Don't be the only one who can not see your talent.
Don't be the only one who can not see your potential.
Don't be the only one who can not see your greatness.
See your beauty.
See your talent.
See your potential.
See your greatness.
They see it because it is already there. Do you believe it?
You're Not Perfect
Random Thought # 1: None of us is qualified to be a parent. None of us will get it right. That's terrifying! (I don't know if I'll ever be ready.) More on this in a future blog.
Random Thought # 2: I've somehow been misrepresented as perfectionist. I'm not. I just want to get it right.
Random Thought # 3: I've restarted this blog three times now.
*GASP* I have a problem with perfectionism...
Hello, my name is Enisha and I am a closeted perfectionist.
The issue is that I am always in pursuit of the highest title, in theory. I want to be the best, but I seldom achieve that. In most cases I hover somewhere slightly above above average. It's maddening. I am the laziest overachiever you will ever meet.
Ouch. That hurt to admit.
Because I suppose the truth is that sometimes when I give ALL that I have, balls to the wall, no holds barred, I don't always win the title. These are the breaks. But I don't like them. And then I rest comfortably in my slightly above, above average station (because nothing less than that will ever be acceptable from my point-of-view), and everyone still considers you a winner. And it feels pretty good. Good enough to sit in and not push harder the next time. But the truth is second place sucks.
I don't always know which self to listen to. Is it the one that screams, "Stop trying to be perfect" and says, "Give yourself a break"? Or is it, "You're not doing enough." and "Twice as hard, remember."
Okay, digging deeper... I have not yet learned to walk fully and confidently in my greatness.
"Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure." - Marianne Williamson
I can vividly recall instances when I was the best, won the room, achieved the thing, and could barely stand it. I could hardly find my spine to soak it all in. Did I think in those moments that I didn't deserve it? I had in fact worked hard for those achievements, earned them, won them, they were mine.
"We ask ourselves, 'Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous?' Actually who are you not to be." - Marianne Williamson
I'm not a perfectionist, I just have big dreams, big goals, and need not allow myself to sit in the comfort of above, above average. Good enough isn't good enough for me.
This probably could have been a private journal entry. But I've shared it here anyway. If it inspired you, frustrated you, made you want to push harder, or never visit my blog again, I'd love to know. Feel free to comment.
Black Girl Hair
My life is like my hair story.
When I was 5 or so, my mom put a relaxer in my hair because this 4C thickness with length was too much for her to handle. I didn't have a say. And my heavy-handed aunties who usually managed to wrangle my head full with beads, bristle brushes, bobbles, and pink rollers, were equally pleased. Meanwhile, I was starting school on Long Island, and my guardianship was being figured out too. I didn't have a say in staying with Mom, or Dad, or Nanny. The decision had been made for me. It was going to be Grandma's for a while.
By the time middle school rolled around, I'd been given some autonomy and started trying new styles and new boyfriends. The lifespan of each was never more than a week. Before graduating high school, Houston's heat and the heat of the curling iron had burned me out. My hair and my teenage heart had endured various exaggerated states of well-being.
Atlanta changed everything! I was incubating in the Atlanta University Center, absorbing and unlearning all the most poignant influences to my cultural identity. The AUC was like a pilgrimage and emersion into black mecca. Here's an excerpt from a poem I wrote during that time:
I float on cocoa satin as the communion fills my temple with the recognition of my own queendom.
I walk among goddesses whose heads are adorned with the music of coily roots -
Dancing out and upwards in time with the rhythm of the heart's djembe
I eventually "big chopped" all of relaxed hair, rocked a coif of curly, coily deliciousness, and then gave it permission to grow into the most glorious long afro it could. Ahh. The Atlanta effect. Neither I nor my hair had ever been more healthy, more full of life, more expressive or more confident.
I moved to Los Angeles still with the possibility of a fro, but a fro rarely seen. I had learned by then that I was ahead of the times -- TV and film-wise; and this natural hair had become a stumbling block more than a stepping stool. At the time, LA passively-aggressively required the illusion of perfection--which was most certainly not defined by the righteous indignation these frizzy ends represented. So I would allow my hair to find heat again. High heat. But I refused to relax it. Just add water and I am reminded of my old knowing, my own queendom... Though it does bear the evidence of a little damage, the price of compromise, I suppose.
LA has certainly caught up a bit. You can't see a commercial with a black woman without her hair being in her full natural glory. And the most successful among us--our A-Listers--have managed to link with hairdressers who seem to know exactly how to care for, and style the hair that naturally occurs from our heads. Revolutionary. But I have found little middle ground. These days, I experience a range of emotions in waiting rooms with other black women the moment I realize that I am the only one without curly, coily, or big, natural hair. It's almost become my advantage.
I have accepted the chameleon nature of my hair, and the transformative power of my self. But more importantly, I am the sum total of all of my parts: laid, twisted, big, full, added to, or cut off.
Closing remarks to follow by Deacon Solange of the Knowles House of Realness:
Style Report 2
Photos by Crystal-Lee Naomi
Closet Shopping Round 2!
TOP - This little layered spaghetti strap top is one of those summer staples. It's the gift that keeps on giving. The tricky thing about spaghetti straps for me is the length of the straps fitting your comfort and cleavage taste level. What you can't see from the pictures is the back which has an extra horizontal tie that allows for convenient adjustment. No extra strap adjusters necessary! LOVE this super versatile cutie. I have to work hard not to wear it all summer long!
SHORTS - Another one of those finds from my favorite high-end consignment shop! These hot pink shorts are one of a two-piece summer ensemble and certainly the star of this whole fit! The high waist, A-line, split front cut forms the shape of a hanging tulip. So feminine, so comfortable. I cannot wait to wear the entire suit together. For this shoot, I decided to go a little more casual with it.
SHOES - Ah, more Footloose memories! These satin champagne BCBG MAX AZARIA 4 1/2" pumps feature a black heel and completed my ensemble for the premiere several years back. Yay to beautiful repurposed foot wear!
JEWELRY - I love a double stacked necklace. You can't really go wrong. The smaller of the two is from Anthropology and features a quartz crystal, hanging cubic zirconia, and creates a triangular shape that is so pretty with a low neckline. The longer necklace helps to create movement with a hanging tassel and three pearls to recall the earrings. I really love a classic earring. These pearl drop earring also feature cubic zirconia. The real diamond is reserved for the left hand. :)
I had such a good time scouting a location for this ensemble. I happened upon these two picturesque vistas and knew immediately that they would complete the romantic, classic, girl-bossy vibe that I was going for. These photos are giving me all of the lady who is feminine and driven, nurturing and sensual, soft and powerful vibes. To me that's the essence of womanhood, a masterful interplay of push and pull. I love being a woman and these photos reflect me about as well as any ever have.
Leave a comment. Let me know that you were here and what you think of this look.
enisha b jane
In my own words.