Last year on SBG:
It was the end of the year. I’d just lost my Grandmother. I’d just begun to feel okay after a devastating break up. I was learning myself and how to navigate the world as a deeply emotional introvert, realizing that I didn’t have to be a prisoner of my thoughts. Wondering how I could learn to wear myself, with all my quirks and flaws, well.
Then the clock struck midnight on what would be the greatest year of my adult life.
2011 became the year I pursued my passion in a tangible way, by entering the Northeast Ohio MFA in Creative Writing program. I submitted my blog as a late first-time nominee for the Black Weblog Awards Best Personal Blog, and not only got the nod, but won the award.
I made peace with the end of the most influential romantic relationship of my life, and found myself ready to date again by the beginning of summer. I spent August in art museums, at duck ponds, and on a blanket by the lake during sunset. I had a sweet, but brief Summer/Fall romance that I could appreciate even when I saw the finish line.
I traveled a little bit. Hugged Q from 112 at Justin’s in Atlanta. Drunkenly passed out in a bathtub during a night that I can’t remember with people that I won’t forget, at my big brother’s house in New Jersey. Skipped around Columbus’s Arena District in short shorts and high heels. Sipped Rossi with my homies in Cincinnati’s trendy OTR. I took some shots, stood on some tables, winked at some boys, and generously tipped female strippers who awed me with the artful ways they moved their bodies. Spent an afternoon among friends, sipping mimosas, eating bacon, and furiously rapping Jay-Z lyrics.
After three years of living with Mama SBG, I not only got my own place but made the leap from East side suburban living to West side city living. I reunited with the happy feeling that comes with walking around naked, doing naughty things on a kitchen counter (or in front of a fire place), and coming home from a stressful day to the blissful sound of silence.
I gained that pesky fifteen pounds that I dreamed about since I was old enough to know what curves were, and proceeded to tastefully flaunt my new grown woman body at every available opportunity.
I let grad school kick my ass, only to return the favor by walking away from my first semester with straight As and a new found confidence in my pen game.
I grew out of some stagnant friendships, only to grow into new, fabulous ones that better complement the life I envision.
I realized that one of my best friends is my soul mate, and that the notion of soul mates isn’t exclusively romantic.
I discovered the joy that can fill a woman’s life, when she believes that she, alone, is enough.
Cheers to Two-Thousand-Fucking-Eleven, man. Thanks for the memories.
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