No more pencils, No more Books!

Well, sorta! This past Tuesday I handed in my last papers for my last formal class in my PhD program. WHEW!!!!

I will be taking independent studies and working on various aspects of my dissertation for the remainder of my time here, but MAN, it feels so GOOD to at least have that part behind me.

There's been a lot going on that I haven't had time to talk about. Last month, I went to my first Annual Program Meeting with the Council on Social Work Education as part of the Minority Fellowship Program. It was an amazing opportunity to meet other fellows and alumni from around the country and really understand the caliber of honor that it is to have been chosen to be among this great group. While I networked and made new friends, I was forced to challenge myself to break through my shyness and social discomforts. I got a chance to learn about people doing extraordinary work in my interest area and to see how to carve my space in this profession in a way that honors who I am. It was amazing!

I also helped to organize and kick-off our first conference as part of the Men of Faith Preventing Violence against Women grant that I'm on. It was really cool to be a part of watching a grant's goals begin to come to fruition. It's also a LOT of hard work, but definitely another blessing that I'm grateful for.

I also got to go home for Thanksgiving!!! Although there were some difficult time's (Law's dad has been in the hospital), there was a lot of family fun and tons to be thankful for. My Mama had all of her children at home and we did our traditionally late cooking and eating (yeah, dinner STARTED at 9:30PM!). I got to hang out with my absolute BEST friend from elementary school and got to see my college girls and the babies!

And look at that: it's just about time to go home again for ChrismaHanaKwanzaaka! I'm definitely excited!

Today, I will hand in my first official draft of my dissertation proposal to my advisor for feedback. It's only a draft, but it sure feels good to REALLY be in the final stretch of this thing. I've come A LOOOOOOOOONG way. Looking back, I'm definitely proud of myself.

Happy and grateful to be still standing!

2 Terms! Hallelujah! Amen.

Four years ago I sat on the middle section of my brown, leather couch tucked away in a corner of my first Brooklyn apartment. The lights were dim. The only sound came from the television as I sat and watched the polls being tallied for the Presidential election.

That night, once the results were in, it felt eerie to be in the house alone. I wanted to be among a crowd of celebrants, jumping up and down in an expression of excited emotion for what I was watching on the screen.

President Barack Hussein Obama reminded me of my daddy. There was an heir of cool about him that warmed my heart, especially as he looked at his family lovingly and emanated humanity and compassion in the soothing tones of his delivery. I welled with tears of joy.

Last night, on the couch of my first apartment in Maryland I watched in anticipation. I was very clear of the bedtime story that I wanted to lull me to sleep. I flipped back and forth watching different news broadcasts and my facebook news feed go live with projections and worry, and with stories of chaos at the polls. I reserved anxiety and waited calmly.

The final speeches came well after midnight; there was talk of controversy and reluctance to concede until about 12:45am. When I was finally able to call my mom I heard such joy in her voice as she boasted that ALL of her children had voted (even me with my absentee ballot madness) and that she was so proud of what she saw today as she went to cast her vote. She described crowds of young people ecstatic to vote for the first time and elders, some above 90 in years, making their way through the lines as well. Her energy had me fired up and made me feel proud.

Last time, I watched the inaugural address in an auditorium at the high school where I worked at the time. This year, I'm within an hour of the capital. I'm planning my winter outfit because I will be there among the millions.

Let the healing of the nation get to places we've never been before!

Adventures in Absentee Voting!

A few months back, I had the absentee ballot application in my hand. I was being proactive, not doing my typical wait-to-the-last-minute procrastination...And then I convinced myself that I didn't need to send it because I planned to go home.

That plan had me in New York some time toward the end of last week...and then there was Hurricane Sandy. Needless to say, it's election eve and I'm still in the DMV.

Around Thursday evening, when the full restoration of the City looked bleak, I started to panic. I needed a plan B.

I began to make calls, and after several busy signals and being sent to voicemail at least 20 times, I finally reached someone at the Queens Board of Elections who was able to give me direct numbers for the offices in Brooklyn where I'm a registered voter. In the final hours of the workday on Friday, I discovered that I could still submit my absentee application for the extended deadline. I ran to the post office and mailed a hard copy, and just before 5pm, I got through to fax a copy of the same form. A classmate and I were in the same boat, so we both held our breath and waited for the mail that would house the envelope that would have all the forms for us to cast our vote.

At about 1:30pm today, while in a meeting on campus, I got a notice in my email account that there was a package waiting for me at the front desk. My first thought was that it was something I'd recently ordered from Amazon. I had errands to run, so I wouldn't make it home until after 5pm, when I would learn that the package was indeed USPS express mail from the Board of Elections. I freeze in panic; I knew I'd missed the opportunity to get it filled out and in the mail at the local post office which closed at 5.

As a New Yorker, I immediately start trying to find the 24hr post office facility. I searched online, asked at the front desk, and inquired of everyone at the Office Max that I entered down the block from my home in search of somewhere to get the precious package on its way to New York.

Almost defeated, I returned to my apartment. Still scheming and strategizing; at this point, it's 7:00pm. I started searching online for the customer service number to FedEx, and reached someone who quoted astronomical fees for same day delivery and told me it was unlikely that my package would reach its destination because of the chaos that is still New York, post-hurricane. I didn't lose faith, although I got a little worried as I read the rules for returning absentee ballots on the state website. The words: MUST BE POST-MARKED THE DAY BEFORE THE ELECTION sent me into overdrive. I called the local FedEx stores.

The first one confirmed that she could get my package to its destination, but I wouldn't reach her store before its 8pm closing. I didn't lose hope, and was encouraged by the fact that she shared with me the details for a store that gave me 45 minutes more to make it there. I double checked for my ballot, pocketed some cash, grabbed my keys and headed to the red line in the direction of Farragut North.

On the platform I grew excited; the arrivals board said that a train would be approaching the station within 3 minutes. The DMV uses flashing lights on the train platform to let you know that your train is approaching. The lights start flashing and I'm ready to get on board...except that train, and the one immediately following, would be picking up NO PASSENGERS. Really.

I had enough travel time ahead of me, so I waited patiently. Before long, I arrived at the stop and made it to the streets in no time. Except one little thing: I had no clue where I was going. It was dark. I just started walking. About a block down I see in big, blue and white letters the FedEx insignia and a little red neon sign glowing through the window indicating its status as open, just like the woman on the phone said it would be. Whew. I was almost there.

When I walked inside, however, there was a short man sitting behind the "Pack & Ship" desk. He sounded nothing like the heavy DC accented woman who'd assisted me, but hey, as long as he could help me, I didn't care.

I told him what I needed, and his facial expression indicated a problem; the last shipment had left for this store, already...before I could panic though, he was walking from behind the counter to escort me to the door where he would show me how to get to the store a few blocks over where I could get what I needed.

Time is creeping away. But, I'm running, determined. I turn the corner at the bank just like he told me. In my mind I would immediately encounter another brightly lit store with neon sign, signaling my arrival. I saw nothing. But kept walking. Finally, past a parking garage and a few other dimly lit office buildings, I see it.

I'm walking upon the door, ready to handle this business, and there's a woman, dressed in uniform approaching the door from the other side. In her hand she has a rectangular blue sign with writing that she's placing on the door and preparing to walk away. I can't make out the words, but I just know this sign says "Closed". I looked at her with THE most pitiful face ever. Package in hand, I let out a sigh of "please, No" that I'm certain she couldn't hear at all. I adjust my puppy-dog eyes as she opens the door and welcomes me. She wasn't closing, but was alerting customers she'd be back in 10 minutes. She prolonged her short respite to accommodate me.

Within 5 minutes, the envelopes were sealed, money exchanged, and my vote was on its way. WHEW!!!

While I have my own thoughts about politics, I am very clear about what my ancestors endured. I was not willing to let their blood, their lives, and their dreams be in vain. This one was for them. OUR voice, our vote, is on the way.

This was NOT just a test of the Emergency Broadcast System.

Last week this time, I got up at the crack of dawn to begin preparations. After laundry and two runs to the grocery store for supplies, I prepared dinner and my emergency kit, and then I waited. As dusk approached, the rains and powerful winds made themselves known. In my apartment, alone, I cozied up on the couch under my blankets and prayed that it didn't get worse.

For over 24 hours, Sandy wreaked havoc. I was nervous. I kept calling home and finding things to watch on television that would help keep me distracted, silently praying that the power wouldn't go out forcing me to bare this in the dark AND alone.

Days later, the Northeast is STILL "recovering". New York, New Jersey, and Staten Island are among the places hardest hit, where people's homes sit submerged in murky waters. Some have died. Others are struggling to find ways to restore normalcy, while some are being overcome by the impact of the devastation.

Train stations were under water and there were gas stations with no gas, causing 3-4 hour long waiting lines for free buses and crowds of people to gather at any stations where there were signs of fuel.

There is madness: robberies, people acting crazy for fuel. But there is also lots of love; facebook is overflowing with status updates sharing info about where the help is and how to pitch in to help those who need it the most.

