to start a thing off. A few examples:

• You desire a hot new car, but don’t consider the monthly payments and high maintenance costs

•    You desire a high-profile position, not considering the long hours and/or life sacrifices that come along with the new role

•    You desire enlightenment, but did not consider that it might mean letting go of the world to keep it

Am I saying that desire is a bad emotion that should be rooted out of you? No, of course not. I don’t believe that desire is bad.

In being the catalyst that makes us do the thing that we normally we would not, desire serves its purpose. Desire determines the direction we will head in, but gives no thought for what will truly be required for the journey. Its highly combustible nature creates enough energy to get us started, to launch us off on a particular course of action. But the unskilled person foolishly believes that the existence of desire is all that is needed to justify acting on it.

If you desire something or if you yourself are the object of another’s desire, make note of it – keep it in the forefront of your mind, let it drive your mind’s wanderings and daydreams, but hold off on acting on it until someone older and more responsible (a.k.a. your common sense, inner Jiminy Cricket, right-shoulder friend, etc.) shows up for the ride.

“There is no greater transgression than condoning people’s selfish desires….”  

-- Lao Tzu

why travel to europe when you're black?

Why Europe?

It’s a question that many a black person who has travelled extensively or lived in Europe is likely to get from other black people. What you’re really being asked when you’re asked this question is, “Why would you, as a black person want to live in a place that’s so full of white people?”

In America, the ground, the very earth that i walk on is soaked and layered with generation after generation after generation of blood and suffering an oppression of people who look like me, people who i came from. There is a history of fleshly violence whose remnant energy radiates up from where the soles of my feet fall each day all the way up to the very top of my head. This is not something to be dismissed, even though i doubt that many ever consider this. I, and those like me, have been unwittingly surrounded by, inundated with and permeated by this energy since we were conceived. The cells and dna of those who made us carried this energy.

Imagine growing up in a house. A house where your loved ones live. Your mother, your grandmother, your great grandmother. They love you, care for you. But they have suffered, and they are depressed. The pain of whatever caused them to be in this state of depression has never been remedied or resolved, so the air of the house you live in with these people you love is filled with this heavy depression. It is the only thing you've known all your life. So of course, you too, will feel this depression. You will know it as normal, as just how things are.

Imagine then, that you have the opportunity to leave this house where you’ve always lived. To go away for 2 or 3 or 6 months, perhaps. To live among people who may not love you like your family, but are not depressed. For you, this may feel like breathing fresh, clean air for the very first time. For me, this is what Europe was like. At first, the untainted air in my lungs was too much, too odd, too open. But soon, I began to feel a stirring in me that I'd never felt. This fresh new untainted air was changing me. My lungs grew stronger, my skin glowed, I developed new nerves, new muscle. My breasts firmed, my sex hummed. the feeling of my womanness was heady and intoxicating to me. I was filled with such a sense of joy and wonder... it brimmed within me... oozed from my eyelashes, my fingertips, my toenails! I had feelings and sensations that I would never have dreamed were accessible to me... passion, romance and adventure that I could actually reach out my hand and grasp, draw to my lips and drink until I’d had my fill. I became a woman I could not have become if I had stayed in that depressed house. My limbs and leaves stretched and unfurled. In that other place, I would have been a bonsai woman... beautifully disfigured and dwarfed. Here, I flourished unfettered.

Still, I knew instinctively that this was not a forever place. I knew that I would eventually have to return to my loved ones. Was it not then my duty to stuff my pockets as full as I could of this new air, this fresh life, in the hopes of bringing it back home and sharing it with them? In returning to that place with enough light and nerve and muscle to do the work of healing even some of those old pains? Of drawing aside the heavy, dusty curtains in that depressed house and pointing out the window and saying to my loved ones... look! There is more out there than what we know in here. See! I have brought some of it back. Go out and fetch more of it for yourself. We will always have this house to return to, but we aren't trapped here. We aren't doomed to breathe only this air forever. So, when I went to Europe to live the for 6 months... just enough time 2 begin this becoming, Iknew i had not yet had enough. And so I went again. This time for 11 months. And then, a third time, for what I thought might be forever.

how to do the impossible

“It always seems impossible until it’s done." ~ Nelson Mandela

When a group of friends comes to you and says that they’ve found a great deal on a 2-hour private Mediterranean boat cruise and want to know if you’re in, you say yes. You don’t think about the fact that you swim like a rock and are therefore mildly terrified of deep water without a pool’s edge or lifeguard in sight to cling to. You simply say yes. Because it’s summer. It’s southern Spain. And it’s what you do.

