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When two of my grandmothers passed away, I felt sick. Not an ordinary sickness that passes in a day or two. This sickness lasted for months. I loved these two ladies for different reasons. They loved me the same as they loved their other grandchildren. But my time spent with them felt different. I think they understood me better than anyone else.

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Each had their own way of loving. My grandma Eva was the sweetest lady. I hardly ever heard her say a bad word about anyone. Technically she was my step-grandmother, but I claimed her as my own. When my stepfather went to visit, I would sit in the kitchen and talk/listen to her as she cooked something or filled my stepfather in on the latest family news. She had a way of making the bad things people did, not sound so bad. “Your cousin T. J. got arrested again. But this time it wasn’t because of drugs.”

The last time I heard from her was a letter she sent around Christmas, I think, after I went to live with my father. She told me she loved me, prayed for me and said everything would be all right. Trust God. When I found out she died, I sat in silence for a long time. I looked at the letter she sent me and the Mother’s day card I never sent. It hurt that I could never tell her how much I appreciated her kindness.

My grandma Rose was sweet with tough love sometimes. As I grew older and we talked during my visits, she would ask me about going to church and how I was getting along. I tried to be respectfully honest with my answers. I think she always knew I was different from most of her grandchildren. I remember when I was about seven or eight, I went to the store for her. As a reward for going, she gave me one or two dollars of her food stamps. I told her that’s okay. She said, “It spends like money. There’s no shame in spending food stamps.” I told her she didn’t have to pay me for going to the store for her. She was my grandma. I think it kind of hurt her feelings that I didn’t accept it. But I enjoyed doing stuff for her. She never had to give me anything. I hope she understood. When I learned she had lung cancer, I would try to visit more often. But I didn’t like seeing her sick. Although she was short, she was still a strong lady and didn’t stand for any nonsense.

I was in the process of finishing my first book of short stories and promised I would let her read it. The day I got a call from the printer saying the books were ready, I went home so excited. When I got to my apartment, my cousin left a message on my answering machine my grandmother had died earlier that day. I looked at the box of books. I felt like I was punched in the stomach and the fist was still buried in my gut. The sickness had settled in.

For some reason, I felt like it was my fault my grandma Eva and grandma Rose had died. I thought God took them because I was not going to church or living a righteous life. For most of my life, I have felt responsible whenever anything bad happened to people close to me. I would think so many things. Why? Did I do something wrong? If I had prayed more. If I had visited more often. If I had gone to church more often. If I had taken the time to tell them how much I loved them. Would things have turned out different? I eventually accepted the fact it was just their time.

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I would still feel like it was my fault whenever someone I cared about was going through a tough time. Mainly because I want to help people when I can. When a friend talks to me about an issue, I offer a way to resolve it. Or at least talk them through it. Sometimes they listen to me. Most of the time they don’t. But it’s okay because they are still my friend. When things don’t get better, I think about what I could have done differently. I feel I should have tried harder.

Over the last couple of years, some experiences and people have caused me to change my mind about feeling guilty for not doing more. Everyone has their own life to live and mistakes to make. As much as we may want to save them from running into a brick wall at 120 mph, the sad truth is, it’s something they have to do. You pray the pain they feel is not too severe because you don’t want them to suffer. Unfortunately, that is the only way we finally learn a lesson and make the appropriate changes.

People can give us advice to persuade us away from the brick wall. But when we are determined to hit it because we think we can go through it, the resulting damage is on us. Not the person trying to save us. They may suffer “the sickness” of wishing they could have done more. But they shouldn’t.

I’m no different than anyone else. I have lessons I need to learn. I believe they will help me become a better person. I have learned – although it’s tough sometimes – to say a quick prayer that everything works out for the best and then let it go. Each morning I leave the house, I say a prayer for my family and friends. It helps me sleep a little better and reduces my chances of getting an ulcer.