In some ways I wish I were there. I wish that I could have been on my way to the emergency shelters to support families. I wish I could have been there for my family, especially my mom, who, at 61 years old, has been trekking to work through the chaos to be there for others.

In my heart I know that physically being there isn't the only way. I have prayed, I have checked in with people back home, and I've prayed some more. I guess what some of this reinforces is that my work around healing for my dissertation is very timely and very necessary. I will continue to pray, and keep pushing on.

God's choicest blessings and comfort to everyone in the Northeast, the Caribbean, and beyond who have endured the Katrina's, Sandy's, the MAAFAs, and the everyday catastrophes and storms.

Ru-Glo Run...From Sandy!

Last night I participated in my first 5k. But this wasn't just any run/walk. My classmates and I got decked out in glow-sticks and all things neon to join hundreds if not thousands of others in a fun, late night run around the National Harbor.

Usually, I'm pretty much a prude. I don't like to dress up in costume or be really silly, but last night, I let me hair down a little. These girls had me in a blue and gold tutu and marching around run-dance-walking with a crowd of equally festive men, women and children from around the DMV.

The Glo-run is essentially a big party, where hopefully the dj and everyone's neon and glow-in-the-dark attire will distract your not-in-such-good-shape-body from the 3.2 miles that you signed up for. I must say, I surprised myself a little; I guess my recent neighborhood walks were helpful in making it so that I didn't get left behind in the crowd and I managed to endure jogging for some lengths of time (of course interrupted by walk breaks to catch my breath).

It was really cool to experience something entirely new and be among so many people and families who really just came to have a good time. After making it through the Glo-Run arches, signaling our completion, everyone convened at the stage where the dj blasted all the catchy tunes. People wobbled, dougied, jerked (which one girl kindly took her time to teach us) and just had a grand old time. I'm really glad I went and extremely glad I took an epsom salt bath after the festivities!!

This morning, instead of resting my bones, I got up early and met another group of men, women, and families...at the Giant supermarket. No one danced, jogged, or greeted each other; we were on a mission of an entirely different kind. You could call it: Operation Prep for Sandy!

I'm not interested in panic, but for the past few days there have been severe weather warnings for a hurricane. New York has been shut down as of 7pm and the DMV area is taking similar precautions. I remember the last time the power went out here and the winds turned the streets into debris madness. Let's just say, I'm sufficiently stocked for a few days and definitely prayed up.

Finally, a Concept Paper!

Today, I got really excited. After a few months of reading and thinking through ideas for my dissertation, I finally submitted and received feedback on my concept paper. Essentially, what this means is I FINALLY HAVE THE MAKINGS OF A TOPIC AND SOME DIRECTION for my proposal.

This is HUGE. Might not seem like much to most, but to actually have a topic means that you can really focus your time and energy on one specific thing instead of rummaging through every possible article on your target population to come up with something to add to the discourse. Now, don't get it twisted, this definitely starts a whole new process of rummaging and sifting and filtering and writing, but it is a maaaaaaajor step forward in the process.

To prepare myself for what's ahead, I've actually started reading a dissertation writing manual and, based on the first chapter, I will need to get serious about structuring my time to write something EVERY DAY. Discipline has definitely been an area I've struggled with (hence my failed attempts at a workout regimen). But, I'm really on a mission.

Over the next few weeks, hopefully, prayerfully, you'll see some much needed changes. I could stand to go to bed earlier and get up in time to get some form of exercise in. I've been doing okay with juicing, but still need to work on getting my eating on point...long story short, there's a lot of whipping into shape that needs to happen so I can keep it moving.

My next academic milestone is to get a complete Introduction chapter to my advisor in the next two weeks.

The semester is really creeping away on me; just realized that November is in a matter of days. Now is definitely the time to show what I'm made of.

Here it goes....!

P.S.
The yard sale is a go! Should be hearing about an official date soon!! Will keep ya posted.

Idea + Action = Reality

This past weekend, I watched about three hours of HGTV (Home & Garden Television). They showed a series of programs on yard sales and interior design that made me think about shopping around Virginia with my Aunt Kim and about wanting badly to own a home, or at least spruce up my apartment.

I reminisced about all of my thrift store and yard sale finds over the years: the $11 designer riding boots; $2 leather pocket books; my favorite high school sweater ($.50); and the priceless memories of running the streets with my favorite Grand-Aunt.

In my building, people are often posting items for sale or leaving unwanted clothes, shoes, and electronics in the halls for passersby to take (that's how I acquired my desk chair and juicer). Beyond that, without a car, and often being busy with schoolwork, I haven't been to any real yard sales or on any thrift store excursions since I've been in the DMV. As I was wooed by the fabulous finds people were making on the television shows, I came up with an idea to bring the sales to my own backyard.

Recently, our building changed management, and I've missed the sense of community that was often encouraged by building events and outings. So, I came up with an idea to revive a sense of community while creating an opportunity to get a yard sale fix! This morning, I approached the management office about organizing a community yard sale in our courtyard...This afternoon I received an email from the property manager expressing interest in the concept and scheduling a meeting with me on Thursday morning at 9:30!

Here's to creating what you want and working your thoughts into existence. I look forward to updating you on how our community yard sale goes real soon.

P.S.
That creation thing works in more ways than one...just got word that I passed the first part of my Comps. Prayer + Hard Work + God = Vision Manifest!

Release!

Sometimes, when you've been working at something so hard...you just have to release it! Today, that's just what I have to do.

Over the past week, I didn't just take a test, I agonized over three questions. I tried to find the strength to push past fatigue; my bottom line: I didn't want to be testing anymore.

Seven days straight, I worked. Some of those days I went without food. (I know, it just happened. I got lost in articles and typing and just lost track). Most of those days I ran on empty. Somehow...well God-how, I made it.

There's nothing like submitting some work that you're not sure how you feel about; especially when you felt like there was nothing you could do in the moment to change it.

I'm learning a lot about what kind of learner I am. I work better when I can take my time and find some way to connect the work to things that are significant for me. So on timed exams, I tend to panic. A little bit of that is what happened.

I'm not sure what the envelopes will say this time. Well, I wasn't really sure last time. But I will have faith. I will be faith. And I will carry on.

Kicking and Screaming

Yesterday I turned 31 years old. This morning, I felt like I was five. As I accepted the reality of my need to return to Maryland for school, I silently threw a tantrum; I didn't want to leave home.

This past weekend, I finally got to come to New York without the weight of the academic world on my shoulders. I caught up with friends, got to see the new beautiful babies, and had dinner and fun with my immediate family. This year, there were no huge plans for the birthday, I just wanted the comfort of being at home.

On Sunday, my actual birthday, I went to church and then made it to momma's for the traditional family party. There was the ritual "telephone call" that brought me downstairs to a decorated birthday table with presents and foods befitting my dietary nuances, and loved ones singing multiple renditions of the birthday song. As I blew out my candles, I felt like I was living the possibility that I'd created at 12 that morning; I felt real joy and real love...(and a little bit of a competitive spirit as we battled each other in a game of "spoons"!).

I can see how getting to this part of the program produces a lot of ABD's (all but dissertations). After the long haul of coursework, you kinda just want to be a "normal" human being again; you want your time back and not to have to always be a responsible student. This weekend, I just wanted to have fun; this morning I just wanted to keep the fun going, I did NOT want to board the bus back to all things school.

It really took everything in me not to cry. I reluctantly booked my bus ticket at the last minute, and slooooowly packed my belongings, secretly praying that I'd get an email canceling tomorrow's 9:30am grant meeting so I could just have one more day...but, it never came, and I'm definitely writing you from my seat on the bus heading back to the DMV.

In my big girl voice, I give big thanks to my mom and siblings and to Lawrence for creating a space for me to feel really celebrated and loved. The warmth of those moments over these past five days really hit the spot, sending me on my way to do what I gotta...well, really to do what I have chosen and what I believe God has chosen for me.

I give major thanks to the Creator for giving me a chance at a new year in life. I'm committed to making You proud. I'm committed to living a life that I love.

Happy Born Day to Me!!!!

Now back to our regularly scheduled program.

Now What?

I'm slowly getting back in the rhythm, but now, with only one class and no other real reasons to consistently trek to campus, some days feel kind of...confusing. After going so hard for that test, and for these past two years, it feels kind of surreal to be the orchestrator of your own time. But there's definitely lots to be done.

Last night, as I was talking to my cohort member, I realized that I really need to embrace the idea that I'M IN DISSERTATION MODE. The last leg is finally here. I thought it would feel so much calmer after comps and classes, but there's still anxiety.

At this point, I need to start writing and submitting drafts of my research/dissertation proposal to my dissertation advisor; I need to use my time to build the near 150 page document that will be presented before the Dean and my committee members in a two-hour proposal defense which, done successfully, will grant me permission to commence my research.

Secret: I'm not sure what my topic is yet. (Insert blank stare emoticon). Okay, wait, before you judge me, I do know that I want to work on something related to African-American adolescent mental health, but it is a very complex process to actually nail down your researchable question. I have some ideas, and I've been reading literature in this area for the past two years, so I'm not totally in the dark, but over the next few weeks, I need to solidify something so I can get the conversation going with my advisor, get feedback, and make some headway on that buck fifty (the hundred and fifty or so pages I just said I need to write).

