Resist, y'all, resist. However you can. My sisters who must work today, don't let those male-privileged asshats tell you that you are forgotten. You are not. Today, we fight with you and stand in the gap for you.
#iStrikefor
#ADayWithoutAWoman
Read More66 days left of my 20's. Man, this definitely doesn't feel like I thought it would. I mean, the physical signs of age are coming: my body aches a bit more and I definitely have to be cognizant of what I eat. While I still look good for my age (ahem #myblackdontcrack), I'm no longer the baby-faced woman who could pass for a high-school student.*
29 going on 30 isn't what I thought it would be. I still feel so young. Not that 30 is old or anything, but it is older--it's adult. Once May 2 comes, I can no longer refer to myself as a young adult. It's official. I'm grown.
So with my thirtieth birthday waiting around the corner, and other 30th birthday travel invites pouring in, I'm thinking, "What do I want for my birthday?" It's a question my husband often asks, and I'm never fully satisfied with my answer. I now know why. I want experiences, not just things.
This year, I will give myself permission to do things I truly want to do. Too often, I deny myself joy because of finances, I have no one to do it with me, I'm afraid to do it, etc. That stops today. The trips that I want to take, I'll take them. The movies and shows I want to see, I'll see them. The things I want to learn...well, you get the picture.
So I'm excited for what will be an exciting year. I'm praying that I'll have so many stories to tell by May 2018. I'm getting ready, adventure is right around the corner.
*Nor do I even want to. I embrace the aging process. I'm actually looking forward to my first gray hair. I look good (read: young) because I take good care of the great skin God blessed me with. I'm not one to look a gift horse in the mouth. Anyway, I'm glad that my face is starting to age. Each wrinkle means I've enjoyed life, that's all.
As I write this, I'm looking at my mirror: curls pinned, brown skin, almond-eyes, the "sparkle" my mom swears is there, and I cry. And not Hollywood "pretty cry" but ugly, deep, guttural, cry.
Why do we often feel we aren't good enough?
As much as I tried to fight it, it took over. While I didn't subscribe to European beauty standards, I subscribed to standards that were not my own.
I'm staring 30 in the barrel and still battling that. Are my breasts big enough? Are they too big? Is my butt high enough? Is it too wide for my height? Is my face too round? Where are my cheekbones? Don't get me started on my thighs.
I never feel like I'm good enough. Sadly, I'm a perfectionist. As Beyoncé is asking me, "Are you happy with yourself?" I can't help but to second guess my answer. There's still so much I need to do. So many people I need to become.
I have to be everyone for everyone. I have to be wife, Director, friend, daughter, confidant, sister, when do I get to be Monica? Who will allow that?
I'm trying to face myself.
"My aspiration in life would be...to be happy."
Under Construction
My mother says that her music was the best. I won't lie, it was incredible. The voices, the musicianship, the backing...
But, respectfully, the music of my childhood, was better. Not only did I grow up with a new genre, but the production value of the 90's entered a new lane.
"A ho? No, that don't make me! See what I want, slip, slide to it swiftly." -Pepa "Shoop"
"When I need to be loved, why wait for so long? I ain't to proud to beg for someone that I call my own." -TLC "Ain't 2 Proud 2 Beg
"THIS ISN'T SOMETHING YOU SHOULD BE ASHAMED OF, DESPITE KING JAMES' TEACHINGS." -Me
Read MoreWomen's Issues are Human Issues, Human Issues are Women's Issues
Read MoreI've realized that January 2017 is a month of growth for me. I've learned more about taxes, finances, politics, etc. than I previously knew. The kicker?? I'm actively seeking this information, not waiting for it to be given to me.
That blurb connects to this article (wait, can I call it that) in a way that can only work in my mind, but whatever, let's go.
I'm writing this the morning of Trump's Presidential Inauguration (that felt like taking a bullet, but I survived), and I plan to see this day through. I'm not down at The Mall because I don't support him, but I will be watching from home. I'm the kind of person who wants to watch the meteor hurl towards Earth; I like knowing what's coming. It's not like I can just hibernate the next four years.