I’m not a poetry expert. But I appreciate the influence poetry and spoken word events can have on the human soul. As we adjust to a changing economic and social environment of greater separation between the have and the have-nots, the true middle class/working class is stretched in between. I see an increasing need for poets and creative artist from all disciplines to express what they see and hear with as many people as possible.

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Every generation speaks of a revolution. Every generation speaks of making a change for the better. But the communication during spoken word events and at open mic venues can serve as a bridge to connect the gap between the “Establishment” and the “Revolutionary.”

Listening to a musician sing about a homeless family, viewing a photograph of an elderly woman sitting alone in her tiny apartment, and hearing a writer tell the story of an abused child, touches the human soul and connects our spirit. If we have not experienced these events personally, we may know someone who has.

Heartache and pain does not look at a price tag, bank account, home you live in, or car you drive. It does not pay attention to the color of your skin, your height, weight or length of your hair. It’s only purpose is to keep you humble and make you appreciative of the things that really matter.

The beauty of poetry is in the picture it paints. It combines the best words to allow your mind to see what your eyes do not. It causes your heart to hear what your ears may not fully understand. Music supplies the rhythm to hold you. The words provide the inspiration to move you.

In the end, your age, sex, race, wealth, religion, sexual orientation, political party, job title, degree or status will not matter. We all have to live here. We can try to build bridges and shorten the gaps by listening and viewing the artistic works around us. Or we can continue to fight each other for the sake of a revolution.

I’m not a poet expert. But I appreciate what it can do.

It’s kind of funny looking through things I have written in my journal of thoughts over the years. Not sure what sparked this particular entry. Love is a fickle state of mind at almost any age.

When I was a teenager, someone ask me why I continue to love someone who doesn’t show the same love towards me. I could have asked the person the same question with a slight variation. I didn’t have an answer at the time. Not one that would have satisfied the questioner.

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As I look back, the reason is, love should be unconditional. It may lose some intensity. It may become comfortable and settled. If it is real love, it doesn’t go away because the person no longer expresses it the same way. We can only control our emotions.

If we stop loving people as soon as they say or show they don’t love us, did we really love them to begin with? Is love that easy an emotion to let go? Or do we dress our heart in protective gear to avoid more damage?

I consider myself a caring person. There are a number of people I love for various reasons unique to them. We have our disagreements. We have periods of time when we don’t see or talk to each other. When I said I love them, I genuinely do. And it hasn’t changed.

Sometimes you have to love from a distance to maintain your well begin. It doesn’t mean you no longer feel love. It means you don’t let your love do something to hurt you. It means you don’t let yourself remain too close if love will only bring you pain.

After all these years, I still don’t have an answer I could give the person. To some, I will be a fool. To others, I will be a romantic. To me…well…I’m a person with love for his family and friends.

I had a conversation with two friends this morning that reminded me of this entry I wrote nearly four years ago to this date. It’s funny how thoughts can resurface around the same time every year.

From 11/11/2014

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I genuinely like to help people when I can. It does make me feel good about myself. Not because I want to boost my ego. But because we all need some help at some time or another.

During my early years, my mom always took me to church. She also gave me two children’s bible books to study. I liked the books and the stories and the pictures, but man I hated those test she gave me. It was her way of laying the foundation for my later years.

I’m no different than anyone else. I have done my fair share of worldly living and made my mistakes along the way. I have been fortunate enough that the foundation she planted prevented me from taking a path many others could not return. It has help me view life with a sense of hope and optimism. Over the last few years, my observations of life have challenged those previous views.

I do believe we should help people when we can. But there comes a time when we all have to live the experiences in order to find and become the person we were meant to be. No matter what people tell us lies ahead, we still have to take our journey.

Nothing about life is safe or guaranteed, unless we live in a special bubble. In order to grow and move closer to fulfilling our purpose, we have to go through different challenges at different stages in life. We can become stronger and move on. Or, we can become weaker and remain where we are. Hopefully we become stronger, better and fulfill our reason for being here.

