The Biggest Lie

It manifests as a tentacled presence that creeps, grabs and collects -- eradicating traces of your hope and propelling you backward into the suffocating deep. 

Occassionally you're taunted with traces of light that resemble what you used to know.

"Tempting?" Of course. This is your first introduction to Biggest Lie.

Your starved and exhausted spirit climbs, clamoring out of the darkness and grasping at the glimmer of  sunshine that Biggest Lie teased. As you arrive, illumined hope before you, Biggest Lie heaves you back into the abyss, reminding you all the while that joy is never yours. 

"You don't deserve light," Biggest Lie snarls.

"You're worthless," Biggest Lie calls.

"Your life is meaningless," it declares. 

"Here," Biggest Lie offers, "take this knife, these pills or this rope. These things will make me better."

With its wicked tongue, Biggest Lie laps at the grooves of insecurity to convince you that noone really wants your truth. 

Never one to betray the darkness below, Biggest Lie assures you that happiness, peace and contentment is what THEY prefer to see.

"It doesn't have to be real," Biggest Lie quips. 

And you know this to be true.

Because in the quiet of parking lots and seclusion of showers, Biggest Lie swats away tears and chokes out screams.

There's no room for help here. 

"They can't know," it whispers. 

"They wouldn't understand," it proclaims.

"They shouldn't be bothered with this," it convinces.

Over and over again.  

"How are you?" they ask. 

"Just fine," you offer despite the aching in your chest. "Just fine." 

But you know that, is the biggest lie.

The Art of Seduction

Just in case you were wondering. Make it a great day friends. 

Is This Post About S**T?

There's a story that I like to tell because I find it humorous and oddly philosophical. Star date 2005. I was in a job that I abhorred. I was ill regularly, including migraines and the worst stomach cramps that I had ever known. At completely inconvenient junctures daily, I experienced what I can only describe as a gut punch that literally caused me to double over, groaning and wincing in agony. I finally made the decision to see a doctor who informed me that in order to understand what was happening he had to look at my insides.

Cool. No biggie I thought; let's get this X-Ray going.

Or not.

Nope, this doc wanted to get a really good look at my insides. Like with a scope. Yup, I was to be violated. The poop chute was going to be shot by video and the only way in was to clean it out. Allll the way out.

I was given a bottle of horse-sized pills and very simple instructions: “take one every hour on the hour until they're complete. We'll see you in 24 hours.”

Sure, no prob, what’s a little cleanse? How bad can crapping be?

Hours 1-3 weren't all bad. A pill here, a quick potty break there. Intersperse some TV and crude BM jokes and you've got a chill afternoon.

Or not.

Because then the s**t hit the fan. My insides were at war and I. Wasn't. Ready.  

I recall a rather critical point in the dark days of doo when, lying weakly on the cold bathroom floor I cried out -- to God, the toilet and my intestines -- "I have nothing left to give!"

Because I didn't. What seemed a simple task of popping pills and pooping became laborious and traumatic. It was an exhausting, wretched and yes, emotional experience about which I’m still haunted.

Even in the moments when I felt as though there was nothing left and surely I was done, back to the bathroom I went -- and eventually stayed -- to share more with my good friend John. Why would the doctor do this to me? There had to be an easier way. And yet there wasn't. I had to endure it. And for 12 hours I did. I got rid of all the crap that I had been carrying in an effort to help my physician see me – all of me.

Oh what a necessary evil. I certainly felt better the following day. Lighter – I had to have dropped 5 pounds or more – and ready for what was next. But I was also weak and desperately wanting to fill this new void with something, anything, that would make me feel less empty.

In case you haven't realized, this post is about meaningful s**t because that's the only s**t that matters.

More often than not, we walk around carrying a bunch of unnecessary s**t. We become burdened by things that threaten to physically, mentally and emotionally destroy us. Even when we get rid of some s**t, we crave new s**t that we think will fulfill us, if only momentarily, and we start the wretched cycle again. We’re constantly seeking something to take the space of the perceived emptiness we feel without giving thought to the fact that empty, open and accessible is a great thing or that it can, and should be, filled with something better than the s**t before.

But what happens when we really unload the figurative crap that we’re carrying around and allow others to really see us as my doctor was able to see me? Sure, he could have done a surface level examination, and that would have been easier for the both of us and certainly more comfortable for me. Unfortunately, my healing could not have come from a comfortable place. I had to drop pretense, drop trou' and drop some...well, you get the idea.  

The same is true for you.

Life isn’t meant to be lived carrying around a bunch of crap. Far too often I see people – hey pot, I’m kettle – throwing, hiding and generally masking their s**t out of pride and hurt. But I have realized just how desperate I am for authenticity which is found in transparency, vulnerability and inter dependency. I suspect that you might be too.

