The Non-Conformist

The other day I was having a conversation about our children - no surprise there - with a close acquaintance, and the topic was focused specifically on our sons. Over the last two years, we've gotten to know each other well and shared quite a bit with each other especially since we work together in the same space. Our children congregate in our classroom straight off of their respective buses daily. If we're teaching, it could become rather chaotic quickly, but we've managed to keep it to a low hum with the help of snacks and alternative entertainment as we finish up for the day. If we're not teaching, which is only on our planning days, then it's usually a lot less noisy and we can be more attentive and in tune with our children. Beyond the most noticable and obvious similarities, such as our Florida connection, being members of sororities, marriage + 2 kids, and being fabulously young, black, and educated, we each have a child with special needs. While

I am a runner. A rusher. A ruiner. When it comes to making difficult, possibly life-changing decisions, I run. No, not down the road in the early evening for cardio, fitness, and mental clarity. I run away from having to make those decisions, or at least I try. I'm most successful with decisions regarding matters of the heart...sometimes, but especially when it's something new. As you may know, the past two years have presented a catalogue of new and different and difficult and uncomfortable, yet refreshing and hopeful and beautiful. "Yet" takes some time to get to, and I believe that is partly the reason for why I run.   The other part is that making a decision that could prove to be detrimental, or just wrong, puts me on edge and makes me feel uneasy. Nothing about it is easy. Or simple. Or fair. Mistakes I can handle, but to mishandle and make a mess of things(and quite literally a fool of myself) , well now that's just something I hate. So, why no

On a recent visit back "home" to handle business, I stopped by my former employer AKA the last school that I worked at. Everyone that saw me, and I have to say it's been well over a year, commented or complimented me on how I am looking these days. Days . I have lost a considerable amount of weight, my hair has grown longer, I have a bounce in my step, and I guess I look happy and I look good. Good . I count it all joy; and yes, I do feel good and am happy because I just am. Am . I give all credit and all praise to God for that; where I am in life is all because of him and ultimately [read: finally], listening to him and being obedient. One of my co-workers said "I guess this is how it looks when you stress free", and I have to agree, because this is how it is and how it looks to be stress free especially for me. In the words of a young rapper by the name of GloRilla, "I'm F-R-E-E f#ck n---a free", and it's wonderful. It's like reaching a l

*Note: I started this particular blog post 104 days ago, and I've debated whether or not I should finish and post or let it go. Since you're reading this, you know my choice.* Today marks the last day of the last month of 2022, and for many, the new year is welcomed with the infinite promises of new beginnings and good things. For others, it's a begrudging reminder of who won't be with us in this new year. With time, we learn to adapt and blindly move on from the experiences of the last 365 days; for some, it's twice or thrice as many. Even then, nothing or no one can dictate or control where, or when, or what, or how the grip of grief will squeeze just so; it does and though choices are few on what to do, making the best choice is important. Even with short notice. Grief comes in waves. Small like breaking waves slapping against each other as they approach the shore. High like the crescendo of tidal waves - curling and then crashing with roars that even