So, there needs to be a formula to this madness. When you get to this point, you need to do a lot of self-reflection and stretching. For me, I know I need to develop some new habits. I admit, I have struggled with being consistent with things, you know, like working out, going to bed before Wendy Williams comes on (don't judge me), and waking up and starting my day before noon approaches (wait, I do get up around 9, but I move pretty sloooooooooowly in the morning). So, a part of me needs to work the muscle of some new rituals to get myself in shape for success. I need to balance these new habits with things that take me out of my comfort zone, but that also resonate with my spirit. Like, I'm not a fan of going to the gym (even the one that's about 12 flights down from me and open 24 hours. Don't...). I do, however, like to dance, so maybe finding a weekly dance class will be a good compromise. Something like that.

Okay, so here's your part. Sometimes, having people to hold you accountable to things gives that added little push you need. So, I'm going to tell you some things that you should take me to task on. In the next few weeks, I need to implement a juicing, exercising, and dissertation proposal routine that I will do for one month straight until it becomes habit. I'll report back on that routine...no, not as a procrastination, but I really want to invest in a plan that'll be effective. Ask me for it in about two weeks (I'm going home next week for my birthday, so I'd more than likely start when I return).

This weekend (today is Saturday), I'm going to start by organizing all of these papers I have in here for easier access and to take out those that may be helpful to my writing process. I will also work on a concept paper (a two-page write-up of my ideas for the proposal) so I can submit this to my advisor before going home to NY. I also have some articles that I want to read and I'd like to find a dissertation writing book to guide my process.

Alrighty, that's where I'll start for now. I'll keep ya posted.

Here it goes....

Regrouping

In the past four months, I have not had one conversation that did not include mention of the words "Comprehensive Exams". When I reached the end of my second year, there was little time for celebration and little time to really take in the summer because anxiety began to loom about the beginning of this third year where I would have to sit before some questions and write my way into candidacy.

Three days after the first portion of this exam, I still feel a little numb. I laid down last night to sleep and still found myself rummaging through my mental files of semesters' worths of information that I'd memorized...needless to say, I'm still trying to recover.

So, let me back up and bring you into the world of what I just went through. If you recall, after the first year I took a seven day "Qualifying Exam" which essentially meant being sequestered in my home for a week straight pounding out answers to questions about all of the coursework I'd done over the first year. This year, I needed to supplement my first year knowledge with my second year course material, commit as much to memory as my body could endure, and then sit for three days, three hours per day, in front of a computer at school, with no books or access to any notes etc., and respond to questions. I prayed for months, I studied hard, my sister coached me, I participated in review sessions with my cohort member, I carried my books with me EVERYWHERE...I tried very hard to minimize anxiety in all ways I knew how...but as it got down to the wire, I fought hard to stay in the game.

As August approached, I was growing weary. I physically and mentally pushed my way through with everything I had; I spent hours in different libraries on campus, studied over chai tea at the local coffee shops, and began to fill up the walls of my home with notes written with colorful markers to keep me stimulated. But, as the days crept closer, I could feel my energy diminishing and I was growing increasingly...over it! There were points where I felt like I couldn't take it anymore; while I knew I studied, at a point, I wasn't even sure of what I knew anymore.

Some before me have described the importance of having a strong cohort and of how lonely a process this can feel at times; well, these were times when I truly understood the significance of both. My cohort member was, once again, the only person who had a true frame of reference for what I was going through. Everyone else knows that you're in some "process" for a "test", but their conversations with you about it can seem so distancing, because they just innocently have no idea.

More than a test, I definitely feel like this was a transformation point in this academic experience, but also in my life. At times, I asked myself: "Well, after two years, what is it that I really 'know'"? There were moments when memorizing material felt like the elementary school process and I didn't want to be in that space, so I challenged myself to really breathe the material, know it to a point where I was sharing it and not just repeating facts. Sometimes, and in some subjects I felt like I could do that, masterfully; other times, I felt more challenged.

I had to push myself with my writing. I think, secretly, this test meant more to me than proving myself to the professors who'd read it, but it was a personal rite of passage for a girl who had to come face-to-face with her own insecurities about writing, about her voice, about feeling validated in the things that she has to say. Let's just say, for a lot of reasons it felt like the pressure mounted. And so sometimes I cried. The feeling of uncertainty brought me to tears as I questioned being able to make it through. I cried before, during, and after. Am welling up with tears now as I connect myself back to those very moments, recognizing that even after the first part of the exam is over, I still feel vulnerable to this process, this experience.

Some describe these exams as all a part of "academic hazing"; I wouldn't disagree. After each day of the exam it took us a while to recover. Not always so much about the question, but sometimes just about the fact that our bodies and minds were stuck in a weird trance; caught in between trying to grasp the fact that this daunting exam was finally here and the fact that after each three hour session we had to dig deep into God's reserve to push through for the next one until it was finally over.

Each day, we found ourselves just sitting somewhere trying to gather our composure to push forward. By the last day, it was this weird feeling of not knowing how you did on particular sections and continuous pinching to connect with the reality that we finally made it through.

We prayed hard, we worked hard, we gave the test all we had. And now we wait. I definitely trust God, but there were times when my own belief and trust in self seemed to challenge my faith. Just keeping it real.

In the next couple of days, I'll receive an email with the final part of this exam process. In that email will be a series of questions about my special interest area that I will need to respond to and submit within 7 days. In the meantime, I'm taking one more research methods course and preparing to work on my dissertation proposal so I can keep going and prayerfully keep myself moving toward the real end of this academic process in a timely fashion.

I'm sure I have lots more to say, but really, I'm still processing.

In the meantime, I'm back and will be doing much better to keep you posted. Please keep me in prayer, as I will you.

Wait, what?...Emergency?

At about 2:15 AM, the fire alarm went off. I did not panic. I did not move. I must have been in my house about ten minutes doing a stand off with the noise before I found my matching track suit, used the restroom, and then went outside.

I passed the stairwell exit right outside of my door to wait it out a few more seconds for confirmation from other "alarmed" neighbors...the halls were bare. I walked further down the hall and peered out the windows outside the elevator doors; they spoke of no frightened residents running across streets, so I moved slowly, the droning still going hard in my ears.

I finally saw others when I reached the fifth floor; their faces signaled that they too had waited it out with me, hoping to avoid the dreadful walk downstairs and outside, mid-sleep.

I didn't want to be a party caught out there by a "false alarm", but I definitely didn't want to be a person wishing that I'd heeded the warning. 11 flights of stairs later I was joined outside by far less people than there are actual residents. We found places to be seated right alongside the "could-be-burning" building and just waited for the noise to stop. No neighborly chit-chatting. We mean mugged and waited for the word to go back inside.

There was one dad who clearly took his cue from the airplane safety handbook; while he was fully clad in his glasses, shorts, t-shirt and flip flops, the pitter patter of little feet slapping against the sidewalk indicated that there was apparently no time for his six-year old twins to get dressed also. But, who am I to judge, my two kids were still inside.

While I waited, seated on a cement slab outside the bank adjacent to my thankfully not burning building, I contemplated the blessings, and the lessons: 1) thank God there are signs of people going inside now, indicating no true cause for alarm, but 2) who am I in the face of danger?

When I walked back into my room, the television was still tuned to the cooking channel that I had originally fallen asleep on. I kid you not, before I could even replace my running gear with pajamas, one of the chefs on Chopped yelled, "fire"; I stared at her burning pan on the stove. Less than two seconds later, the show was interrupted by the screeching noise made when the tv gets interrupted by the "test of the emergency broadcast system".

Hmmmmmm, okay, God.

Tonight, I was a Brooklyn girl, casting off the late night warning as no REAL danger. I like that I wasn't afraid, but I can stand to be better prepared.

To Do List:
Establish my official alarm response plan (including the evacuation of myself AND my cats) Just In Case!


Thanks God for safety!
#idonttakemylifeforgranted

Now...for the difficult task of falling back to sleep.

That Mustard Seed Faith

I left the DMV a few days ago to come home. I knew that returning to NY would be a gamble, a distraction from a lot of pressing things, including my employment mission, but I really just wanted to come home.

Since getting here it's been great just to be with family. Waking up in the house with my mom and siblings, getting to sit front-row like a proud auntie at my nieces' school performance, taking in a Brooklyn-style, free Mos-Def (excuse me...Yasiin Bey) & Brooklyn Philharmonic concert with my big sister, having girl talk with my little sister, eating my brother's home cooking, going to my home church, and getting to spend some time with Lawrence have all comforted my spirit. I needed this break.

While here, however, I had not forgotten about my worries from the last post or my pending exams; I was present to all of that, but chose to not be consumed. As I described last week, even in the midst of some concern, there was a very present sense of faith; confidence that everything was going to be all right.

Well, yesterday morning, before I could officially get the crust out of my eyes, I read my daily devotional and then switched to my gmail account for the rest of my morning routine. I saw an unfamiliar name at the top of my inbox, but caught a glimpse of the greeting; it said: "Hello Zuleka, Congratulations on your selection to receive...". It could have been spam, it could have been another message from the Obama campaign...but, it wasn't.

