Love Training

I will be in New Orleans in less than one week celebrating another Fourth of July with the one and only, Ms. Mint Julep. We have spent the past two Fourth holidays together and they have been quite interesting to say the least. Both years I have gone out of town with plans to just chill and have a good time for the night/weekend. And yet on both occasions, I have met what I thought at the time was a great catch of man, so numbers were exchanged, and a long distance dance/courtship/what the fcuk have I gotten myself into began.

First came the tingly feelings. The fun and thrill of getting to know a new person. The walking on sunshine. The like, the lust and I wonder if this could one day be love thoughts. But then came the drama. Right on time and all the way live! The miscommunication. Or lack thereof. The muhfcuka is you crazy? The this can’t be life moments. No really, this can’t be my life.

Heart was splintered. Tears were shed. Cussing was done. Fcuk that nygga was the refrain from friends and my mama. Teedra Moses songs stayed on repeat. Prayers were uttered. Sadness settled in and tried to make a home. And I started thinking that me and “celebrating” this thing called Independence Day were cursed. Got me vowing that next week, I will tell any man I meet in New Orleans that, naw I don’t have a phone. No email either. Nope, no facebook page. And a sista lives on Mars, so rent you a spaceship if you tryna come see me.

But seriously, as this July Fourth approaches, bursting with possibilities, I find myself looking back at how what were supposed to be simple out of town jaunts to have a little fun turned into more than I could have ever imagined. Thinking how I then put my expectations on the totally unexpected. And then witnessed in awe what did and did not come into fruition. Remarking on how so much can happen in just one year. Let alone two. How things can grow. Then shift. Mutate. Change completely. Become unrecognizable. End. How you can think you’ve got it all figured out, only to make the same mistakes. And then wonder if you are becoming the definition of insanity.

While rehashing the most recent dissolved relationship with a friend, I sighed, “Well I guess you live and you learn. And she responded, “And then you get luvs.” “Perfection,” I said. Cause even though it’s from a diapers commercial, these experiences have me feeling like I’ve been wearing “love” pull ups. Seems that I wasn’t quite ready for the real thing. Had to go through some shyt, just to be changed.

Having to wear these training pants before getting the big girl panties has me sorting out in a practical, grown up way, what I want and need from a relationship. What I deserve. Truly (and finally) understanding that communication is key. That being true to one’s feelings is crucial. That compromise is a four letter word. That this grown up, real life shyt is no joke. That every event is preceded by a sign. We’re all clairvoyant if we'd only know it. © Toni Cade Bambara That if a man want you, he will choose you and if he ain’t really chose you yet, then you ain’t the one. That you can pontificate all you want on what you would do if this or that happened, but when placed in said situation, you may in fact let your own self down. That you think you know, but you have no idea.

And so whilst at the time, it felt like I was really going through it, that my heart was shattered beyond repair, me thinks (and have decided) these luv pullups were actually padding for when I fell, to ensure that I wouldn’t be bruised for life. Wouldn’t hold grudges. Wouldn’t fight people in the streets. They have served as protection from leaks of cynicism and jadedness. Kept me dry. Sane. And most importantly still hopeful. Hopeful that there is someone out there just for me. And that all of these experiences, no matter how bad they were, no matter how much it hurt, in the end have a purpose - to mold me into a woman who will know better. Do better. Live better. Expect better. And get better. Got me now believing that you live and you learn. And then you get love. Real love.

That’s my time y’all! Happy Rum Punch Friday!

Epilogue - Everyone has their own memories of HIM. The King of Pop. Mine are: my cousin babysitting us and playing the Thriller record (RECORD!!!) and her making me sing Paul McCartney's part from the Girl is Mine over and over and over again. Playing the Motown Christmas record (RECORD!!!) as a child, beginning right after Thanksgiving and loving every Jackson 5 song. Loving that lean in the Smooth Criminal video. Amaretto putting in the Thriller CD (CD!!) when nothing was on the radio and letting that joint ride! Riding the train to work with Baby be Mine on repeat. And grooving to my all time favorite MJ song that always brightens my mood, makes me smile and then wanna get up and dance. Rest in peace Michael Jackson. You were a soundtrack to my childhood. Loved by people of all generations, races, and cultures. The best who ever did it. You will be missed.