Where All The Real Women At???

Why do I always find myself seeking powerful women through fictional characters, deceased authors and famous musicians and entertainers? Is there a shortage of real women out there or is everyone hiding behind their 9-5’s, relationship partners and private journal entries?

Last night was the first time in what feels like forever that I didn’t have to search Utube or Google to find female inspirational success stories. I was able to sit down with an actual women who “walks the talk.”

This women (and you know who you are), was a perfect dose of strength and independence to get me through what appears like a dry season of powerful women. She does not sing and dance at the Grammy’s or write bestselling novels about the women she wishes to be…She is real, she is strong and the best part is, she has a vagina!

So this is a public service announcement calling all REAL women to rise up and ‘be about it” (myself included)! I’m tired of feeling as though our gender is surrendering our tru potential to the men we date, children we have, jobs we suffer at and bills we have to pay.

When did we forget to remember ourselves? The women we wanted to be before tainted by societal norms, broken hearts and girl on girl crime.

When will we stop excusing ourselves from a life much different then the ones we truly want?

And lets face it there is never a good time to start, but if we don't go after the things we want now...Will we ever?

And as Maya Angelou would say “Life's a bitch. You've got to go out and kick ass.”

What Does It Mean To Be An American?

During my graduate program, I was recently asked "What does it mean to be an American?"

The answer might appear obvious at first, but the more I tried to answer what should have been a simple question, the more I found myself researching what others defined an American as. Her are some of the responses I found:

"Anyone living within the geopolitical boundaries of the United States."

"I suspect that most of us believe, like Supreme Court Justice Potter Stewart in describing pornography, that we "know it when we see it." For example, John Wayne, Amelia Earhart, and Bill Cosby definitely are Americans. The day laborers standing on the street corner probably are not."

"Being "an American" is not the same thing as simply living in the United States. Nor, I would add, is it the same thing as holding U.S. citizenship. After all, a baby born on U.S. soil to an illegal alien is a citizen. This hardly guarantees that this baby will grow up to be an American."

"Unlike most other nations on Earth, the American nation is not strictly defined in terms of race or ethnicity or ancestry or religion. The inescapable conclusion seems to be that one chooses to be an American by adhering to the principals laid out in our Constitution and Bill of Rights. By choosing to become part of the body politic and by agreeing to live in solidarity with the rest of the polity."

And as Mr. Webster likes to define it "a citizen of the United States of America."

Even after my research, I still have not concluded what I define an American to be. Perhaps it is because some of my closests friends (from various Countries) and family members (including my late Grandparents) have lived in the Untied States the majority of their lives, worked everyday, were educated in the same school systems, played in the same parks and yet because they don't have 'citizenship' they are not considered real 'Americans.'

I know it is easy to say "well if they don't have their papers then their not Americans. Simple." But is it really that simple?

For many who are not born with the privilege of being a "documented American Citizen" the concept of being American is so much more than obtaining a few papers that says they are qualified to be American... It symbolizes their freedom.

Even for those patriotic US citizens, I guarantee when the word American comes to their mind, images of our soldiers fighting for our freedom and our Country's red white and blues waving above our Nations Capitol comes to mind way before an image of their drivers license or passport.

But as I said before, I may have a biased opinion.

And although I may not be politically correct, I can't help but believe more what I feel is right as oppossed to what others tell me is.

Being American is a word that only holds power if you believe it does. Same thing as the word man, Chinese, black or gay. They mean nothing unless people say they do. They are used to commonly distinguish something from another, but in reality they all fall under one unified umbrella…that they are all human.

Beautiful

This video is a little 'trailer' from a documentary my colleagues and I shot on being homeless. The idea was first sparked a few months ago when we were invited to present a segment on poverty at a diversity camp for high school students. While brainstorming ideas for the event, we quickly realized that this topic touched way too close to home for one of our very own TRU members.

