Happy Black Love Month.

CW: may need tissues, whiskey, or a Bible nearby.

Have you ever made a playlist for somebody and blocked them a week later? Yeah, me neither.

You know, this newsletter was an entirely different passage just an hour before finding out my dentist's office since 1997 doesn’t take my insurance. But somewhere in between the overdramatic blubber nugget tears about US Dental Healthcare, I realized: I am doing it again.

Doing what, you ask? Oh nothing serious, just throwing up an emotional wall disguised as clever comedic timing in a deadpan fashion. Dancing around, and choosing not to feel my feelings.

Last month, I talked a lot about how 2024 is my Personal 1 Year, and I am rededicating myself to circumnavigating burnout. Ironically, circumnavigation requires going through.

Dear Reader, this newsletter is about heartbreak.

“Have enough courage to trust love one more time and always one more time.” - Maya Angelou.

I believe I touched on rejection in my last letter, but if I haven’t, let me be abundantly clear: I take rejection very harshly. Once upon a time, I learned that it was safer to cape for the blame of any person’s transgressions against me. Be it friends, family, or even teachers - if they hurt me, something I did warranted the pain. I veered toward acting as the baseline of my personality, to best please everyone. So when rejection came, it was always a reminder that.. “‘straight A’s’ just aren’t enough.” I checked off every box, how couldn’t you want me?

Over time, I developed a pattern of distancing myself from my emotions. Instead of feeling sad, I rationalized. Excited? Came up with a million things that can go wrong. Angry? Well, that was the emotion that broke through first. So if I had to pinpoint, I’d say throwing myself into work…

It showed up in my writing too - my characters and my lyrics were judgmental and rife with grief, but they rarely acted or acknowledged the root of the problem: I was heartbroken.

It showed up in the people I chose… and the people I hurt. I thought going with the flow would properly put me in the position of being “chosen,” without the effort of choosing myself - escaping the trials of trying and failing. Only to “fail” anyway.

“So how do I take accountability for breaking my own heart, without beating myself up, in the process?”

My answer comes in a list of three things. 1. At no easy feat, you start choosing what chooses you, without hesitation. 2. At an even less easy feat, you do so without expectations. 3. You celebrate, no matter what..

Right after Jackson Indie Music Week’s Film Showcase, January 2023.

I didn’t tell anyone that I was in town for a film screening. I simply showed up with my cousin to my auntie’s house, for gumbo. They all looked at me crazy as hell, when I told them my series was screening at the Capri Theater in less than 24 hours. Despite an intimate turnout, I was pleased to see my family of extended cousins and aunts fill the whole row.

Renada, with the green wallet, makes excellent skin products. Jaylan, beside her, is my best friend since 2001.

In the meantime, between time, my friend Tyler-Simone introduced me to Dylan Michael, a Diva-Devoted Broadway-voiced Semi-Retired Rocker and Fellow Music Nerd interested in starting a podcast. I was very apprehensive about adding yet another endeavor to my plate, but seeing as though I was spending hours of my free time pretending to sit in interviews about my music knowledge and tastes, I thought meh, why not?

Myself and the Captain of the Kelly Clarkson Fan Club, Atlanta Chapter, Dylan Michael.

We’ve got two episodes out, now! It’s been fun shaking the load off. The podcast has been an incredible release and allows me to relive my VH1 Countdown days. What’s also groovy are the playlists we put out with each corresponding episode., with YouTube episodes, coming soon!

To acknowledge both Black History Month and Valentine’s Day - both my favorite times of the year! - a lot of us have started calling February “Black Love Month.”

I’m single. Af. Meaning, I live alone, I take myself out, it’s me. Some days I feign happiness. Most days, I revel in joy.

Joy these days, is very quiet, almost mundane. Since 2024 is truly a Personal 1 Year, my expression of Black Love will pour through self-discipline and grace.

Discipline, for the goals I want to reach and the life I am still drawing up for myself.

Grace, for the days I am tempted to be hard on myself.

I’m moving slower in 2024, making a lot more room for intention. A lot more “flowing,” and less, “going with the [someone else’s] flow.”

It makes me nervous because I’m so used to moving imaginary timelines and shipping the work prematurely. Or at least, before I’m completely satisfied and fulfilled. So this time, I’m on my own time.

And that’s love.

Often we fear that we won’t make it into our babies’ Black history books if we don’t accomplish our goals by a certain age. But Black History isn’t some arbitrary wrap sheet of “firsts” delivered from a pressure cooker.

History, like love, is built. And both take the courage to engage just one more time - even after doing or feeling BLOCKED.

And so to all my readers - couples, singles, seeking, lonely, fulfilled, and the soul-searching - I beckon you to define love and joy on your terms, at your own pace. May you plunge deeply into the activities that intrigue you and only you. May you welcome rest without conflating it with stagnance. And to all the boys we’ve blocked before - thank you, and may we find resolve in the way we feel.

Find the courage, one more time.

Happy Black Love Month!