I feel like that needs to be rewritten: IT'S NOT LIKE I CAN JUST HIBERNATE THE NEXT FOUR YEARS.
I mean really, come on y'all, if there's anytime we need to be woke and vigilant, it's now. I refuse to turn my head away from the terrible, orange glow. Instead, I'm staring it straight in the eye. These next four years will be something for America, and even more for me. I can feel it.
Anyway, back to me being the kind of person who likes to know what's headed my way... One of my favorite stories about my grandpa (my momma's father) is his relationship with the KKK. Yes, you read that correctly. My grandfather, born in 1920, a dark-skinned Black man, had dealings with the Ku Klux Klan. My mother's discovery of which went something like this:
Momma: Daddy, why are you watching that?!
Grandpa: (watching the KKK public access show) In order to defeat your enemy, you need to know how they think.
....
In order to defeat your enemy, you need to know how they think. In fact, my grandpa apparently really enjoyed learning the intricacies of the Klan, and even applied for membership. Not on some "Black white Supremacist" stuff, but because he got sheer joy from the Klan (albeit unknowingly) accepting a dark-skinned Black man into membership (he was petty), and, most importantly, he was hell bent on their destruction. You see, it didn't take a college degree for my grandpa to understand that sometimes destruction comes from within. Actually, in most cases, true destruction is internal. Think about it. Even on a personal level, the most profound destruction is self-destruction, so of course that translates to organizations and institutions. Grandpa wanted to know their moves, their actions, their plans. He wanted to know how they plotted the demise of Black people, so he could, in return, plot their demise.
Taking my cue from Grandpa, maybe it's time for me to get back in the mess and the murkiness that is American politics. Maybe it's time to actually let my little light shine. I am a voice in this world, and I deserve to be heard! Word to "A Different World." So back to my first paragraph. I'm growing up. I'm making sure I'm informed. I can't rely on others to teach me what I need to know. I need to seek that information for myself. Judge if you will, but admit that you may be guilty of the same.
Either way, I refuse to hibernate for the next 4 years.
I was a college senior who was afraid of what my future, as someone interested in the humanities and social sciences, would hold. Today, January 10, 2017, I am confident that not only my BA, but my MA, means something.
That sense of hope is dwindling.
I'm the kind of person who feels like I have to feel inspired to write. I'm also a perfectionist. Those two things have created the 6-7 (now outdated) pieces currently sitting in the drafts section of my blog.
I'm learning that sometimes, you just have to write. Even if you don't have anything to say. Write.
Admittedly, I'm writing this with a glass of wine in my belly but still...
2017 is the beginning of an intentional life.
To quote modern-day philosopher Beyoncé Giselle Knowles-Carter, "I took some time to live my life, but don't think I'm just his little wife."
In 2017, I'm owning my womanness. I'm owning Monica.
Volume One: Sexuality. Stay tuned.
Monica Kay Sharp-Petty--Sociologist, Historian, Writer. Most interested in the intersection of Sociology and American History as it relates to the Black American experience, more specifically, the Black American woman's experience.
One day, I woke up and thought, "Why not me; why can't I?" and did something about it.
Now, let me finish my 3 blog drafts and personal statement.
Stay faithful.
"Keep your hands on the wheel, and always ask for permission before reaching for anything."
Read MorePatience has never been my virtue. I've never been one to want to wait for something I want. This is why, until recently, I never shopped online.
Instant gratitude.
I hate to be that person, but I grew up in a generation that was duped by the "overnight success." The person who didn't have to work hard. The person who didn't graduate with $90,000+ in student loans. The person who just so happened to be in the right place at the right time.
That. Is bull.
I claim I'm a hard worker, and I am, but I'm also lazy. I'm one of the biggest procrastinators you'll meet. Simply because things aren't happening as quickly as I think they should. This path I chose is not an easy one. I mean, Humanities?! Really??? I have to remind myself that I'm not going to be able to go abroad at the drop of a hat like some of my peers who are in Corporate America. Right now. My time to shine will come, but it's a longer hike to the top.
And I am not ashamed. Although many say I should be.
I chose my passion. I didn't choose money. I didn't choose job security. I crave adventure. I want happiness.
