Reflections on Religiosity.

I blame my Adolescent Psychology class at Cleveland State University. We did an existential questioning exercise, and the first draft that I turned in was returned to me – my professor had seen through my bullshit and wanted me to do it again.

So I did. I sat on the floor of my bedroom and I did that exercise a bunch of times until it happened the way that it was supposed to – out of one question, another was born, until I made a huge revelation at the end… I wasn’t Christian.

Before this exercise, I had few experiences with Christianity. I visited Antioch Baptist with a friend some Sundays, but my parents never went. Whenever I had to check a box, my mom would say, “Check Baptist.” So I identified as that. At 14, my father would make my brother and I go to the Word Church when we were at his house. For a while, I found myself becoming enveloped in it. I believed.

I had to be about 14 years old at the time, and I can’t exactly pinpoint when the shift occurred, but the pastor said something that got my wheels turning, and before I knew it, I sat there, every Sunday, questioning everything I heard. Later, when I took that Adolescent Psychology class, I’d learn that what I felt then was indeed normal. It was called moratorium. I was entering my identification stage. I was trying to figure out who I was.

I stopped going to church. 3 years later, when I got to the end of that exercise, I knew that what I’d concluded matched what I felt inside. My professor agreed. I got an A.

…And then college happened. I returned from winter break in 2012 with a heavy heart, and few people to turn to for solace. I sought Christianity again… only to sever my relationship with it a few short weeks later.

There are two paralleled experiences that have brought me to where I am now. The first happened at the Word Church. The second, a bible study at Ohio State. I’ve never been baptized, and in both instances, I grew to feel ashamed of this. At the Word, my dad would look at me often, and wait for me to approach the pulpit. I never did. At Ohio State, I could feel eyes crawling on me when I didn’t stand to be saved, week after week after week.

See, that’s the thing. I’m not looking for salvation. My soul, the part of me that I find to be the most pure, the unadulterated and unyielding, does not need to be saved. Every time I sought Christianity, it was for community – it’s never been to be saved.

I’m not an atheist. I do not know if I am agnostic. I believe that there are things beyond my control, love that I cannot explain, and beauty that simply cannot happen by chance. My God, if I were to identify it, would be genderless, and in everything; it would resemble the universe.

While I have been told by Christians in passing that I am damned to hell for my beliefs (which are not their beliefs), I have no desire to change anyone’s mind. In an article on For Harriet about black non-Christians, the author noted “Your personal truth is not necessarily universal truth.” My truth, and what I believe about the world around me, does not have to impact yours.

I’ve always said that many of the Christians I have grown to love have a light inside of them that I have always admired, and desired to emulate. So I do, I love Christians, and I love that you all have found something that has brought you peace.

…But it hasn’t for me. And that should be okay, too. My God. My universe. My love affair with art and aesthetic… that’s my religion. And it ain’t universal.

Being All Truth

When he put the stencil on my back, my first thought was: Damn, this is permanent.

It was January 3, 2013 and I was getting my first tattoo in a parlor recommended by a friend in Euclid, OH. The entire experience was stressful outside of the eternal branding, but I’d picked something I liked… finally.

The shower. That’s how it came to me. I was in the shower. I’d gone back and forth on a few ideas but then Be All Truth struck me. It’s one of my favorite songs by Jesse Boykins III. It’s one of those songs that I have on THAT playlist, when I’m simping. But it’s also one of the few songs in the world that can make me feel empowered, and firm in my womanhood.

Be All Truth. I was committed to be in that tense. Like it was a virtue. A command. Something I aspired to achieve… Something out of reach. Today, though, 2 years and 6 months after I put that phrase on my shoulder, in permanent ink, I’m coming to terms with the fact that I’m not being all truth – not all of the time.

He asked me… He asked what the name of my movie would be. I said “BEING All Truth” – the embodiment of that which is true. This is a process. I could wake up tomorrow and allow myself to become overwhelmed with all that I’ve hidden… tucked beneath what is rational, and appropriate; tucked behind the narrative I share with the world. I’ll take my time.

