Next Level [Insert Poop Emoji]

I work in an office with a casual dress code. Perhaps not as casual as I tend to take it, but three-piece suits are not required. Recently, I noticed a co-worker dressing to impress. At any moment, should there be a meeting, she is ready. Me on the other hand? Not so much. And that is a problem.

Years ago, a friend of mine was in a bit of a professional rut. She was applying for jobs all over and no one was taking the bait. Day in and day out she assessed the problem and she came up with none. Qualified? Check. Capable? Check? Hard worker? Check. Educated? Check, check. After a frustrating conversation with herself, she realized to get to the next level she had to act like she was already there. She began moving differently and dressing differently. Nothing she did was out of the realm of herself, it was just in the vein of her best self.

The Universe gives us back what we put out. It does not matter if you are the most qualified, educated or dedicated person in the room. Do you look the part? Do you act the part? Do you live the part? I often wonder how con artists get away with obtaining jobs they are less than qualified. How are they operating medical offices and accounting practices with little more than a high school diploma? They somehow trick people who have been in the business for years and often get validated by said individuals. The package they present is what makes the difference. From the expensive paper their resumes and fake letters of recommendations are printed on to the way they speak, they are living the life they stole, and it makes a difference.

I dress my life. Take one look at me and you can see that (a) sleep evades daily, (b) clean eating means it didn’t stain my shirt too bad, (c) money is non-existent and (d) energy that should be going to me just simply isn’t. I mean, sure, I enjoy some mediocrity like the next guy but I cannot set up camp there. That is not good enough for me.  I need more. I want more. How do I get it, you ask? More is as more does, Forrest.

I must do more. Not in the traditional sense of running around like a headless chicken, but more so in the sense of creating an environment that is conducive to the more I expect for myself.  I must lift myself up to the level of what I deem success to be. I will never in a million years be a flashy expensive clothes/car/house type of person. I will forever be a tee shirt, jeans, ball cap type of gal. My afro will most likely always be big and unruly. But just because at my core casual is who I am, it does not give me permission to be lazy.

The next level which is meant for me, is for me. It does not require me to be anything other than who I am right now. It does, however, require me to be a less lackadaisical version of myself. I cannot be less than my personal best, which by the way, does not include chin hair and hamper shirts. As much as the gung-ho twin wants to hop on all of this at once, the forty-year-old sit-yourself-down twin knows better. One small bite at a time. Much like the woman with the issue of blood who only needed to touch Jesus’ hem, if I can just touch the handle of a razor my healing will begin (joking, not joking).

~SM

Getting Naked

I, sir/madam, am f@#% awesome. I live with millions of ideas in my head and I am not afraid to dream. Yup, I can be a tad bit selfish and self-absorbed and, yes, those are flaws o’mine (aside from a few others we’ll work on later). I am a mess (you should see my sink and my brain) and I am an aspiring neat freak who can’t quite seem to get the neat part right. I am a tumbleweed on this path called Lost and I am in a sea of many. I am up. I am down. And all of that, each little nuance, is a-effing-mazing. But…who gets to see it?

No one. God, I suppose. He sees all but mainly because He’s all up in through there regardless of what I want. I only allow people to see who I think is appropriate. Common sense tells us our parents shouldn’t see the person we are with our friends. Common sense tells us our bosses shouldn’t see the person we are under the covers with our boo. But outside of common sense…who’s naked? Like all the time—naked?

Me. Today at least. I am naked. I am stripping off the proverbial clothes and dancing in the streets (butt) crack out. If anyone does not like what they see, they have eyelids…they can close em. Today is the day I awaken from this terrible slumber—I pull back the fog of dreariness and the black hole of to-do’s and uncover.

I am a beautiful, twisted mess. I eat too much, am kind too little and drive too fast. I bust knee caps in daydreams, save babies in love and hoard paper in greed. I crave naps, swim in coffee and aspire to tri. I am a bad friend, so-so daughter, and weirdo. Where there is darkness, there is also light. They say there can’t be both but I am living proof there is. I am living proof that there really are two sides to every individual narrative. I live in proof there is a fine line to be walked and a good fight to be won.

I am f@#% awesome. Period.

~SM

Just Dance

Here’s the thing. I can dance. I really can. When dancing is required in a public space my limbs get rigid and I freeze. Dancing in the bathroom? Oh yeah, I’m the business (IMO). Dancing out in the open? Fugettaboutit. While finding forty, I figure there are some things that are going to have to happen. I am just going to have to bite my lip, close my eyes and do. Today, I will dance. It won’t be forced. I will just allow myself to feel the music in my ears and move as it glides down my soul. Dance today—anywhere and enjoy every beat. I know I will.

~SM