I'm getting back to happy. I noticed this as I was driving this morning belting out "When Doves Cry" and "Nobody's Supposed to be Here," to my husband's chagrin. I realized that I haven't done that in a long time. Singing, although I'm no Beyoncé...I'm not even a Rihanna, makes me happy. Now that I've acknowledged it...
Step one: cooking and learning new techniques.
Step two: writing.
It's high time for Monica to get back to Monica. Depression is real, and please know that a smile may be the biggest coverup. Sometimes you smile and laugh to keep from breaking down. That has been my existence for the past several months, but I'm finished with it. God has been too good to me; I matter too much to let my circumstances overcome me.
However, I'm not completely out of the woods. I can just feel the light, and it feels good.
...and we're reading "Just Mercy" by Bryan Stevenson. So far, I've found it to be more attention-grabbing than most non-fiction books, and I believe I'll review it officially on here. Also, my husband and I are going to begin "You are a Badass" by Jen Sincero in about a week.
2 book clubs under my belt.
Merry early-Christmas to me!
I say that for two reasons:
1. seriously, where did October go? Has it really been a month since my last post?! Geez.
2. The reason for this post...you know how sometimes you just really want to like something, but you can't get into it? Well, add "I'll Never Write my Memoirs" to the list including all audible books not narrated by Tina Fey, Mindy Kaling and Joe Morton, as well as "Americanah." I tried. Or as my beloved friend tells me #triedit. I gave myself a month. Well, guess I'll add it to my library in hopes that one day I'll revisit it. Maybe. Probably not.
At at least the Royals won the World Series!
"It's more important to be happy, than to be well-dressed."
-Iris Apfel
"That's my age--that's how I measure it. I wasn't born wearing a watch, and I never got used to wearing one..."
-Grace Jones
These are my spirit animals.
Read More"I began to see that stripping families of their cultural camouflage forced family members to be more accountable for their actions and their responses to one another. "
-Edwin H. Friedman, "A Failure of Nerve"
Read More"'Don't ask me about being a writer. If when you wake up in the morning, you can think of nothing but writing...then you're a writer.'" -Rainer Maria Rilke by way of Delores vanCartier b.k.a Sis. Mary Clarence
Read MoreSCENE: BALLSTON "MALL"-ARLINGTON, VIRGINIA (subtle shade thrown lol)
GUY
Excuse me miss, I noticed you on the bus. Where are you from?
ME
(nervously) Um...Missouri.
GUY
No, I mean, where are your people from?
ME
Arkansas. Well, my mother's side is. My father's side, I guess is from Missouri. (I later learned that they are in fact from Oklahoma and Missouri, maternal and paternal respectively)
GUY
(chuckles) No, I mean, where are your ancestors from?
ME
Hmm...well, I don't really know.
GUY
Are you not Ethiopian?
ME
Well, I mean, it's possible. (chuckles) I'm Black, and because of a little thing called slavery, I honestly have no idea.
GUY
(chuckles again) Well, either way, you're beautiful. You should look into researching your family history.
GUY WALKS AWAY. I STAND THERE. CONFUSED AND INSPIRED.
This will be the first of a few posts regarding "The Warmth of Other Suns." Yes, I know, I've had this book for two months and still haven't finished it. I have no excuses, just know that June was one heck of a month for me, and didn't have much time to read. Or write.
Instead of analyzing and discussing "The Warmth of Other Suns", I have decided to apply Isabel Wilkerson's outline to my maternal grandmother's story: Natalie (Thomas) Freemon. The dialogue I included above, was one of several encounters I had when I lived in the D.C. area. Coming from Missouri, I never got the "What are you?" question, but when I moved east, I seemed to get it frequently, and the people who would ask were overwhelmingly Ethiopian or Eritrean. It was then that I decided to put my research skills to good use so that I could finally answer that question.
What are you?
In order to answer that question, I need to know my family's history, and that is where my grandmother's migration story comes in. While this won't focus on ethnicity or race much, it will focus on my grandmother's (Granny, as I like to call her) experiences before, during, and after she migrated from Foreman, Arkansas to Kansas City, Missouri.