So when you subsequently find yourself scared shitless on a sailboat off the coast of Malaga on a blazing hot summer day with half of that group of friends taking turns diving from the boat into the water and playfully splashing about, and the other half shouting for you to jump in and join them, you’ve got a choice to make. Do you:

1. Disregard the mind-numbing fear that’s gripping you, your bowels that keep threatening to loosen on you, and your lack of strong swimming skills, and take the plunge? Or,

2. Act like a sensible person and say, “No thanks, guys, just gonna stay on board and make sure the chips don’t get soggy,” and miss the opportunity to add ‘swam in the Mediterranean’ to your list of ‘have you evers’?

If there’s anything I loathe more than the fear of ending up in a watery grave, it’s the fear of missing out on a chance to make an amazing memory. So, after watching my friends enjoy themselves for a few moments longer, I walked to the edge of the boat and stood there peering down into the water, hoping I’d be able to will myself into doing the impossible.

How to Do the Impossible

Find your motivation (aka, ‘the push’)

What is the one thing that makes you feel like you can’t not do this? The one thing that makes the impossible task looming in front of you seem like something you must attempt, even if you don’t prove to be successful at it? This is the thing that will give you that initial push that you need to get started with an impossible task, and will keep fueling your fire to see it through to the end. In almost every situation, that push will come from one of the following:

Naysayers

Years earlier, I was faced with a similarly impossible moment. I was at the famed Rick’s Café in Jamaica, nervously waiting my turn to jump off of one of the surrounding cliffs into the cool blue waters below (I know, I know. For someone who can’t swim well, I jump into deep water an awful lot). I wasn’t even sure if was actually going to jump. I waved 2 or 3 others ahead of me, while I continued to work up the nerve. Just as I was starting to talk myself out of it, one of the guys who’d seen me around the resort that I was staying at, sauntered up and took a seat on a rock off to the side of the diving ‘platform’. He took one look at my terror-stricken face and started playfully chiding me, telling me that I wasn’t going to jump, that I was too scared, that I should just walk back down and join my friends at the bar. It turns out that someone telling me that I couldn’t, was all the motivation I needed to realize that I could. When my detractor was right in the middle of one of his wisecracks, I ran to the edge of the cliff and jumped. Geronimo, ho.

NECESSITY

You’ve heard the stories of people who’ve rushed into a burning building or displayed superhuman strength to save someone they love in a moment of disaster. What makes those miraculous feats possible is a certain type of necessity. A necessity brought about by the fear of an outcome that is worse than or would cause more suffering than the impossible thing to be done. The avoidance of pain or suffering is a powerful motivator, and can make you completely suspend the notion that you can’t do a thing. After my Rick’s Café cliff jump, I hit the water so hard that my watch – which I’d forgotten to remove – came off and began to float away from me as I sank beneath the surface. The watch was a treasured gift from a dear friend, and I was damned if I was going to let the Caribbean claim it. In that moment, I completely forgot to remember that I couldn’t swim well. My panic at being in a big body of water was replaced by the panic of potentially losing my watch, and before I could think, I’d swum my way up to retrieve it and over to the bottom of the cliff where I extracted my beloved watch and my beloved self from the water.

TRAGEDY

Sometimes a personal life tragedy and the long, slow pressure cooker of time is what you need to accomplish a seemingly impossible feat – like this guy who went from Homer Simpson to hotbody in one year after a breakup with his girlfriend. Tragedy and adversity often gives us a reason to fight and a willingness to win – or at least, persevere – despite impossible odds.

CHEERLEADERS / ROLE MODELS

Things don’t seem nearly as impossible when you’ve got a friend or few by your side cheering you on, believing in you, and pledging to be there for you if and when things get dicey. Sometimes a support group and a gentle nudge is what you need to get started on an impossible task. While I was standing on the edge of that sailboat in the middle of the Mediterranean, still debating if I could jump, I heard my friends cheering me on and smiling from the water. “C’mon, Kisha! You can do it! Jump!” Surely these smiling, strong-swimming people wouldn’t let me drown, I thought to myself. They weren’t even pointing and laughing at how obviously scared I was. Maybe they’re right. Maybe I can do this.

FULLY COMMIT (AKA, ‘SH*T OR GET OFF THE POT’)

So you’ve found your motivation, but you’re still a little bit scared, you may even still be hemming and hawing about going through with this impossible feat. Nothing unusual about that. Fear doesn’t necessarily fade away simply because you’ve found a reason to face it. But if you’re still hesitating and reconsidering once you’ve started down the path toward the impossible, there’s a huge chance that you’re going to hurt yourself in the process. While motivation gives you the power to start an impossible thing, commitment is the thing within that says there is no stopping, no turning back, no giving in once you’ve started. Or, if you’ve decided to ‘get off the pot’, commitment prevents you from regretting that decision and continuing to beat yourself up about it.

