New York City Empowered

C'est moi in a purple beret. And the City looking bright on a crisp November day.

I wake with a slight heartache for the City. My morning daydreams are of Brooklyn. A stroll around the bustling neighborhood of Front Greene. A cappuccino and writing pause at the community coffee shop Smooch. Walking down the City streets with a very dear friend, laughing and marveling at the sights. New York City cast its spell, leaving me a bit star struck and imparting some empowered New York attitude.

Inside the colorful and bohemian coffee shop, Smooch, my cappuccino and writing hangout in Brooklyn.  

Lately, I’ve been working on boosting my confidence center (the third chakra), and a trip to New York City (to see a dear friend and visit Columbia University for a graduate program) turned out to be the perfect challenge for a Southern Gal seeking to cultivate more kick-ass power.

My wise yoga mentor was the first to make this revelation. In a pre-trip coffee catch-up date with her, I shared a few current struggles (even sharing I was nervous about hailing a cab from the airport) and she weaved them together, showing that many of them stem from not feeling comfortable and confident in speaking up for myself and my needs. Becoming aware of this pattern of not voicing my needs helped make it a priority as I prepared and navigated my way to New York. 

The Universe was quick to put me to the test. Traveling to New York City demanded that I speak up for myself. My flight into the City was cancelled and I got rerouted into a nearby airport in New Jersey. The nerves about hailing a cab from the airport vanished when presented with the whole new challenge of getting from Newark, New Jersey to Brooklyn. So, I spoke up. I talked with the airlines, family and my friend in Brooklyn about how to get to my friend’s place safely and soundly. I practiced being mindful of the present moment, embracing all what encompassed my experience of waiting for the delayed plane and figuring out the next travel step.

My phone announced its final stage before battery death at the same moment when I realized that my bag had gone MIA at baggage claim. Exhaustion threatened to turn into hysteria, but the power center spoke up, commanding for me to pull it together, talk to the airlines, find a ride and get to Brooklyn in one piece. Around midnight I arrived in the glittering City and stepped out onto a curb in Brooklyn, which was still buzzing with City life (a film crew shooting a scene on the corner) and into the welcoming embrace of a best friend.

My stay in New York continued to offer lessons for my power center. Beginning, curiously, with my missing bag. 

Brene Brown reading and a gorgeous scarf from Tibet, a beloved gift from a world-traveler friend, were must-haves for the trip. And the beret. I’m kinda in a French fashion phase.  

My bag only went MIA for one night of my stay, but I still had a reaction to not having my things and realized my strong attachment to my clothes and makeup. Honestly, I tend to feel more confident when I feel good about my fashion ensemble and when I’m wearing a little bit of makeup. It’s a shortcut to confidence. True confidence is feeling rock star awesome and gorgeous no matter what.

That first morning in Brooklyn challenged this fashionista to adopt a more natural and rugged traveler look.  As I dared myself to venture down unknown streets and get a little lost, I did feel confident, the type of confidence born out of proving you can do something a little courageous on your own. I also felt beautiful because I was delighting in my surroundings, in new discoveries (a park in the middle of the neighborhood, a café called La Defense) and when I walked down a street called Carlton Avenue, I fell rather in love.

I could live here, I dreamily mused, strolling under brilliantly colored trees, passing charming townhouses and neighbors pushing strollers and walking dogs.

 In New York City inspired dreams, I live in one of these charming townhouses in Brooklyn and with a city savvy basset hound. 

Carlton Avenue is where my mind goes when I think of New York. The love at first sight feeling happened for me on Carlton. When I think of Carlton, I think of that first heartbeat of love for Brooklyn, of my friend and hear us laughing and feel that laughter radiate out through my being. This is a soul-friend; I can be vulnerable and joyful with him. He makes me laugh, liberating laughter that reconnects me to a playful and confident self.

And this confident self was taught a lesson even when it came to crossing the street. At the beginning of my stay, I was slightly petrified when crossing the street and the taxi cabs did not hesitate in inching up to the stream of pedestrians, ready to zoom through once there was a clearing. I was quickly pin-pointed as a tourist because I would jump back and throw up my arms in an pleading effort, “PLEASE DO NOT HIT ME!!!” Toward the end, taking cues from the natives, I went at my own (quick) pace and gave those taxis a raised eyebrow, “It’s my right-of-way, Buddy.”

A quick!quick! snapshot. 

