Ah, here we are in the fresh air of 2018. New intentions set for another 12 months in which so much can happen. Here we are in 2018 and I’m supposed to be the new and improved me and the thing is…I’m still me. I’m still continuing to grow. I’m still faithful in my yoga practice and moving my body. I’m still intent on exploring my healing. I still eat mostly healthy with processed foods every once in a while. I’m still writing multiple plays and beating myself up because they’re not finished. STILL ME! New year, same shit. It feels really good to have made it another year and to keep at this thing called life. It feels even better to keep learning just what it means to be liberated.

I am a self professed night owl. I do my best writing late at night while listening to Wynton Marsalis and Ella Fitzgerald with either a glass of wine or a really good bottle of beer. For the first time in my life, I’m living in a space where I’m able to indulge as I truly want to and it has been magical of all kinds of proportions. It’s not just nighttime though. I prefer to be alone to rejuvenate. You can mostly find me with my nose in a book, writing, singing, or laying down on my bed absorbing the vibrations of some really good music, most likely old and bluesy. I’ve always been this way. People called it weird, so I just adopted it as such. If I was weird, then I would stay my own consistent form of weird.

As I’ve grown into my 20s, I’ve had a profound realization in that my circle really is small. So I’m an introvert. Cool. So I like to be alone. Cool, but it isn’t just that. Not really. I love my space. I love it so much that I never want to give it up. I want to live by myself always. Maybe this is naivete but to me its naively reality. I love my own space. I love knowing that I’m alone in my apartment. I love knowing that if a mess is made, I made it. I love being able to talk to myself with free abandon and not care if anyone hears me. I LOVE MY OWN SPACE. This doesn’t mean that I don’t like people, it’s actually quite the opposite. I know myself and I’m learning to love myself more and more, so my relationships with others that are real and true are becoming more real and more true. Do I believe that in order to love others, I have to love me? Not really. It isn’t that simple. Anyone and everyone is worthy of love of all kinds. I’m staying on the journey and remembering that I am deserving of love from myself and the world around me.

A little while ago, I made a commitment to finding my artistic voice and what fueled me. I committed to learning liberation. I committed to speaking my truth, no matter how painful. What makes me jump out of bed in the late morning? Don’t judge me, I’m an insomniac, I might not jump out of bed at all. Some days I just roll over and wish that espresso was really just Lumiere from Beauty and the Beast, or maybe Chip and would just hop into my hand and down my throat to give me some sort of lively reaction to having not slept. But I digress, I really wanted to figure out what I was truly passionate about and the thing is…I’m passionate. I’m a passionate person and when I decide to throw myself into a cause, I do so. Guess my zodiac. In moving toward deciding what I truly wanted for this blog space, I thought about those passions. Art in ranging forms, causes, black and brown bodies, etc. That’s the thing, What I was searching for wasn’t simple. It didn’t have a nice answer dressed up with a beautiful multi-colored bow with Lumiere and some espresso. Learning liberation is not at all easy.

My primary source in learning, besides human interaction is from books. Books are my solitude, my home, my safe place. It is buried deep within a book that I find humanity staring at me so very often, whether within a storyline or inside of thoughts gathered in a cluster of non-fiction ideology. Reading has been my everything this year in helping me to learn and deconstruct the hurtful and boundary-less areas of my life.

What am I saying overrall?

I’m saying that as much as I plan and place, I have to just let life happen. I have to be lonely to find home in myself. I have to open a book to deconstruct what was going on outside and find the language that I’m missing. Yes, it’s a new year, but it’s also another month to get it right, to say yes, to dream, to fail, to fly, to be me.

How are you establishing the New Year? How are you living?

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