Please Don’t Talk To Me On Planes & Other Requests

I fly a lot. Like more than I probably even realize. It seems like on the third Wednesday of every month; I’m sitting at some gate in LaGuardia Airport, clutching my beloved medium Dunkin Donuts coffee (cream and two Splendas) while dreaming up all the ways I’m going to spend my per diem at the hotel I’m going to check into. I’m not a fan of flying by any means. In fact, when my mother was dying during the first half of my college years, I developed a phobia of flying that made even the thought of it crippling. Each flight ended with a long and unpleasant time in the bathroom while I tried to calm my stomach and nerves back in formation. Luckily, for the sake of my sanity and my career, I got over that. Nowadays if I’m not going home to Chicago or on some exotic Groupon vacation that I’ve booked with my sister or bestie, I’m usually traveling for work (ie: someone is paying me to go fly somewhere (usually to like Los Angeles or Atlanta or whatever but I’m not complaining) to watch a movie or show, interview some celebs, write about that shit and take long luxurious baths in the tubs at five star hotels). It’s a pretty kick-ass gig and fits right in with my bougie lifestyle (even though in real life I’ve lived in the same box in Harlem for the past six years with my variety of Raid sprays to kill any and every bug that may infiltrate my bubble.)

To get back on topic, the trip thing in itself is quite a delight, and it makes me feel all adult and professional to say that I’m traveling for business. (Sometimes if I’m feeling extremely Whitley Gilbert, I’ll even upgrade to First Class, but only if it’s for a flight over four hours and it’s less than $79.99… let’s not get crazy.) However, the trip itself and the fellow creatures that pretend that they’re human beings usually like to make my life miserable on planes. It’s one thing if you’re under five and can’t control yourself, but it's usually grown folks who are the absolute worst.

All I want to do on flights is listen to Brandy’s Greatest Hits Album, work a little (because bills) and read whatever that latest filthy novel is that I’ve downloaded on my Kindle on the dimmest setting possible. (NO CARL I don’t want to tell you what I’m reading!!!) Instead, I'm usually forced to sit next to Mildew John (washing machines are not a new invention) or Patrick or Mable who tells me she reminds me of her granddaughter or well-meaning Beth Ann who wants to strike up a conversation with me. Listen, I’m almost polite to a fault. I’m always going to nod and smile and listen to your tragic tale of how you're visiting your sister Betsey for the first time in five years, and you’re going to go to Cracker Barrel or whatever or how you find that it’s so intriguing that I can actually LIVE in New York. Mostly, I would rather be getting my pubs waxed or getting my annual gyno exam instead of listening to you. It has also become increasingly more difficult to be nice to Dwights I don’t know since ya’ll ruined everything and elected Dump. I really can’t trust you at all, and I would rather sit in silence than have to try and figure out who you voted for  Even when you think you get lucky on a long ass flight to LA in coach, and there is no one in the middle seat, someone makes it an ordeal. Why is it acceptable for you to take off your filthy Berkinstocks Paul, and put your BARE FEET on the seat between us? I wish I were watching the news instead. But by far, the worse offense of plane traveling is this new age bullshit where Sally and Gereldene from row 6998Z run their desperate asses to the front as soon as the plane parks even though 4 million people are in front of them and we’ve gotten to the gate 30 minutes early. I hate you. (But I’m tragically too nice to ever say some shit like that. )

xoxoxo Chocolategirl in the City xoxoxo

An Ode To 2015, The Year I Put Myself On

I've been waking up early lately, an hour or so before my alarm normally soothes me awake. I'm a very light sleeper, I only need a gentle nudging to lift me out of my forgotten dreams.  Some days I'm inspired to hit the pavement and run, more often than not, I roll on my side burrowing further into the mattress that a boy once called too soft. There are mornings when I curl up in the silence, content with my thoughts, or other days when I grab my Kindle which is always nearby eager to pick up where I left off the night before. Grabbing my glasses, I begin racing against time, trying to take in as much of the story as I can before I absolutely have to arise. I've always enjoyed mornings, (mostly for that for that first sip of coffee), my feet eager to hit my cool hardwood floors, warming quickly as I step under the scalding shower. I like my routines ,and the solace that I find in my new normal. It's amazing how different life can be in 365 days.

This time last year, I was in a rut, still bogged down in that 20-something turmoil of what life should be and what it was. I was mostly wildly unhappy, but I didn't want to complain. (At least I don't think I didn't.) Chatting with people who have a few years on me,  I was told to just push through, that things would inevitably get better, but other voices (two to be exact) told me to do what felt right to me, and that's exactly what I did. In April, I left a dead-end job and a stable paycheck to freelance full time as an entertainment writer. I was done, fed up with people telling me to wait. If I've learned anything in my quarter century of life it's that waiting is bullshit. Admittedly, I do need to work on my patience, but time waits for no one, especially not a young Black woman. Visualizing your dreams slipping though your fingertips is gut-wrenching,  and I was determined not to let that happen to me. Unhappiness for any measure of time is too long, and aside from doing the big chop four years ago, stepping out on fate was of the best decisions of my life. I spent the late spring and summer writing in a  little cafe around the corner from my apartment 30 hours a week. With that freedom, I got to breathe and reflect on the last five tumultuous years of my life. I visited Paris for the first time. I got to live.

However, four months of freedom got to be be rather burdensome on my wallet, so towards the end of the summer, I set out to find a full time position writing, and pretty much snagged one up right away. It's funny how life works because, as soon as I grabbed a full-time gig,  y freelance work also began to pick up. I was being sent to places like Curaçao, Aruba, and Memphis. These were beautiful places that I'd never seen, meeting people I'd never dreamed of meeting. It seems that when you open yourself up to new experiences things just seem to flow in. And yet, the thing about opening up certain aspects of yourself is that, you'll also discover other parts that you want to close.

As beautiful and eye-opening as 2015 was for me personally, I watched people I love and adore experience life-shattering loss.  Though I've been through similar things, it's so sobering to be on the other side, to know that no words or hugs will provide the comfort that they are desperately seeking. Instead, I just tried to make myself present, though I'm not sure I succeeded at that successfully.

& then there are relationships. Romances and friendships; those have shifted too. I'm learning perhaps that that's  because I've changed so drastically. For many years, I felt the burden of being an sympathizer, the buffer, the one desperate for everyone else to get along.  It became too burdensome a title for me to continue wearing, so I sought distance and solitude which gave me peace. I find being around other people all the time rather exhausting, I've found that it interferes with my ability to think clearly. Romance was a another learning curve. I think I've discovered that for me, love isn't always enough. I need plans and actions and a bit of aggressiveness.  Perhaps that's unfair, maybe there will be things I regret in the future, but for now I'm more than enough.

From Dubai to Paris to Jamaica to San Antonio, I went places in 2015 and experienced things I never thought I would, I swam in what feels like a zillion oceans, I've laughed more than I've cried and I loved and let go.  What I've learned most is to trust myself. People often have the best intentions but that doesn't mean their suggestions should be the blueprint to your life. You're the one who has to get up everyday and face this harsh world, so do what feels right for YOU.

With love,

Chocolate Girl in the City.