Let Me Be Your Motivation

What motivates you? Is it money? Is it love? Is it passion? Is it the desire to get better? Is it pure enjoyment?

Lately I feel that nothing is motivating me or inspiring me. Everything is bland and basic. Nothing is challenging for me. I have pretty good friends, but no one is particularly exciting or interesting. I have no lovers that make me swoon. I have no hobbies that keep me awake at night.  I am not participating in anything spiritual or intellectual that is larger than my self.  I do not feel particularly connected to a group or an entity. I am just floating…..

I am not unhappy. For the first time in a long time I can say that without having to wonder. I am not depressed or overly anxious. I am very much content with what I have and who I am, the path that I am on and the steps taken to get there. I am just not terribly excited about anything….

What is more unsettling to me is that I do not know what will motivate me. For the first time in a long time, I have no aspiration. I have done all that I have desired to do. Gone to school, made major purchases, seen the world.... I've done it all, at least, all that can be quantified. Of course, there is so much more. But what is that more…. Everything else is more conceptual (fall in love, produce something great, just grow and share myself)….

So, what should I do to shake myself out of this place?

Reflections on Zora & blackness

So many of us shoot for the stars. But how many of us jump at the sun? How many of us dare to leap at that big bright star and bask in its light? Zora Neale Hurston did. She identified dreams and pursued them. In a time where many thought it unfathomable, she traveled the world and studied black people. She didn’t talk about racism, Civil rights, or the downtrodden black person. Nor did she attempt to create an unrealistic view of us, presenting us as a superior race, or a group of people without diversity or complexity. She just told our story, with sweet language and a critical eye.

This week I visited the California African American Museum. I saw the film, Jump at the Sun, which chronicles Hurston’s life and work. Hurston was a writer and anthropologist, and she chronicled the lives of everyday black people. She didn’t present us as specimens for study, but as human beings, loving, living and exercising our humanity--- even in the confines of a country that sought to destroy our identity. Hurston had a whole souled love for black people, and she documented that, studied that and shared it, without apology.

This appreciation for blackness, unencumbered by hate toward or desire to be the “other” was and is totally foreign to me in today’s context. I have met few people that know and love black history, seek out black experiences, embrace black art and nurture black bodies.

These days I am left to wonder what public figures truly love black people? Many people study us, defend us, distract us, and (re) define us. But who loves us? When I turn on the reality shows (Basketball Wives, love and hip hop, real house wives), when I hear the commentary about our first black president, when I turn on the news and hear the staggering statistics about the abuse inflicted on black people and the abuse we inflict on ourselves, when I see our musical icons dying of suicide and substance abuse, when I go into a classroom of black children and hear them talk to each other or hear parents and administrators talk about them, I am left to wonder, who truly loves black people? Many educate, advocate for, and uplift…. But who loves the people who have been kissed by the sun? 

On the Road Again?

My heart is on the open road. It is in planes, trains and automobiles. It is in moving forward, seeing the beautiful things, touching history and imagining a future. It is in going places. I used to want to be an anthropologist. I used to want to travel the world and do documentary ethnographic research. Whatever that meant. It seemed cool to do. Somehow life got in the way of living. Fear set in, more immediate goals arose.

Last year I went abroad. It was a long time coming. It was fabulous. I don’t know how to describe it. Its like your soul, just opening up… I get the itch to go often, but I deny myself that urge. But every year, come spring, I’m ready to plan the summer with a vengance. I cannot pretend anymore that it is not exactly what I need.

So. I’m trying to decide. Should I travel this summer? When a lot of people answer these questions, they think of the hows. How will I fund it, how will I find the time? But I know for me, once I say yes, once I affirm it and accept it, the hows fall into place.

Right now it seems really foolish. I just got this new apartment and I don’t know where I will work in the fall. Financially it could be a big setback, or it might not make a dent.

One thing about me, I want to know all the rules, all the exceptions, and all the odds of winning or losing before I get in the game. I want to know how the movie ends before I watch it. But certainty doesn’t come and neither does forever. In the past 2 years, I’ve seen young people drop dead without warning. I’ve seen old people get to the end of their lives only to admit that they didn’t live it the way they wanted to. I’ve seen people scared to dream a new dream. Its dawning on me that life is not promised and time is not promised. It seems like, if I can do it, I must do it. If adventures seem difficult now, how hard will they be when I have a mortgage and a family.

But my grandmother is getting sick also…. Who know’s how long she has…. Its hard to plan for the future when there are so many variables out of your control…..