But first we have to stop acting like we have it all together and instead invite people into our lives in order to experience our failures, brokenness, successes and joy. I have been blessed over the last couple of years, to have people who were willing to come along with me and help me carry my crap even when I’m unwilling to relinquish it. The same can be true for you. How much lighter or different could your load be? Are you willing to share someone else's burden, and in turn gain some perspective about your own?

My blog is built on transparency. I write so that someone (I hope) feels permitted to laugh, cry, commiserate and feel a little less alone in the world. In short, you’ll see that our s**t really is the same.

So, let’s proverbially “unload” together. In the comments section tell no one in particular what s**t you would like to get rid of.

A Message From Maya

I used to believe that there was something wrong with me, the quirky kid, when I compared myself against my peers. I realized -- late in my twenties -- that who I wanted to be was who I had always been but tried to run from. The world will have you believe that its culture -- that of sameness, conformity, uniformity and melting-potness -- is the culture. 

Be you instead. Embrace counter culture. Be a Square Peg. 

Cliffs Notes, Rappers and Love

When I started this blog my first piece out of the gate was disputing the notion that “I sucktherefore I’m single.” It was pretty popular. While I have not grown in popularity –  i.e. I’m still the mayor of single city – I’ve had the tortured pleasure of being privy to many conversations in the last few weeks that have centered on what else? Relationships and Love.

It started with a blog post by IamNecole blogger Necole Kane who noted that there was often misalignment between how she demonstrated her affections and how her beaus received said affection. She posited that perhaps if her exes had a guidebook offering insight to her love then maybe her relationships would have been more successful.  

I was dumbfounded.  Could it be so simple? Are cliff notes really all that stand between happily ever or never after? Her post forced me to reflect on my own history. Like Necole, I’ve been described as quirky and complicated. I’m also known as the boomerang girl-- she whom former real or imagined love interests circle back to because they consider me “the one that got away.” I'm well aware of my giving (acts of service & affirmation) and receiving (acts of service & quality time) love languages and that in interpersonal relationships of all kinds that language has often been misunderstood. Some of my heart story is best captured by the following:

When you was just a youngin' your looks were so precious   

But now you’re grown up

So fly it's like a blessing but you can't have a man look at you for five seconds without you being insecure 

You never credit yourself, so when you got older  

It seems like you came back ten times over 

Now you're sitting here in this damn corner 

Looking through all your thoughts and looking over your shoulders 

See you had a lot of crooks tryna steal your heart
Never really had luck, couldn't ever figure out 

How to love How to love 

See you had a lot of moments that didn't last forever 

Now you're in this corner tryna put it together 

How to love How to love

Damn that sizzurp sipping, prophylactic-averse poet Lil Wayne! So profoundly insightful and ratchet at the same time.  How to love? It was time for answers.

Armed with my cell phone and the pride of a pants-less dog, I texted friends and family with a simple inquiry: “If you were to give cliffs notes to a potential beau about how to love me, what would they be?” I awaited the responses, mildly mortified that they might come up empty in the same way that former boyfriends had. In some rather surprising instances I received radio silence. Really mom? Others confirmed my neurotic fears when they replied that they had to “think about that one.” But there were others still who shared tangible tactics in their own love letters to me and my one-day-bae.

“Spontaneous, spontaneous, spontaneous. Be spontaneous! As a matter of fact, you will not come across another female as spontaneous as Randi Majors. I don’t think there is one thing [she] will not try at least once. The absolute #1 feature I love about Randi is that she is adventurous. Come up with a plan, be confident and Randi will have the time of her life. 

Oh, and be patient. As a matter of fact that’s her way of testing you. If she does something and you give up easily it’s pretty much over. She will pretty much lose interest. Be patient and the reward will pay off.”  ~ Male friend of 8 years

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1. Appreciate her smile...and make her smile often.  She shines when she is comfortable in a situation, which allows her naturally humorous side to shine. 

2. Now, although she seems like an extrovert, she is very shy and not always comfortable in new or unfamiliar situations.  Around new people, tell her you won't leave her side at a party unless she says so!  It's not that she's needy, she just needs to evaluate the situation and determine how much of herself she is comfortable with showing. 

3. Court her, romance her, hold her hand...she is still a girlie girl and loves old romance. 

4. She is a woman of God, she believes in a higher power, and is not going to change her convictions, principles, or beliefs just to say she has a boo. 

5. She loves her family, even though they can work her last nerve.  Because she did not have the opportunity to grow up around her sisters, she works very hard to be an awesome big sister and strengthen her relationships with them as they all mature.  You must be able to listen to her when she needs an ear, offer support by just being present, and respect her sisterly ways.  

6. She loves her Momma....get in good and you may have a chance

7. She adored her Nona...one of her fondest memories is being held by her grandmother and laying in her lap.  That sense of security and unconditional love is something she has felt her entire life.  No one can replace Nona, but build on that aspect of love with Randi, showing her she is safe with you, and can comfortably feel safe in your lap, in your arms, in your heart. 