As he began to reflect on some of his past experiences actually sleeping on cold cement floors and spending his days begging for money at a local Circle K, we decided to try and understand what he was talking about on a much deeper level: We wanted to experience it ourselves. Therefore, we set out on a unforgettable journey to not only learn more about our friend but also the life that millions of people all over the world live everyday. Coincidently, we ended up learning more about ourselves.

-This video is only a fraction of the shocking and emotionally draining journey we set out on. It was a painful and yet, "beautiful" experience of walking through life in another persons shoes...

A Hidden Light

As I sat cross-legged on the cold cement floor I could feel the pain rising from above my head. It was pouring from the words and tears of the broken young women who surrounded me. This pain is what silenced most of us into self-destruction, but at this very moment, in this very room…it is what connected us all as one.

For those young women (and you know who you are) I want to say thank you from the bottom of my heart for opening your hidden wounds and sharing them with me.

I myself, have never shared out loud such intimate details of my past pain and experiences. But by doing so, I feel that much closer to rebuilding the pieces of me that have been stolen; I feel that much closer to you all.

There is a reason you were in that room that night and a reason you are reading this now. Remember who you were before a part of you was stolen and fight your heart out to bring yourself back to life. And as cliché’ as this may sound, know that you are not alone.

"What is to give off light
must first endure burning"

I Can't Convince Myself I'm Beautiful

I had to recently design a workshop involving high school girls and the concept of self-perception and beauty. One activity in particular required the girls to look directly into a handheld mirror and confidently tell the eyes of their mirrored reflection that they were beautiful. I dare you to try this, because let me tell you it is not easy.

Which leads me to wonder, why is it so difficult for women to admit out loud or even believe within the hidden confinements of our hearts that we are in fact beautiful?

I know for myself, just hearing the word makes me uncomfortable, never mind trying to accept it. I believe this very well may be a difficult concept for many women to grasp. The idea that although they are not blown up in the latest magazine editorials or runner up for America’s Next Top Model, they are too beautiful and deserve the right to be.

I once wrote in a journal of mine “I can’t convince myself I am beautiful” and although I have come a long way from that exact feeling, I still and perhaps always will struggle with this word. I used to hate my smile, but have recently grown to admire the distinction that makes it all my own. My petite figure used to make me crave breast implants but after many years of trying to fall in love with the skin I am in, I have confidently reconsidered.

What I discovered thus far in my elongated journey to self-acceptance and even love is that maybe my concept of beauty has been skewed into something that is not real. That in fact, true beauty is hidden behind the many insecurities and imperfections we try so hard to conceal.

I think much of my self-hatred came from the battles I struggled with within myself. The pain I felt underneath the confined layers of makeup and designer purses helped cover up the hidden tears and bruises I was hiding along the way. It is not easy to share these past insecurities out loud, but either was it to admit I was beautiful.

What I’m discovering is that no-matter what I am unraveling about myself, good or bad; it is never easy if it is real

It's been a long night in New York City

An unthinkable week and thousands of flyer miles later, lyrics are all I have left to say…

"Gonna free fall out into nothin'
Gonna leave this world for a while"


"There I was at the bus stop beggin’ you just to stay
If you’re out chasin’ all your dreams
Tell me where does that leave me"


"Pretty little thing
sometimes you gotta look up
and let the world see
all the beauty that your made of
cause the way you hang your head
nobody can tell"

The Winds of Change

It shines bright enough to battle the stars and yet, all I feel is the darkness from its shadow. It stares directly up at me, begging for an explanation. I have no answer.

I can't look forward and I can't go back: I am caught somewhere between yesterday and tomorrow.

With my bags at the door and ticket in hand; I am alone. My one way ticket will force closure and my destination will be unknown.

The winds of change have finally forced the colors of the sky to merge together. As the world begins to fade into the sunset, all I can hold onto is the sound of my faint breath. I have to keep breathing.

Now I will never see that light that kept me holding on for all those years. Everything we could have been, now I'll never know. All because forever is a place I am not ready to go...