VISUALIZE THE DESIRED OUTCOME

What’s the worst that could happen? Instead of letting that be just a rhetorical question, allow yourself to imagine the worst possible outcome – failure, embarrassment, physical pain, financial loss. Sit with that image for a while, try to feel the emotions attached to that outcome. Now, imagine the most desirable result. How would that feel? What would that look like? Spend more time filling out that image in your mind. See yourself swimming and playing with your friends in the water. See yourself not drowning, making it back to the boat and enjoying soggy chips with your friends as you sail off into the sunset, still laughing. Imagine yourself 1, 5, 10 years from now telling your kids the story of that one time when you swam in the Mediterranean despite the fact that you were scared to death. Then tell yourself that all the positive things you’ve just imagined can be real. All you have to do is….

ONCE IT’S DONE, DO IT AGAIN

You already know how my story ended, right? Of course you do. I eventually jumped off of the sailboat into the water on that sunny summer day in southern Spain. It was much, much colder and a lot less scary than I thought it would be. I splashed about in the sea, dodged several jellyfish undulating by, floated on my back (yay, saltwater!) and admired the cloudless sky above, and, when our little swimming pit stop was over, I climbed back onto the boat, proud of myself for having conquered my fear. We pulled up anchor, sailed off and headed back towards the shore. But just a few minutes later, my friends pleaded with the captain to stop the boat once more so we could take one final dip before heading back in. Once again, my intrepid friends dove fearlessly into the water. And, once again, I was struck with fear at the prospect of following them. Even though I had already jumped, here I was, moments later, just as scared as I was the first time. Even I was surprised at my lingering fear. Why was I still afraid? Hadn’t I already slayed this dragon? Doing the impossible once doesn’t necessarily make it any easier or less frightening to do the next time. My fear was still present and it was clouding my brain with irrational, but very convincing thoughts. What if I just got lucky the first time? What if it was just a fluke? What if I was about to let a false sense of confidence get me into trouble? Fear is not a rational thing. Which is why the only way to conquer it is to do what it says you can’t, and do it again and again and again. The fear may never fully disappear, but you will eventually learn to tune it out when it starts whispering its senseless nothings to you.

That day, I ignored my fear, and jumped. Twice. And once my friends and I were safely back on the shore and enjoying a few celebratory beers at the nearby beach, I confessed to one of them how scared I’d been because of my weak swimming ability.

“Whoa, that’s pretty awesome! I didn’t even know you couldn’t swim that well!” exclaimed my friend, before giving me an enthusiastic high-five. And at that moment, I realized a simple truth. Even if your attempt at the impossible is awkward, fumbled, ugly, causes you to shit your pants, lose money, lose friends, or get laughed at, going ahead and doing it anyway is infinitely better than the feeling of ‘what if’ or what might have been.

In short, doing the impossible – not necessarily being flawless at doing it – is the reward.

How have you overcome impossible feats in the past? Are there any big, impossible things you're afraid of that you need to go ahead and do anyway?

we're all broken

Fact is... we're all #broken, hurt, damaged by something that life or loved ones (most often those who were expected to protect us) have dealt out. But after a certain age, it becomes our personal #responsibility to not only admit the hurt, to shine a light on and turn a mirror to the cracked and chipped places, but to #heal it for ourselves. There are many paths to this #healing, and almost all of those paths will initially seem to be as painful as the #hurt itself. This is what causes many of us to avoid those paths, to stop short, to turn back and seek temporary medicines instead. Things that #mask the symptom of pain yet ultimately make us dependent. #Cruelty is 1 of those temporary medicines. When an #unhealed person is #cruel to another, it's a solace. At least now, they think, I am not alone in my hurt. I can see my pain reflected in someone else, which means I am here. I still matter. The dependence on cruelty as a form of #succor is the damaged ego's way of validating its existence. Of ensuring that the deep-rooted pain that defines it, will never go away.

friend request

I sensed there was something a bit strange about the fellow when he sat at the communal table where I was seated. Something about his constant fidgeting and frequent sighing caused my spidey-senses to tingle. But I still wasn’t quite prepared for the interaction that was about to unfold.

“Hola,” he half-whispered.

I whispered a greeting in reply, “Hola,” then attempted to turn my attention back to my laptop. He didn’t take the hint.

 “Eres Dominicana?”

‘Ah, well,’ I thought. The library was getting ready to close for the evening, so I guess I should start wrapping up my work anyway. There’s no harm in engaging this dude in a little small talk.

“No. Americana.”

“Pero, AmericanaAmericana?”

Uh, yeah, homey. From the grand ol’ US of A, born and raised.