The remainder of the email caused a slow motion drop to the floor in prayer position; If, I had ten thousand tongues, I could not have said thank you enough. My Council on Social Work Education Minority Fellowship came through!

God is MORE than AWESOME #period

#soooooograteful
#keepbelieving
#itsalreadydone

Hustle Hard

(From Tuesday June 5, 2012) Today, I pounded the pavement. Yup, walked up and down the streets of my neighborhood looking for a JOB. 1st stop: Whole Foods...and then every place I could think to go to try and find work. This student situation puts you in an interesting dilemma. You need to focus on studying, but you have to live. The rent and bills don't just magically disappear. I still have my grant monies and am waiting on a reply from the fellowship I applied for about funding for the upcoming school year...but in the meantime, there's July and August rent, phone, cable, food, and bills. I long ago challenged myself in the area of poverty consciousness; I decided to work at not dwelling on lack, especially when my version of "being without" is comparatively far less difficult than what many have to endure. So today, thanks to the support and accountability of my partner I went from place to place in search of a way...praying the whole time. As I walked from Cake Love to the Civic Building to the local Beauty Supply store, I thought to myself that this feeling was a little unfamiliar. I've been used to working or simply using online services to find work in my professional field, but today was different. I withstood a lot of "No's", but also encountered some very helpful people along the way. By the time I got home, I had information for some promising leads, but found myself in the original dilemma. The truth is, just taking any job would probably not be enough to cover my bills and expenses, and would thus probably consume more time than be productive toward my goals. But I need to do something. There's a part of me that, while going through these motions, really believes that God is going to work something out and very soon. But I don't want to be a watchful waiter. I know prayer without action sometimes produces no outcomes, so I must do my part... I guess I write this entry today really to be sure to include how real it gets sometimes in this process. Hopefully, I will have good news to report soon, but for now, keep a sister in your prayers. #acceptingdonations

I remember what I want to be when I grow up

I just finished watching reruns of A Different World. In one episode, grown-up, flip-glassess-less, professor Dwayne Wayne mentors two court ordered youth participating in a five-day diversion program. Most of the show centered around Dwayne's efforts to talk these two young males off the ledge of hopelessness. In their exchanges, the youth spewed some unfortunately common commentary, reflecting die-for-my-hood and kill-you-dead-with-no-remorse mentalities. In Dwayne's presentation, however, there was a sense of compassion that made it feel as if this wasn't just his on-screen role. I was drawn in by the authenticity of his acting because I felt like he was truly affected by the fact that life had hardened the innocence of these young boys, asphyxiating their capacities to dream, making them believe that there was nothing to live for, and everything worth dying for. This scene took me back for several reasons: 1) the two boys happened to be Kriss Kross from my childhood, pants-backwards, "Jump-Jump" days and 2) they reminded me of the teens who brought me here. I felt myself in Dwayne's character, like it was my responsibility to make a difference; from Dwayne Wayne, I felt strongly that he was committed to making his message live beyond the tv screen. The scene transported me back to my days working in the high school, running groups with members of gangs and having heart-to-hearts with youth who'd been exposed to various dimensions of trauma and pain. I remembered that a commitment to healing was important to me. I remembered the young faces that often flooded with tears when finally trusting in our relationship and seeing our exchanges as opportunities to release. In my job, there were many barriers, just like when Dwayne and Whitley showed up at the home of one of the youth to try and partner with the parent; they were met with vigilant resistance, and had a first-hand encounter with what appeared to reflect part of the source of a social transmission of rage and pain. As the father of the youth reached into his shirt, insinuating that he was making an effort to reach for a gun and ward off the intrusion of these "outsiders", I was reminded of why I want my work to be meaningful to the parent-adolescent dyad, to support efforts to uncover keys to understanding and promoting healing in this pair, and to strengthen the capacity of the Black family to serve as a resource for African-American teens. I was cognizant of my position on the couch watching all of this unfold on the screen. At this time of the year, I'm in an interesting position. With Comprehensive Exams and Dissertation proposal looming, there's much to do academically. I checked my bills lately, and there's much to do financially also. The balance of this student position and the reality of the importance of the "work" makes it so that sometimes I need to really figure out how to use my energy. Watching today's episode sparks my drive for being on the front lines, but also encourages me to push through this program to get the opportunity to make a difference through research and community development. As I begin work on my proposal, today's tv watching definitely helped me think through some of my ideas, but challenged me to think about my commitment. Last year in one of my classes I created the possibility of ensuring that all adolescents have an adult to turn to for guidance, structure, safety, to be heard, and to experience love. How is who I am and what I do each day truly a reflection of my possibility? If it's not, what do I do right now to begin living into who I am?

I just wana wash my hair and watch movies...that's all.

So, it's Memorial Day weekend. I just got off the phone with my sister, and after telling her what I wanted to do today she poignantly described me as boring. It's a Sunday, one of my first, semi-free Sunday's in a LOOOOOOONG time, and I just wana chill. The sun is beaming outside, the rooftop pool is open, and I kind of just want to cozy up right here, and watch movies. It has been some kind of semester. I took six classes, worked on a research project with a professor, went to South Africa, and wrote a LOT of papers. There were a lot of long nights, especially in the end, and even after it was "over", it wasn't over. Since officially "wrapping up" the semester, I've been working on a statistics project, taking a Test Construction course (developing instruments that can be used for your research questions and hypotheses), and performing Graduate Assistant duties for this same summer research institute at school. Additionally, I'll need to start studying for my Comprehensive Exams and reading and writing to start developing my research proposal, etc., etc., etc....so today, I just want to chill, wash my hair, and take in some flicks. Maybe later I'll head upstairs by the pool and try to do some catching up on this blog, but for now, I'm definitely going to make good on my promise to myself for this chill mode Sunday. I shall relax and take in the goodness of the opportunity to focus on nothing but breathing on this good day that the Lord has made! I hope you follow my lead and do today whatever brings you true joy...even if others think you're boring!

Just One A Dem Days

Tonight we had a presentation for the school to share reflections from our experiences in Cape Town. All day, I was a little out of it. I'd been working on papers non-stop (which is why I haven't completed the second part of my South Africa blog) and had a meeting this morning, and then attended someone else's dissertation proposal defense...I was on overload. I knew the time was approaching for our presentation, and although I had written notes for what I was going to say, I felt quite unprepared. I went back and forth with the idea of finding a quiet space in the building to get my thoughts together so I wouldn't fumble or have regrets...but I just couldn't. A part of me just wanted to trust that the words would come...I was a little skeptical...and then it was too late. Everyone was in position; the slideshow began and I was number 13 to come up and talk to the group about the two slides that I contributed to reflect the highlights of my experience. I sat in the audience, slightly nervous as the time slowly crept upon my turn. I was multi-tasking from my seat, trying to listen and give full attention to my peers while simultaneously working to whip up a speech in my head. I went back and forth between listening and writing with my thoughts, until it was finally my turn... The walk to the front was slightly an out-of-body experience. Literally. It was like the part of me that was afraid stayed back in the seat to watch. I guess the part that mattered the most, however, was what actually made it to the stage...my soul showed up in front of those who'd gathered and began to pour from the heart to the audience that had kind of magically disappeared from my vision until it was over. The two pictures that I had in the show were of me and one of the young women we met, Gugu, and an image that I found on the internet that reminded me of the powerful photo I saw at the apartheid exhibit about which I wrote the poem. The gist of what God whispered into my ear was this discussion about journeying home, and meeting some of the humble warriors who are agents of change. I talked about how Gugu and I connected both as professionals and spiritually, and then presented the poem to pay homage to the ancestors who, like the woman in the photo, risked their lives that we might survive...it's almost pointless to try and re-capture, but I guess it was a pivotal moment in this PhD experience for me, because it felt like my time to really share a part of me with this school community that I've been a part of for nearly two years. Fatigued as all get out, I felt truly energized by the love in the room that I had something to do with generating. I was humbled by the reception in the crowd to my sharing, but in reflecting on my journey to South Africa for this presentation, I had a cathartic moment that made my discussion about this feeling of coming home take dual meaning. While in theory I was referencing what felt like a pilgrimage for me to home soil (my Africa), I also felt in the moment like I was coming present to myself, to who I am in this learning experience, and I was vulnerably sharing that among my colleagues and the staff and Deans of the school. I know they tell you to undress the crowd with your eyes, but by the end, I was the one, totally bare. Before closing, I realized that the part of me that initially took a back seat and watched me nervously take the stage had arrived to meet me podium...by the end, it just felt WHOLE! I was home...in my own skin...talking about journeying home...to where my flesh was born. It made it that much more special to look up as I was walking out the room to go home and see two of my BEST friends/family from elementary school. Justin and Maurice came to visit!!!! We went to BusBoys and Poets, shared laughs and memories...It just felt like one of those perfect days, where everything just feels good, and you truly feel good about who you are.