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It took a long time for me to learn this and accept it. That doesn’t mean I’ve become a selfish jerk. Well, depends on who you talk with I guess. It means I’ve learned the best thing I can do is, focus on doing what my spirit is guiding me to do with my life, and let others live their journey.

Many times, we do find our way through the forest and onto the main road. It may take us a long time if we don’t accept the opportunities presented to us. But as long as we awake each morning, opportunities will present themselves in one way or another.

So Mom, thanks for the books, the test, the quizzes, the discipline (ouch!). I’m not perfect, but I think I’m okay.

Until next time, take care.

I wrote this a few years ago. Not sure what was going on in my mind. I don’t think I ever shared it with anyone. 

There are some days when I have, “It’s a Wonderful Life” syndrome. The feeling of wishing I was never born and wondering what the world would be like without me. I know I’m not alone with this feeling. I’m sure many of you have thought the same thing. Life can do that to you and often it serves as a reset button, wake up call, or a moment to stop, take a deep breath and push forward again.

When these moments occur, I look upon them as test. A test of will power. Will I go on with determination? Will I stop and give in to defeat? Nine times out of ten, I stubbornly go on, determined to achieve whatever it is I set out to try. I use the word try because until we actually take the time to try something, we can’t say we succeeded at anything. So the first step is to try.

The other aspect of this syndrome is the moment of reflecting on people I’ve met and the role they have played in shaping my thoughts about life and people. As much as I try to avoid dwelling on the negative energy some interactions can bring, I do acknowledge, accept, learn and try (There’s that word again) to move on from them. Some are more difficult than others, but I eventually get pass them.

Most importantly, I reflect on the positive energy I come in contact with. The people I have crossed paths with adding something to my life to make my pursuit of a goal a worthwhile endeavor. When I receive a thank you from them, I can tell it’s sincere. When I hear a word of encouragement, I can sense it’s coming from the heart.

We will never truly know what we mean to someone unless we are able to see what life is like without us. Yes, people can tell us, or try to show us, that we are important to them, that our presence does matter. But the truth is…we cannot really get it until it’s no longer there.

So we have to learn to appreciate the little things. Little things we take for granted. We have to become more aware of our actions. Are we focused more on what we want? Or do we try (There’s that word again) to balance our desires with those people important to us? I accept that it will never be a harmonious 50/50 split when it comes to the last statement, but making an effort often to not lead a completely self-centered life can make a difference.

Now that I have shared all of that with you, I can untie this large rock from my waist. Take care until next time.

Some articles and conversations I experienced recently, sparked thoughts in the space between my ears. Should we focus on looking for a job or creating business opportunities?

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Looking at the economy and the way corporations operate, few people work 20-25 years at one place then retire. More people are changing or looking for a new job frequently. The Secret Santa you have at work this year, is likely working somewhere else in the next two years.

The reason for changing jobs are varied, with technology often playing a role in many cases. The same technological advances can make starting a business or changing careers easy for people willing to take a chance. The unfortunate truth is most people lack the patience to take the risk. They want to make $100,000 a year out the gate. That is highly unlikely. But the reward of turning a thought in your head into a tangible item outside of it, is immeasurable.

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Think back to the first time you were given a few dollars for helping wash the car, for carrying a lady’s bags to her car, or walking a neighbor’s dog. You thought you were rich. Combine that with the first thing you made in school. I’m sure you were smiling proudly for days. Now picture yourself as an adult with people seeking you because you are great at whatever your mind says you can do. Just picture it.

I don’t know how much time I have to do this. I only know I have a lot within me to release. It will be expressed here in different forms: audio, video and print. Some days it will make sense. Other days, it will be too strange to explain. Hopefully, you will visit often enough to understand some of what I share with you. As long as you walk away feeling informed and entertained, I will feel a sense of accomplishment. Take care and see you again soon.