Despite the fallacies we purport as truth, truth has a way of maintaining its spot. A stain that won’t come out of the carpet. A stench with no source. A song that we hate that comes to mind anyway.

If I’m going to live up to this tattoo… I have some truths that I need to address, face to face.

1) … I’m afraid of starting over.

P.S. I suppose if you’re into philosophy, you could ask.. well, what is truth? Maybe even debate about whether or not the construct exists at all. But you and I both know what it feels like, at least. A heart palpitation. Maybe a little sweating. Guilt in the form of stones at the pit of your stomach. Deal with that.

A Simp’s Guide to Survival

According to the reputable Urban Dictionary, a simp is a person, man or woman, that is (these are their words) – being too emotional or shows it too much. Simply put – I fit the bill.

How does one come to the realization that they are indeed a simp? Was it my deeply introspective journal at 12 (guys, it was pink with glitter on it and I was dealing with some real deep shit)? Or is it the way that I deal with break-ups? The way that I become invested in ephemeral friendships? I’ve always known I was a simp, or something of the sort… and I’ve developed ways to handle that.

I love. I love hard and unapologetically. I am fearful that this will never be returned, often, but I love anyway. What’s life without living? And inevitably, living includes a lot of one-ways (lack of reciprocity) and detours (girl, you tried it. He’s not it). Get in the car, though.

Simps have a bad rep, yo. We’re seen as needy, and in some instances, an entity to be avoided all together. Having studied Psychology, I understand the importance of emotional intelligence and if there was a standardized test for emotionality, I’m in the damn 99th percentile. At least for myself. Knowing your rhythm, and what does/doesn’t feel right or good in your external will be revolutionary for your internal.

Yet, it is important to manage that emotionality and find ways to deal with those lows with grace, and intentionality. Don’t live there; visit. Stay a while if you have to. Understand how you got there, and when it’s time, make a plan to leave. What can a simp do to manage his or her emotions?

1) Brew your tears.

2) Get a journal. Start a blog. Something. Give your feelings words. It’s a lot easier to grow from that place if you have language for it.

3) Surround yourself with people who have room for you, and are willing to listen to you when you need to talk. I don’t do brick walls. Naw. You better respond when I’m venting.

4) Make a playlist of the songs that trigger the WRONG STUFF. Stay away from those tracks until it’s time to wade through that blue.

5) Realize that your emotionality isn’t crippling. It’s where you get your strength. You know you, and you aren’t afraid to be the you that other people are ashamed to be – snot running and all.

P.S. Sophrosyne (n): Healthy state of mind characterized by self-control, moderation and deep awareness of one’s true self – resulting in true happiness. (See, it exists).

Simp on, simps.

7 Things I am Afraid to Consider

1) Our memories fade with time – How can we prove that we’ve ever actually lived?

2) Sometimes we meet great people in passing. There isn’t always the time, or space, to love them and know them when our journeys meet.

3) Our best decisions don’t always come without regret.

4) See you later is easier than goodbye – even when you know that you don’t mean it.

5) There will always be chapters without endings; cliffhangers, I suppose. Those are the hardest to re-read.

6) Comfort is elusive, but it is addictive when it’s found.

7) Our mind can be a beautiful, and damaging, narrator.

As I prepare for the next chapter in my academic and professional journey, I am fearful of how my personal journey will coincide. I’ve tried to conceptualize this move – distinguish it from undergrad. My time as an undergraduate proved to be tremendously powerful in shaping my personhood. I crafted out a space in this world that allowed me to be vulnerable in my art and heart, and I grew into a woman that I’m okay with waking up to every morning.

Graduate school, though – I imagine it’ll be more for professional growth, and that… that I am afraid to consider. The lessons will come. I will continue to be sculpted, and chiseled; perfected and re-worked. But what about the soft stuff? The love stuff? The I-am-so-different-than-before stuff? Who will I be in a year? I’m 6 days from take-off, and today I have more questions than answers.

So many things that I am afraid to consider.

P.S. “Thinking will not overcome fear, but action will.” – W. Clement Stone. 6 days. Let’s get active.