Cape Town 2012 Part I

Please excuse the delay. I've been back for just about two weeks, but you know how it goes-from the runway straight to the books.

Anywho, it would be a total injustice not to tell you all about the AMAZING opportunity and experiences I had in Cape Town, so I've compiled all my journal entries from the trip into the post below. What you'll read is part of the journal I had to submit as part of the International Service Learning Course I was enrolled in. As an assignment, it has a mix of some personal and some more academic perspectives on the trip.

What I will say before I give you that version is that since returning, I find myself still marveling at the idea that I had this opportunity. While it was a jam packed 11 days, I feel like I was able to feel a certain kind of freedom that I haven't experienced before. I made friends with some really amazing people from my school, and I built memories for a lifetime--like, cracking up in the cab ride from hell with my new besties, taking in the most beautiful views on top of Table Mountain, getting to sit in on an actual session at Parliament, and, of course, shaking hands with Archbishop Desmond Tutu. It was definitely all PRICELESS.

I hope the words I was able to string together below do some semblance of justice to the experience. I'll upload the rest hopefully before the end of the weekend.

Enjoy!

March 11, 2012
It’s an interesting feeling to journey somewhere and have only a limited idea of what really exists at the destination. For the past few weeks, most of my anxiety related to this journey has been about flying. I’m not extremely fond of planes, so to address my concerns I had a meeting with God this morning in my prayer journal. In our conversation, I surrendered worry and fear and welcomed faith in a God who I could trust with my vulnerabilities. At the closing of my conversation with the Creator, I felt assured that safe travel would be granted; I was then able to make space for the journey.

When I finally arrived at the airport this morning and passed through the security checkpoints, I realized that it was actually happening! All that we’d talked about in our group sessions and discussion boards was slowly beginning to materialize. I was excited.

I write to you now from the first of our series of layovers, having hit Africa in some form for the very first time. I can’t see much of it through the plane windows because it is dark outside in Dakar, but the faces of the cleaning crew who’ve just boarded look very much like what I anticipated; rich, beautiful brown skin and faces resembling native born Africans whom I’ve met in the states over the course of my lifetime. Others on the plane right now are covering their noses and discussing the distinct smell that has spread throughout the cabin. What smells unpleasant to others on board, however, smells like Africa to me...and reminds me of my father. During the latter part of his life he started a business selling crafts, fabrics, and hand carved furniture from Africa; the initial scent of Dakar bought me back to the smells lingering in the kente cloth that was among my dad’s merchandise. In some way, I feel like I’ve already arrived. Although this isn’t Cape Town, it is my first official touch down on home soil.
* * * *
Unfortunately, the smell of the motherland is competing with the very strong, asphyxiating smell of spray that they’ve doused the plane in. As I try to breathe and write, I’m getting ready for the second leg of this excursion. In anticipation of landing in Cape Town, I’m recalling what I’ve recently seen of the city on television; the Real Housewives of Atlanta showed the women arriving in a big city that doesn’t look too different from back home. I never really bought the images of Africa being a big barren land full of starving and poor peoples; I feel like I’ve always known the worth, value, and richness of the place that I call my real home.

A part of me is beginning to wonder about how I will be welcomed. I feel personally connected to Africa, and that my ancestry suggests that this is a place to which I belong, even though I was born on distant shores; I wonder if the people here will feel like I am them as much as I want to be recognized as having common blood, or will they experience me as “foreign” as others have in places I’ve visited before. A part of me is secretly hoping for the grand feeling of being welcomed home to family that I haven’t seen in a long time.

While I’m not certain what specifically lies ahead, I am convinced that on the other side of this experience, I will be transformed. While I’ve spoken with students who’ve gone before, I feel like there’s no amount of information or preparation that can truly help me figure out what to expect. We’ve been given the bare basics as far as what will happen, but I think I committed to myself to just trust the process. Above all things, I simply believe that God would not have brought me to this opportunity without having a grander purpose. So just as I’ve done with my fears about flying, I simply surrender to what God has in store.

But for now, I’m officially tired and we’re about to take off, again. Next stop, Johannesburg.

Arrived
This morning was a good way to get grounded in the idea that we are actually here. After walking to the Seven-Eleven in the middle of the night for snacks and spending our first night at the language school, we woke up to get an early start at the bank exchanging our dollars for rand; it really began to sink in that we are finally here. I actually felt myself beginning to mentally transition to our new reality.

As we boarded the vans and began our commute to the University of the Western Cape, the images of both affluent and under resourced communities reminded me of my 6-month experience living in Jamaica, West Indies, and of perusing the streets of the District and Harlem. The juxtaposition of wealth against stark images of poverty didn’t stand out as anything drastically different; it actually provided some early evidence of common international experiences of marginalization and disparity.

So far, I’m not really too taken aback or surprised. I feel that much of what I’ve seen and, in some ways, the people we’ve encountered thus far are our reflection. Particularly, today at UWC as we had the privilege to share and learn from the students and staff, I recognized a similar spirit of commitment to social change. The classroom lecture and discussion made me think a lot about our Social Work Education Pro-Seminar course. Similar themes involved the struggles to gain respect for the profession and challenges with having enough trained social workers to meet the needs. As the students shared about their aspirations and perspectives on community level issues, we learned about the universal nature of some social challenges including substance abuse and under-resourced communities, and we also learned about diverse ways of assessing and addressing these complex social problems. Particularly, the student who shared about her desire to focus on enhancing literacy in her community as a means of addressing issues of HIV/AIDS reminded me that sometimes the work requires giving attention to some very basic elements of an issue before trying to attack the larger problem.

Beyond the formal discussions, however, a beautiful part of the experience today was the exchange between the UWC students and us. We were welcomed with the singing of their national anthem and in return we shared our own Lift Every Voice and Sing. There was this sense of mutual respect and welcoming, a feeling much like I’d hoped to encounter. What was particularly cool for me was the way in which there was an underlying sense of both familiarity and curiosity between us; both groups took out cameras and other electronic devices to record as in hope of capturing the exchange. In the beginning I did wonder if the use of technology might have felt like a sense of disrespect or interference in the intimacy of the moment, but in the end there appeared to be a mutually implicit understanding that technology simply afforded us all an opportunity to hold on to some aspects of the moment.

As the students took us on a tour around the campus, they interacted with us as if we were long time friends, but we also exchanged questions about each others’ experiences that helped us all get a bit better of an understanding of what life is like for the other. There were similarities that bonded us, including our use of facebook and the idea that many of us had journeyed from far to attend school and to train to become contributions to our communities and to the profession. When I listened to their stories about their academic experiences and commitment to learning, I must say that I grew self-conscious. I wondered about my own level of academic rigor and dedication, and considered the ways that I take for granted or don’t always take full advantage of the opportunities that I have in terms of education; instead of beating myself up, however, I simply took in the moment as an opportunity to be inspired to work harder.
At the conclusion of our tour, we exchanged contact information and there was this genuine sense of mutual interest in staying in touch. I plan to follow through with this commitment, not only for the friendships, but in the small amount of time that we spent together, I really felt that there was a great opportunity for promising scholars to engage in conversations about our professional experiences and aspirations that could influence powerful learning exchanges and the development of innovative strategies and solutions to address some of the concerns faced by our communities. I look forward to keeping in touch.
* * * *
Later in the evening, some of us ventured off into the town and spent time tarrying around Long Street. This popular strip of stores and restaurants reminded me a lot of what New Orleans looks like. There were lots of eateries with balconies hanging over the city streets and somewhat of a mood lighting set off by lamps lining the block. As we went from store to store checking out souvenirs and trying to decide on a place to eat, the feeling of being a tourist began to sink in. The bartering that many warned us of began as we attempted to ward off the perception of being wealthy foreigners by negotiating our way to prices that appeared more friendly to our student budgets. My identity as American slowly but surely stood out to me. People stared at our table in the restaurant and listened in to our discussions, which I must say at times took to a volume that definitely fit the description of “loud Americans”. Others introduced themselves to us and inquired out right about our origins and the reason for our stay.

At the restaurants, we searched the menus and sought suggestions from others for our meals, some of us hoping to have our first tastes of traditional cuisines. As a vegetarian, the options were not as extensive as they were for others; however, without reservations to some of the more popular places to eat, our first night ended up being a date with food that was more familiar than not. Most people ordered burgers and fries or wings; I was a little disappointed, but not really sure what grand experience I was hoping to have by way of my first real meal out on the town. Ultimately, over fish cakes and salad, I settled for simply marveling at the drastically smaller cans that the ginger ale came in, and the fact that they were red Scweppes cans and not green.
So far, it’s been a pretty basic introduction. Having returned to our room and getting ready for our early start, I remain eager for what else was in store.

Social Welfare Issues in South Africa
This morning we went into town and took care of errands and then gathered in groups for breakfast. After taking suggestions for places to eat, my roommates and I settled on an eatery that allured passersby with its bright orange awning and the titillating aroma of fresh baked breads and pastries. I enjoyed a savory croissant with butter and jam that made me feel like I could taste the love baked in every morsel. I initially savored the moment and grew excited about the idea of my breakfast find for the duration of the journey, but shortly after I devoured my food, my taste buds were slightly soured by my observations of the interactions between the employer and staff at the establishment.