8. She can have moments where her mood does not match who she is.  She can revert into a shell and appear distant.  She often just needs some space to process something she is working through, and she often needs that space alone.  It's not that she is being dismissive to you or your relationship, she just needs to work on her. 

9. She can be unconventional, she likes to do things that are unexpected and outside of the box.  Even if you don't have the same spirit, do not discourage hers.  She is not "cookie cutter" at all... 

10.  She and Mo have a plan to take over the world...get on board or get off the bus...the choice is yours! ~ Female Friend of Six Years

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"The first and most important thing is to know about winning Randi is to be patient and don't be afraid of her complicated quirkiness...aka crazy. At first it will be challenging because it's subconsciously an emotional defense to protect her heart.  The easiest thing to do is say she's too difficult and keep it moving. But dismissing her quirkiness as crazy is a huge mistake because eventually it becomes charming and will always put a smile on your face.

Her quirkiness is infectious and you find yourself wanting to do silly things to make her laugh and smile as much as she will make you. But understand that you are mortal and her talent in this area is out of this world. But the effort is the key to being successful with Randi.

At times, the stress of friends, family and work issues become overbearing in her life and she will disappear into an emotional shell. This is when it is most critical to be consistent with the effort. You don't have to be a Mr. Fixit, she can handle it in due time but just be there and be patient as she goes through the struggles and obstacles of life.

Ultimately, if you're willing to put in the work and take the time of learning the details of how to deal with the many moods of Randi, you'll live a happy and peaceful life. Which is really what every man wants at the end of the day." ~Male Friend of 12 years

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"She is Kind; She is Smart; She is Important...Here's some advice Buddy,I hope you're up for spontaneous adventure. Don't be embarrassed of random outbursts of song and dance in public. You should join in. 

You've got to be active to keep up with her and a tad bit more active to help her stay out of her "hermit hole" often. She goes there sometimes to recharge, reflect or because it's more comfortable. 

Keep encouraging her to not give up on people. 

Give her space to recharge. Respect that she's not shutting you out, but putting things into perspective. 

Be patient with her. She's a delicate flower. Treat her as such but don't hold back your thoughts and feelings. Share them in kind. 

Help her to be kind to herself. And remind her that she cannot bear the weight of people's shortcomings or mistakes. 

Laugh with her and at her humor. She's hilarious! 

You must love dogs! Apollo is her pride and joy. So make nice! 

Be a friend first. That's how you get through the tough times with her. 

She loves big (meaning all in) so she'll need help balancing when to reign it in and at what times to show a little love when it's not time to love big. 

Most of all if you are not ready to lead her as the head of a household someday, then don't say that you are. Be honest if you are unsure of being ready. She'll respect you more for that." ~ Female Friend of nearly two years

So what have we learned ladies and gents? Aside from the fact that the boring and weak need not apply to Randiland there’s the all-important fact that the people who want to love me will. I don't have to walk around handing out strategy sheets and guidebooks about ways to win my heart (although a blog post might do). They’ll put in the requisite work, taking the time not to figure me out, but rather applaud my off-key singing, choreograph my impromptu dancing and hold my hand even after I'm bored. How to love? Just ask Paul, the O.G. love lyricist and then let your heart lead you from there. Because aren't the best things in life worth being weird for?

This is How You Fail Fabulously

When I was in the seventh grade, I dissed the heck outta a young man whom we shall call J.L.  Never having had a boyfriend or significant other, I was TERRIFIED of boys. I believed that a boy and girl breathing in the same space resulted in pregnancy. So imagine my horror, when this fella  approached me as I labored to retrieve textbooks from my locker and asked me to be his girlfriend.

Embarrassed, I shook my head furiously from left to right and quickly strode to my class. Behind me my wanna-be suitor skulked away from the scene of his ego destruction and endured additional humiliation in the way of jeers and cat calls from our voyeuristic peers.  Every day following, and for the duration of our middle school experience, J.L.  held his head high, continued to speak to me and eventually found the girl who would accept his shy proposal. He failed but he failed fabulously.

It wasn’t until later in life that I realized how humiliating the experience must have been for him. It wasn’t until a few weeks ago that I realized how courageous J.L. was.

Last month I decided to approach the proverbial Love Interest at the Locker.  Inspired by a glorious teaching c/o Blueprint Church about overcoming the paralysis of analysis, I applied to an awesome program called the Give1 Project – Global Leadership Program. The program invited emerging community leaders to travel to Benin to learn about and contribute to global leadership with an additional opportunity to speak encouragement to 100 girls and young women.

Um, hello! All me, yes? YES!