This attitude travels back with me to Lexington. Though I was most definitely out of my comfort zone during most of my stay, and I welcomed that experience, it’s the memory of New York, the moments of courage, the laughter shared with a best friend, that remain and empower me here, in my hometown. These memories will continue to sparkle me up and get that confidence center shining bright, like New York City lights. 

Ishmael Beah: Writing & Advocacy

Patiently, I wait in line to get my book signed. I’m all butterflies, still marveling that I’m only a few feet away from a personal hero of mine. I usher my friends to go ahead of me – I want to savor this moment a bit longer.

I flashback to high school and see sixteen-year-old me who has developed her first caffeine addiction to chai tea lattes. In this memory, I’m in a different line, the coffee line at Starbucks and I’m pulled to a book display featured at the front. The cover captivates and haunts: a lone boy walks a rugged, jungle trail in torn flip-flops. An AK-47 dangles over his shoulder.  

I remember this moment clearly, the first time I saw  Ishmael Beah’s  , A Long Way Gone while standing in line at Starbucks.  It’s a moment of awakening. The book’s presence interrupted my train of teenage thoughts centering on ACT prep, surviving AP English, and school drama.

Beah’s memoir of war broke me open. His story revealed the worse and best of human nature. He challenged my ability to empathize. His story sparked a passion for advocacy, for championing human rights. And he did this through WRITING.

Beah represents both my passion (writing) and my heartbreak (injustices toward the innocent). He uses writing to spread awareness and provoke change. I hold him in the highest esteem and this admiration for him grew even more as I listened to him speak at UK. He radiated such presence and fully engaged with the audience. Despite everything he’s survived and seen (or maybe because of it), there wasn’t a hint of bitterness and anger in his voice.  He still criticized the US media’s portrayal of Africa and Hollywood’s misconstrued depictions of violence but he spoke from a place of truth and those words were soothed with understanding and peace.

I must confess that I wasn’t feeling entirely peaceful as I listened to him speak. The bored, texting and talking freshmen sitting behind and around me irritated me. UK’s incoming class was required to read Beah’s memoir, attend discussion and come to his talk. For the most part, these budding young scholars were polite and respectful. And then there were the ones that sat near me.

At one point, I shot an evil glare to the three ladies chatting behind me which only resulted in more angry whispers directed toward the back of my head. And I sent angry thoughts to the dedicated texters sitting in front of me. Here were my thoughts: there is a man standing on stage right now, exposed in his truth, talking about overcoming PTSD because of his war experience as twelve-year-old boy (who lost his family in the conflict and was fed drugs so he could kill on command) and they don’t have the decency to not talk and text for at least thirty minutes while he shares his story?

My frustration with this sea of freshmen humanity began to overshadow my actual enjoyment of listening to Beah.

Let them be. Show Beah respect by giving him your whole attention and just let the others simply be.

One of the signs of inner peace is a loss of interest in judging others. I was giving away my energy to the surrounding people instead of wholeheartedly listening to one of my favorite authors.

So, the ladies continued to chat and the texters kept busy, too, and yes I felt flare-ups of irritation, but I acknowledged, went back to the mantra above and then tuned back in to Beah’s talk.

At the end of his talk, as if he could read my mind, Beah spoke of the importance of being peaceful in our actions, our words, and our thoughts.

In daring daydreams, I envision myself being out in the world fighting the “real” fight for peace – like Beah who negotiates with war lords to rescue child soldiers from the front lines.

Right now, though, my daily task is to cultivate a deeper sense of understanding, forgiveness and peace toward others and myself. Every moment is an opportunity to be present and peaceful, to be responsive and not reactive, to show compassion and respect, even to the freshmen who chat and text around me – they’re struggling and learning, too.

The freshmen waiting behind me in the book-signing line, however, share my giddiness and butterflies. There’s a reverent hush. I watch as my friends timidly step up to get their book signed, I love being a witness to that moment for them. 

I’m all starry-eyed as I hand him my book, saying a soft “hello” and thanking him for his time. He’s been signing books for over an hour now and I can tell he’s weary, but he still engages in conversation with me and takes care to spell my name correctly (I wouldn’t have minded a misspelled name; I’m just thrilled I had the opportunity to meet and speak to him).

Walking toward my beaming group of friends, I think back to my younger-self reading Beah’s memoir. A Long Way Gone held such significance in my young adult life. This momentary connection with Beah offers fresh inspiration for my continuing journey. Just taking it one peaceful breath at a time.