There was a solid build White woman who took our orders and welcomed us in one tone and then under her breath barked orders at her staff who happened to look more like us in complexion. My thoughts started churning and I grew immediately sensitive to what I presumed to be an indication of an issue of status, race, and class. I felt myself beginning to feel less at ease and more disgruntled; I think the fact that the women to whom the White woman talked sternly appeared to be near my mom’s age made the situation that much more uncomfortable. I felt that her tone was utterly disrespectful and in my mind I grew conflicted and angered. I tried to calm myself by cautioning not to be presumptuous about the dynamics I observed. I tried hard to consider the idea that this encounter was more so an exchange between employer and employee where the former’s strict and curt demeanor may have been more about ensuring quality service to customers, but I struggled to convince myself that somehow, the White woman didn’t feel entitled to speak in whatever manner she pleased because she carried the skin color of power and privilege.

This experience was in the back of my mind as we embarked on our excursions. In our different introductions to the staff and populations served at the different agencies, I definitely began to pay attention to how issues of race and class shaped the social welfare issues, services, and human relations in the country. From our visit to Pollsmore prison to observations of exchanges and dynamics at the vineyard where we had lunch, there definitely seemed to be noticeable differences in terms of the status and experiences of individuals from different racial categories. In some sense it appeared that, like the United States, historical experiences of segregation, oppression, and disadvantage based on racial/ethnic category continued to impact social dynamics; for example the differences between those who held positions of authority at the agencies and establishments we visited and those who held lower level positions or were on the receiving end of the services appeared pretty consistent from place to place.
* * * *
Our introduction to social welfare issues and services definitely began with our orientation to UWC. Similar to the history of the development of social work at institutions like Howard, UWC has a legacy of being an institution that helped members of marginalized groups access education, training, and opportunity. The founding history of the University at large had similar beginnings that reflect some of the intentions outlined in the tenets of the Black perspective; a focus on social justice, the strengths of people of color, and a celebration of diversity are reflected in the mission statements of both institutions. The students we met were among youth who the institution recognizes may not have otherwise had opportunities to attend school given their economic and social hardships. As with American HBCUs, the social work department appeared to focus on helping to develop trained professionals who could work with the often disregarded and marginalized communities to which many of us belong.

As discussed before, there were definitely similar themes in terms of high priority social welfare issues including poverty alleviation, unemployment, and substance abuse. Because of my special interest area, of particular interest to me was the recurring discussion of unemployment as a critical issue affecting South African youth. Considering the young boys we encountered at Pollsmore, I thought about the connection that’s often made between lack of constructive opportunities to access success and youth delinquency, and I even engaged in discussions with some of the Howard staff and my peers about the possibility of developing innovative strategies to address this very issue.

Pollsmore and the Women’s Refugee shelter were two stops so far that really impacted me, not only for the shock value of being in a prison for the very first time or the novel experience of the refugee shelter, but the individuals we encountered at these locations really had a grand impression on me. At the prison, Mr. M (our guide whose name escapes me) was a breath of fresh air amidst the staunch rigidity of the prison facility. From his initial presentation, I grew attracted to his sense of compassion and commitment to recognizing the humanity in everyone, regardless of their alleged criminal behaviors. I watched closely at the relationships he appeared to have with the young boys at the facility; while there originally appeared to be this common hardness in the faces of all the youth, there was an innocence that appeared to surface among the boys at the different units when Mr. M entered the rooms and interacted with them. I saw in the boys a sense of childlike innocence, peace, and fulfillment inspired by the quality of nurturing, love, and respect that Mr. M shared with them in our presence. It reminded me of my clinical experiences interacting with youth that many people had disregarded; in the gang members and youth who had frequent behavioral challenges in schools and other institutions, I was often able to access the spirit of yearning for love, attention, respect, and connectedness that resembled what I witnessed with Mr. M. and the boys during this visit. From the other staff we spoke with, I could appreciate their efforts to use alternative approaches to dealing with behavioral infractions at the facility and the ways in which they spoke transparently about efforts to balance the challenges, professional responsibilities, and goals at the facility. I’m interested in looking further into the idea of restorative justice that was introduced to us during our orientation.

When we moved onward to the shelter, while I appreciated the importance of the work that was being done here in order to provide for the needs of the women and children, it was also the spirit of one of the staff at this agency that really inspired me. After an introduction by what appeared to be one of the senior staff, a younger staff member began to speak and share of her experiences at the agency. The old adage that warns not to judge a book by its cover really rang true for me in this instance; shortly into our discussion, a young, unassuming girl began to speak. Gugu brilliantly articulated her perspectives on social welfare issues in South Africa, particularly affecting the refugee women that she worked with. A few things stood out for me. I identified with Gugu because of her apparent youthfulness; as a professional sometimes I get concerned about how my physical appearance may impact how people perceive me or their willingness to trust in my potential for leadership. Listening to Gugu, I must say that I felt comforted by her presence, and the way she commanded respect and maintained a disposition of authority and competence in her work. I was encouraged by her on this level, but also thought about the personal struggle she shared with us regarding choosing to work with refugees while knowing that people from her own community are also in need of support. From this exchange, it was good to be able to hear from a social worker not only discussions about the work and the challenges associated with providing support and services to a population in need, but to also feel comfortable to talk about some of the personal conflicts and struggles involved in balancing our roles, our personal standards and expectations, and our lives as active members of this profession. I appreciated the exchange.
* * * *

Overall, I appreciated the community oriented feel of a lot of the programs and models of social work. Given more time, I would have liked opportunities to engage further in dialogue with staff at these agencies to learn about how they strategize to approach enduring and novel social welfare issues and to learn more about their community oriented approaches; while I’m sure cultural differences exist, I think our social workers, communities and community organizers could benefit from some of the work that is happening here. As articulated in our readings and early group discussions, I was really beginning to see how having an international perspective can help strengthen our understanding of social issues, and put us in a stronger position to work to address them. I definitely feel that who I am as a professional and how I understand and experience my role and the issues that I hope to address is growing as a result of this learning opportunity.

**To Be Continued**

Well, maybe Humility & Self-Confidence

So, I write this post not to salvage the pride that I told yall was kind of compromised two days ago, but because it's important to maintain balance in this lesson and get the full benefit from this experience.

So, yesterday, I went to campus after my class at the University of Maryland to meet with the professor who wanted me to redo the paper. I was really in a space of wanting to understand where I missed the mark so I could really enhance my skills with writing literature reviews. Long story short, as we began to talk, it became clear that some of the information that was expected was actually in my original paper. For each point that she made, I was able to refer to a section in the paper where I had addressed the questions she asked; needless to say, I was a bit perplexed. Not mad, just not clear about the feedback. Anyway, after expressing my concern, we came to the conclusion that maybe she needed to read it again (thoroughly, and not in the middle of the night), and maybe I might not need to rewrite it.

A couple of things: I didn't feel vindicated over her because I was able to demonstrate that I had actually done what was expected, but I learned for myself that I often shortchange my strengths. Because of poor self-confidence in some areas, I am easily willing to take someone's feedback about my work as if it is absolutely accurate, without having faith in my own abilities. Had we not have had this conversation there would have been a piece of me that felt that my deep rooted "not good enough" mantra would have been affirmed, and I would have moved forward with a spirit of doubt about my writing in some way.

When I left the meeting I shared with her that while this may not have been an example of me being a disappointment, or even of me not entirely understanding how to perform the literature review to a high standard, I am committed to hearing from her feedback that could help make this not-so-bad paper even better. I still stand in a place of believing that I have things to learn, but I can also trust that what I already can do is actually not so bad.

Rude Awakening

Transparency, right? Well, today was not one of my finer moments. I actually had a teacher tell me she was disappointed in me. I know right, straight to the heart!

Well, what had happened was, a few weeks ago (you might remember because it was one of the days I was complaining about all the work I had to do) we had a literature review to hand in to her for a class assignment. I knew good and well while stapling those twelve pages in preparation for handing them in that this wasn't my finest work, but there was no time for changes. A part of me was clear that my heart wasn't in the assignment because I felt I hadn't truly had mastery of this important literature review skill, but I had to hand in something. The deadline approached.

This morning, I arrived to class before all two of my other classmates and was in position when my professor walked in the door. I greeted her, and within moments I guess she realized this was a good time to express her discontent before the others arrived. She candidly asked me what happened on the assignment. I was a little caught off guard because it had been a few weeks since I handed it in, so I definitely wasn't ready for that to be the topic of discussion first thing in the morning. After I gathered my pride, I just told her honestly "I'm not really sure". We chatted a bit further before the other students arrived and she graciously offered to meet with me to discuss my lingering questions.

Now, I ain't going to lie...I was crushed. Distracted pretty much for the rest of the day. And when I actually picked up the paper from the office to read the disheartening comments scribbled in blue ink on my title page, it drove the wrench even further.

By about 7:30pm while I waited patiently in the freezing cold for the bus for nearly forty minutes, I noticed that I still felt the sting. Her feelings of disappointment started to manifest in me, and I almost went to town on a pity party. But, then I remembered the bigger picture.