By now, I was just trying to think of a way to politely end the conversation with this guy so I could go on about my business. My spidey-senses were tingling even stronger now. Something about the way he was looking at me – like a sickly wolf in need of a quick meal – made me want to exit this scene immediately.

“Eres muy guapaaa…” creepy library dude continued.

I issued a curt, “Gracias.”

“Can I have your phone number?”

Wait. What? That just came out of nowhere.

“Noooo,” I resisted. “I have a boyfriend.”

“Here in Spain?”

“Yes,” I lied. “He lives in Madrid.”

“Ohhhh…” creepy guy replied, despondently.

Ok. I thought. That should shut this dude down. I was sadly mistaken.

“Tienes Facebook?” At this, creepy dude stood up and walked around to my side of the table where, by chance, I had my Facebook account pulled up on my screen.

“Uhhh, si.” I muttered awkwardly. Momentarily taken aback by the sudden proximity of this guy.

“Send me a friend request,” he urged, and began spelling his name for me to look him up on the social media site.Thinking I could just send the request and cancel it later, and that this would be the quickest way to get rid of this guy, I typed in his name and clicked the ‘Add Friend’ button.

Instead of just returning to his seat, creepy library guy decided to up the creep factor to 10.

“Can I have a kiss?”

Ok. That’s it dude. I’m done being nice.

I scowled back at him, “No!”

“Why not? Your boyfriend won’t see!”

Is this dude serious? We are in the middle of the public library and he’s doing this sh*t!? I felt my face begin to grow hot with anger. God, I wish I knew how to effortlessly cuss someone out in Spanish. In the midst of my mounting rage, I make a silent side-note to brush up on my Spanish swear words and phrases.

Instead of cussing, I give him a look that needs no translation. My left eyebrow sharply raised, my right eye squinting at him like he might actually be insane, my nose wrinkled up like I can literally smell the BS he’s dishing out, and the corners of my mouth pulling downward into a mama-don’t-take-no-mess frown. In any language, this face means, “Look MF, if you don’t back away from me quick fast and in a hurry, I’m gonna smack the taste out of your mouth.”

Message delivered.

Creepy library dude backs away and returns to the other side of the table with a sheepish grin on his face. “Lo siento, Lo siento,” he whispers and begins gathering his things to make his exit. After all his stuff is in hand, he turns to leave, but not before whispering, “Hasta luego.”

I issue a grunt and another scowl in reply.

That uncomfortable moment over, I realize that the library is going to be closing in only a few more minutes. Not wanting to chance running into this creepy guy outside of the library, I wait until the last possible moment to pack up my things and leave. But before I do, I return to Facebook and click the link.

Cancel Request.

news of charleston from back home

Of all the people in all the world that I could have run into in a bar in Malaga last weekend, who do I end up meeting? A friendly white American guy... from Charleston, SC.

'Surely this is divine intervention,' I think to myself. Perhaps, and hopefully, a chance to have a small bit of reconciliation. Obligatory small talk dispensed with, I ask the obvious. 'So, what do you think about what happened there?'

He tells me that Charleston isn't like that. The people of Charleston aren't like that. This killer was trying to start a civil war. He (the killer) chose Charleston because Charleston was where the American Civil War began - they were the first to secede. He tells me that that act of secession, and the Civil War itself was a very American act, rooted in the principles of rebellion on which the country was founded (i.e., the colonies rebelling against Britain). When the people have a problem with the way things are, he says, they SHOULD rebel against the government so that things change. He tells me that the real problem is self-victimization by black people. He is amiable and calm as he whitesplains and mansplains all of this to me over several rounds at the bar. He never asks for my thoughts, and I volunteer them sparingly, because the more I listen, the more I realize that this is not a moment where I will have influence. This is a moment to increase my own understanding.

Here is a man who by the narrow definitions or neat little markers we like to use, isn't racist, not even to himself. As I sit wondering how he might explain how nine slaughtered people in a church self-victimized themselves to death, I realize that white people like him – racist or not – are willfully ignorant. They prefer to cling to fictitious histories instead of critically examine present realities because it soothes their consciences. These white people are used to being ‘the one who knows the most’. Even when it comes to blackness, these white people know what it is and how it should be done even better than black people. There’s no arguing with them. Generations of being the default right-answer person, the assumed standard that all others should naturally adopt, have left them unable to even consider that their perspective isn’t the correct one. So blinded he is by his own version of the truth, that he doesn’t even realizing he’s making a very strong case for black Americans who were forcefully colonized and have continually had their way of life threatened by the government for hundreds of years to end any possible self-victimization and actually prove their American-ness… by rebelling.

I’m glad I’m a good listener.