So I rocked that application like it was a college entrance exam. I read, wrote, revised and then hit send.I was confident that I would be selected to go, going as far telling friends that I would be unavailable the last week in November. Call it hubris or faith, but I was certain that this was a path to which I was being directed and I wouldn’t be denied.

But then I got this letter. I felt like Maury had announced: “you are NOT the father!”

In this version of Love Interest at the Locker the roles were reversed and I was J.L. I was getting the furious left-right head shake. I heard jeers and cat calls. I was being rejected and had obviously failed. 

Sulking at my desk in front of the e-mail, I questioned whether I rested too many hopes on this one thing. Was my conviction/intuition wrong? Why had I allowed myself to be vulnerable and actually believe I was good enough to be selected? Why not me?

That’s what J.L. said.  (Yup, that joke.)

The difference is that J.L. dusted himself off, returned to school the next day and eventually got the girl – she just wasn’t me. I had a choice: be an egotistical punk or fail fabulously like my never-suitor.

This month, Her Agenda, a wonderful social enterprise committed to the personal and professional development of millennial women, asked the question: “When was the last time you had the courage to fail?” Positioned in a way that recognized the courage borne of failure, the question forced me to re-evaluate my experience.

The fact is, like J.L. I went after something and was denied despite my best effort and conviction that this thing was right for me. From his failure and mine are lessons: what not to do next time -- public professions of love in middle school aren’t necessarily the way to go; encouragement -- if at first, second, or third you don’t succeed, you will eventually; humility and grace –having these qualities in the wake of defeat will develop you for future success; and finally-- don't be a sucka. Be the person who can say: 

"I gave it my all. I tried."

You’re miles ahead of the game when you try because you’re overcoming your own paralysis while others remain stuck in analysis. I don’t know how long it took J.L. to build up the courage to ask me out. But I remember him because he took the chance. He’s made an indelible mark on my life and for that I’m grateful. I was a test for him and he was a test for me. Guess who passed?

Now it’s your turn:

•      When have you failed fabulously?
•      What have you gained from your fabulous failure?
•      Will you try to fail again?

My Fat Face and Other Challenges: A Lesson in Overcoming

It all started with my fat face. I caught a glimpse of an otherwise innocuous Facebook picture (because isn't that the ruin of us all) and realized: “boo-boo you are on your way to chunky town and we do NOT want to live there.” Having heard from numerous sources that running was the fastest way to shed unwanted pounds it became the motivation to eradicate my vanity madness. Then this summer when my mom underwent some pretty serious surgery and I became head nurse Not-Ratchet as well as personal chef, I found additional motivation – running as a means to manage my frustration, anger, sadness and overactive imagination that, if left unchecked, would result in my padded cell residency.

When I started running in June I SUCKED. No, literally I sucked a lot of wind and thought: “I am.going to.die” with every step. It was NOT an experience I thought I would soon forget. But where 90 seconds of continuous and torturous forward movement seemed impossible just four months ago, I now average four, five – and on a really good day – six miles of mind clearing, body challenging running.

Aaaaand here’s the kernel of wisdom buried in my acerbic wit: 

the beginning of a thing nearly ALWAYS sucks. but it will NOT suck forever.

If you’re a professional, a dreamer, a spouse, a student, an athlete, an entrepreneur or person with a pulse – your beginning was NOT a breeze. You had to fight for it. Have you ever witnessed labor and delivery? That stuff is INTENSE. The glory of labor isn't in the process, but the outcome. After a period of struggle, lots of icky excretions, shouting and cursing comes this amazing little gift a.k.a. a newborn baby. But mama has to work for that child honey! 

In the same way, when you begin your own personal journey be it business, school, marriage, or in my case running -- you have to overcome those crappy little voices in your head – and sometimes the voices of doubters sitting next to you –saying: “you can’t, you aren't, you won’t.” But, for those of you who persevered past the proverbial 90 seconds of initial torture – or in the case of pregnancy and delivery 9 months and some change -- you eventually discovered that you can, you are and you will! And then you’re blessed with something pretty awesome to show for it.

I am proudest of myself when I fight against giving up; when I put one pained foot in front of the other, pant, grunt and push my way to the next 90 seconds and the next 90 after that. My running journey has little to do with my physical health – that’s an added bonus realized when I’m being chased by a pack of wild dogs and I manage to elude them without suffering cardiac arrest – but I digress. My running journey has EVERYTHING to do with my emotional and mental growth. The mere act of running, of forward movement, a little at a time, is figurative and literal transition away from all the bad stuff: can'ts, won'ts and don'ts. And eventually, the bad stuff, the hard stuff that I never believed I could overcome is a surmountable, laughable, blog-worthy memory.

Go on and marinate on that one for awhile.

So, what 90 second "monster" are you committed to conquering? Who or what motivates you? How can you keep moving forward? Leave your comments below!

Until next time, keep saying "I.W.I.L.L."