While the comments from my professor initially felt discouraging, I realized that what I had before me was an opportunity to learn a lesson, and an opportunity to meet with my professor to strengthen a skill. She could have failed me, but instead she actually opened the door to an opportunity for me learn what I needed so I could perform at my best. What I heard beyond the harsh words of her response was that she was alerted by the fact that she felt that this paper didn't represent what she knows of me from class, and what she knows I am capable of. So, at the end of the day, I gathered up the pieces of my ego and scheduled a meeting with her for tomorrow.

* * *

This process can truly be a test of humility and pose a challenge to your self-confidence. Typically I might have taken this experience as an opportunity to reinforce feelings of inadequacy and self-doubt, but the growing me won't toy with that enemy today.

I read a friend's blog this evening and will borrow from her words of wisdom as my meditation for the evening:

"Get over your disappointment about what didn't happen the way you wanted it to and begin creating the life you want" - Sallomazing Hralima

My Magic Family Affair

Every first Saturday of the month in Brooklyn, the borough's museum hosts a big community party. They have special events and exhibits and it's all free and open to the public. Well this month, the flier advertising the festivities had a very vibrant and familiar face. My big sister was chosen to represent at the museum's celebration of Queens. While the party planners were just doing their jobs, little did they know that organizing this celebration would provide an opportunity for my family to party together.

Crowded in the front space of the museum, more than a thousand people gathered to watch the performance. A few rows were taken up by the likes of my aunts and uncles. My cousins, college girlfriends, and boyfriend took up posts around different sections of the room, and I stood proudly next to a pillar close to the stage, watching and shouting, and cheering and smiling from ear to ear. Not only was I excited about my sister's show, but I was soooooo happy to be around family.

Rewind a few hours and you would have seen the members of the Clinton-Henderson household doing our usual last minute dance to get out the door (late per usual! Don't judge us!). In one section of the house were my nieces fresh from their birthday weekend play date grabbing their shoes and doing their little sister's hair, excited about hanging out late. On another floor was my little sister, just getting in the door from a fashion styling gig, transforming her work clothes into a cute purple and green vintage get-up. Up and down the stairs was my elder brother putting the finishing touches on his own attire (which included a swagged out t-shirt from his personal DrtySlvr clothing line) and making sure that the little ones were ready. And then the matriarch, our fly as can be momma-wearing some fabulous turquoise accents with a beautiful rose colored duster that she just popped the tags off--she led the way out the door with her children and grandchildren in tow.

Ever since I was little, I felt like we had a magic family; times like this bring back the magic for me. In my mind "Magic" captures the essence of how vibrant we are as a team, and how the energy of our family love feels like it can make you float on air, especially when you most need to be lifted from the problems of the world. That magic transcends beyond those of us who are here, and seems to come from some seriously deep rooted place in our family lineage, a place that I'm sure our ancestors curated and continue to nurture for us who are here. I guess being away from home makes reconnecting with the magic that much more meaningful; I still feel charged just reflecting on the night.

At some point after the show we all stood on the stage with my big sister and a huge gathering of people with cameras appeared; they must have felt the same magic emanating from us and wanted to capture the moment as much as I did. My sister electrified the stage and we all celebrated and reflected the glow. It was truly dynamic!

When we finally made it home, the party continued; as we broke dawn we ushered in the 12th anniversary of one our proudest and favorite moments: the birth of the twins! Their tall genes are making it increasingly difficult to distinguish the nieces from the aunt, so before packing my things in preparation for my return to all things school, I tiptoed to an acceptable auntie stature and got to give the proudest auntie hug to two of the most beautiful girls in the world on their birthday. I was sad that I couldn't stay for the traditional celebration that took place later in the day, but shortly before I passed out cold on the bus on the way back to school, I gave thanks for all that I got to experience in the time that I had at home.

What turned into a "magic" family weekend ended up being the perfect way to celebrate before I returned to school to check off some of these assignments from the "Before I go to South Africa Must-Do List". With less than a week before I board, I'm a bit exhausted, but definitely excited about all that's in store.

#sixdaysandcounting

#bestfamilyEVER!

Insomnia

So every night I get in the bed aroun 10pm, and by 12:45 AM I'M STILL AWAKE!!!! I don't know what it is. Maybe too much on my mind, maybe it was the coffee flavored frozen yogurt I had before laying down, I can't call it.

Well, since I'm semi-up, I guess I can catch you up.

So, most of this past weekend was spent staring at the computer per usual. But this time I was working on a fellowship application. I applied to the CSWE Minority fellowship program last year this time, I'm not sure if you remember, I was an alternate, so I decided to try my hand at it again. I think the hard part for me with writing these things is not really having my research topic solidified. I know my special interest area, but it's hard to work that general area into a specific fellowship focus when your very idea lacks specificity. But I toiled and I have something that I'm going to print out tomorrow, send, and pray for the best, as usual.

Oher than that I haven't really done too much else. I have these two grants that I'm assisting on which are pretty cool. One involves engaging men of faith around domestic violence (maybe I've mentioned it before) and a newer one actually gets me to work with my faves: high school teenagers. It's a blessing to have this opportunity because potentially I'll have data to work with to write my dissertation; in case you didn't know, data is a hot commodity around these parts. So I definitely need to give a shout out to God for these opportunities, because everyone is not so lucky. I recognize my blessings.

I just typed a whole next paragraph and lost it, so maybe that's my cue. I need to be up in five and a half hours for class, so I'm going to try one mo'gain at this nite nite thing. Maybe tomorrow I'll pick back up where my technical malfunction cut me off.

Till then, nite all.

Bitter & sweet memories.

I haven't left my house in four days...Not once. You know the drill. Papers. Fellowship application. Focus Group Transcribing. Blah blah blah. Yeah I'm in grinch mode again. Tired. Sick. Sick. Tired. You get it.

So I missed a lot in the past few weeks. Just over a week ago Whitney Houston died. Yup, died. It was pretty surreal. I saw her on tv on a Thursday and then got the word on Saturday
that she was gone. Secretly, I think some of my grinch mode was about being heartbroken and in shock and denial. On Saturday, with everything I had to do, I got my big pink comforter, my box of tissues,and I sat in front of the tv for about four hours with the rest of the world and attended her funeral.

The ceremony was quite beautiful. People shared lots about her and performed and preached. And I watched. Funerals bring up a lot for me. They always make me assess my life and remind me of loved ones that are gone. While I shed tears for Nippy I also let the waterworks flow for missing my dad and my grandma. It was almost as if the sadder it got, the harder it was to turn away. And so I watched on. Ignoring the computer screen and stacks of articles that waited for me. I just watched...Until her purple chromed casket was lifted out of the sanctuary to the melody of "I will always love you". And when it was finally over I just stared. It felt personal.

Needless to say its been a little gloomy and lonely around these parts. I'm sure a part of it has to do with Whitney, but I've been missing my family. I must have called my mom ten times on Saturday just for nothing, but to connect. I've reconsidered being here several times in the last few days, but I know, I know. Turning back now is not really an option.

Excuse all the sad talk and the melodrama, but I guess, hey. Here's to keeping this diary real. It ain't always warm, fuzzy, and delightful. Many days you feel like you just want your life back. Considering what I've just said about death and loss I know that's a weird way to phrase it, but this thing takes a lot out of you. Makes you feel like you're missing life without schoolwork and research. But hey, I know better, ...just sayin.

Anyway, I would be absolutely lying if I left this entry void of the absolute bright spots. I'm still counting down to South Africa. And last week I had one of the BEST surprises of my life...

So last Tuesday was Valentine's Day and you know Tuesdays are my long class days so Miner and I had already discussed that we'd probably have to postpone our celebrating until it was more convenient for both of our schedules. So I thought...

At about 5pm we got dismissed from our Social work education course (all two of us!) and were leaving the building. Little did I know that sitting in the hallway of the Social Work building would be my Valentine! He tricked me all day acting like he was in some training when he actually had it planned for weeks to make my day! Talk about shock. I have never been so surprised. My face was ALL crazy when it finally registered that I was looking at my boo, in the flesh!

We got to go to our favorite restaurant. Watch our Tuesday night show together in person. And I got this fancy iPod touch on which I am currently typing this entry. It was truly a big bright moment in the midst of the madness.

In this second as I recall how happy I was, I'm reminded to give thanks and to remember perspective.

I'm grateful for this little life of mine. Grateful for all who are in it and those who have passed through, including you Whitney! Rest in paradise beautiful lady. We will always love you too.

"Somebody spilled blood for me, so whatever I do I better come up fighting"

It seems that just when I need reassurance about this journey, God sends in the reinforcements...

I spent last night trying to force words to magically transfer through my fingertips and onto the computer screen in order to complete my first paper of the semester. After a long weekend at home in NY, I knew I was in for a tough start to the week as I had several assignments to complete in a short period of time--I wasn't mistaken! At about 2:15am I finally dragged my extremely tired body to the bed for a four hour nap. When the alarm went off this morning I definitely wanted to scream.

But I peeled myself up and carried myself up the hill to campus for my 9:10am - 5:00pm school day. I definitely struggled to keep my head from going into a nodding frenzy while in my research class and I just could not imagine how my exhausted body would make it through my second three hour stint; about 15 minutes into my afternoon class, however, I discovered the answer to my exhaustion.

Dr. Halaelvalu Vakalahi walked into our room; a strong build woman wearing a short sleeved white t-shirt and brown flowered print dress took the seat at the head of the class. As she began her lecture it was as if she emerged straight off the pages of the text I had just crammed to read over my Subway lunch before our session. Dr. Valu, as she is called, has spent considerable time investigating and writing about the experiences of women of color in the profession and she graciously came to talk about who she is and the impression she hopes to make in the field. There was something extremely warm and simply human about her; my weary body was gently awakened by the comfort of her presence and the profundity with which she spoke about her passion, commitment, and obligation to serve so that brown girls like me could come up behind. As she talked about the road traveled to her current position as the Director of the School of Social Work at George Mason University, she painted a picture of herself constantly pushing upward and courageously facing obstacles that were intended to serve as barriers; her life, she explained, is simply energized by the idea that "somebody spilled blood for me, so whatever I do, I better come up fighting". To borrow a line from her dialogue, as I listened to her, "my spirit felt like it came home".

Of late, I've been praying about mentorship and really trying to see my way in and through this process. In today's class, I felt as if Dr. Valu's testimony ministered to me in a way that reminded me that my journey, too, has been paved by spilled blood. I have a responsibility to push through.

At the end of the session, I was honored to have our guest sign the Women of Color as Social Work Educators: Strengths and Survival textbook for which she served as an author, and inside she wrote "Zuleka, thank you for inspiring me to continue this journey". I'm happy to know that I was in some way able to return the favor.

"When I dare to be powerful--to use my strength in the service of my vision, then it becomes less and less important whether I am afraid" --Audre Lorde

Breathe...Trust...Execute-Leggo!

I know, new semester, and I've already been off my blog grind. I guess one thing I've noticed is that when I get a little out of it, I avoid writing my feelings down, hence my absence for a few weeks. But I know, I do no justice to myself or this diary if I skip out on capturing all parts of this experience.

So, yeah, new semester, five classes, blah, blah, blah. It's been interesting; per usual, I showed up to my first day of class, and there was no one there. Going on three weeks in, I have yet to have a complete week of school; same ole story. Next week will officially start the full load of this final semester. Interestingly enough, I thought being one of two students in a class was awkward, but apparently, I'm the ONLY student in my Monday night course (which explains why no other students were there waiting it out with me when the professor didn't show up on the first day of school-during which it snowed-because she was in South Africa!). Also, at the last minute I had to squeeze in a sixth class to accommodate the requirements for the South Africa alternative spring break. But, school is school, so this courses stuff is not really too surprising, and I get to go to South Africa, so I'm not complaining.

I guess as the second semester of the second year creeps on, sounding the alarm of Comprehensive exams coming shortly and the need to start putting my the ducks in a row for the dissertation process, some not so subtle anxiety definitely starts to surface. As you try to be proactive and prepare, you begin to really grapple with the politics of finishing. There's so many personalities to navigate, and a lot of underground rules of the game to become familiar with; it feels way more overwhelming than you want it to. I know it will work out, but just saying. Trying to chase down and build relationships with already over-booked and ever-busy professors (those that aren't on sabbatical this semester at least) is nerve wracking; juggling academic and personal responsibilities is still challenging; and sometimes the idea of finishing seems way too distant. But hey, at least in talking to other students, you know you're not the only one.

It hasn't all been daunting though, I must be fair. I've volunteered at my first social work conference, I got to have one of my best friends visit from New York, and got to attend a Chrisette Michelle concert and take pics with Elle Varner. My family is still in good health, and my long distance relationship remains in tact and a major source of support. I never forget to give thanks, but I also allow myself the freedom to vent and release.

I know to push through I'll need to do some attitude adjusting over the next few days. I also know that I need to absolutely do better with my health. For some reason I've been having some respiratory issues which probably just reflects the fact that I need to B-R-E-A-T-H-E.

This semester will be like none of the rest, but I must remember that this has ALL been new territory. I know that God has walked the road ahead of me and I trust that in just a few months I'll be able to reflect on how I've overcome. In the mean time, please forgive me for my distance, I'll try my hardest to do much better.

Reflecting on the "Already Good" and Giving Thanks for the Right Now!

My bad. So the thing about finals is that once they are officially over, you don't want to see a computer, book, or attempt to write anything that resembles a paper. Unfortunately, that meant that when I handed in my last exam, I never looked back, not even to document the level of excitement and relief that I felt when my third semester was successfully complete.

Two weeks later, while I can still recall the tingle of joy that consumed me, I'm a little far removed from that feeling, especially since I'm transitioning from relief from being done to bracing myself for the beginning of the final semester of coursework.

But before I dive into my thoughts of anticipation, I'll try my best to jot down some memories of this past winter break....

Well, to set off the break I was blessed with door-to-"door" inter-state service; my building just so happened to plan a FREE bus trip to New York that was scheduled for the day after my last exam was due. This 7am free ride was equipped with complimentary treats, including a signature bag complete with thirty dollars worth of gift cards! Happy Holiday to me!

When I arrived in New York, I was greeted by my boo and enjoyed a nice afternoon vegan lunch to kick off the vacation. As always, being home was wrought with a lot of fun, family, little sleep, and a lot of juggling in effort to do as much as possible in less than twenty days. I succeeded at most of the things on my NY to-do list; some of the highlights included getting to attend Christmas performances at my nieces' schools, putting up the tree and decorations with my mom and siblings, hanging with my best friend and college girls, looking down onto New York City from the Top of the Rock (Rockefeller Center) with Law and fam, and bringing in the New Year surrounded by complete strangers while listening to show tunes, and enjoying cool fireworks under the stars at Grand Army Plaza in Brooklyn before heading to my Mama's for our traditional New Year's gathering...and then for two days, in between helping the little ones finish their Winter Break homework, I passed straight out, trying hard to salvage some semblance of rest before returning for this final leg of school.

On a very personal level, this trip was both exciting and everything I expected, but also a little taxing and sad at times. There were several people who passed away just before and after the New Year, including a very close friend of my older sister, who had just spent Christmas with us the year before. It was very challenging to stomach the news of loss and garner the strength to support my sister and others who were also mourning.

However, in the midst of the hard times, I found myself clinging to one of the many gifts from my favorite Kwanzaa-Claus, my mom. Among the stack of treats she shared on Christmas Day was a book wrapped in neat blue, white, and silver festive paper. The book, entitled, Faith and Will by the author of The Artist's Way, Julia Cameron, shared some much needed insight that helped put things in perspective and helped really plant me in a better mindset to deal with the challenging parts of the vacation and my return to school.

Among the many lessons, the author of this text acknowledged that "it is easy to be addicted to anxiety...to make worry our home vibration", but as "God is with us every moment...we can ask for direction at all times"; "when God is in charge, all things are fraught with possibility...out of apparent disaster can come the greatest good".

Inspired to acknowledge and release my own worries, sadness, and anxieties, I opened up to a world of comfort in remembering that God got this, ALL of it. In this moment of welcoming the peace that is ever present because of the existence of God, I found a space for myself to see all that was going on, including the loss and mourning, from a different perspective, one that invited spirit of gratitude to replace my worry and sadness.

While I have officially swapped my metro card for my smart trip pass, and have returned to the DMV for school, in reflection, I've compiled a list of reasons to give thanks: I am grateful for safe travel, for the opportuntiy to have spent quality time with family and to have brought in the New Year with loved ones. I'm grateful that God provided a way for my animals to be taken care of while I traveled home so I didn't have to worry about their well-being or loneliness. I give thanks for having successfully triumphed over another semester of school, with a 4.0 gpa to show for it. I give thanks for being chosen to go to South Africa for the upcoming Spring Break. I give thanks for having friends and others around me who also have testimonies of good news to share about things opening up in their lives, and their ability to get through. And, even in the face of the sad news of her recent passing, I give thanks for the time that God allowed Kibibi Dillon to inhabit this Earth. For allowing my family to enjoy her presence as we celebrated Christmas in 2010, for leading her back to her family where she was able to spend time with her mom and siblings before she transitioned, and for creating the opportunity for her to live her dream, having one of her final "acts" in this world being her performance of stand-up comedy for an audience of people to whom she is sure to have brought joy.

Today, as family and friends have gathered in Cali for her home going celebration, in the spirit of Kibibi's life and commitment to joy and laughter, I take time to honor all of the wonders of life and all of the things, people, and places that have helped me and many others simply smile in the face of it all. Instead of thinking about tomorrow, or planning for next week, I simply take in the now, and give thanks.

"Gratitude...is the ability to see and say thank you for the many gifts in our life as they are unfolding...Gratitude shifts our focus from the negative to the positive...[making] us conscious that life is made of thousands of small variables and that many of those variables are already good". -Julia Cameron