Year after year for more than twenty years, the people who have passed through my life all say the same thing. They tell me I’m a “natural-born” writer. They recognize my talent for negotiating great relationships between words to create a beautiful composition. They tell me that I should write books and explore the world of journalism. They tell me a lot of things along these lines and even if I never admitted it, I’ve always agreed.

Then, one day, mid-career, I decided that I want to spend most of my life writing and making a living doing it. 

So, I chose to throw out the old concept that I have to fit my way into the corporate world. I removed myself from the idea that I had to climb the ladder in the Financial Services sector to build a career, live comfortably, and retire well.  I chose to create content for websites, a blog, and other literary essentials. I chose to spend all of my time writing and monetizing my work through marketing and affiliate programs, and so far, it’s been good.

I finally choose the life of a writer.

Finally. 

Most importantly, I chose to write the Truth.

I am choosing unabridged truth over pre-conceived concepts and pre-set & popular subject matters. I am choosing the truth over formal forms of motivation that are streamlined to fit the criteria of content that is “shareable”.  I am choosing to write everything that includes the good, the bad, the ugly, and the unfortunate events throughout our lives.

The mask is off, the eyes are wide and the heart is open. I am writing directly from the notes of my life. 

In the beginning, I wrote solely about the things that have made me who I am. I wrote from the root of my understanding and from the enlightenment that came only through trial and error, good fortune, hard breaks, heart breaks, and “drama”.  I wrote about the innocence of love exposed to the harsh ways of the world. I wrote about the power of self-ownership and the constant quest for betterment. I wrote about the present, past, and future. I was never, ever trying to paint a perfect picture. Instead, I came in search of a richly pigmented one with character and honesty to hang on my wall. 

I had to come undone to become and so, in this beginning of writing soulfully, I peeled back layers to reveal who I truly am. 

Then, “they”, the people I know personally and socially who told me to become a writer got mad at me because of it. My truth wasn’t socially acceptable. The skeletons were making “tea time” uncomfortable.

Yes, I found out that the world wants the truth they can handle without having to actually apply it to their lives. They want you to tell the story as truthfully up to the point where it doesn’t include any interaction with anyone else or any opinions and convictions that may make them feel less than comfortable with who they are. 

It seemed they don’t like the truth as up close and personal as I came with it. They felt victimized by my portrayal of characters they may have fit the profile of. They’re offended by my outlook on certain categories they may fall in. 

They don’t like the writer I’ve become. 

They want the one who writes unbiased political commentary and motivational speeches for community leaders. They like the one who writes commercials and business profiles. They don’t like my stories because what is real is subject to interpretation and interpretation leads to reflection and reflection leads to re-evaluation and re-evaluation leads to the arousal of the conscience. 

Sigh. They don’t like this writer. She needs to shut the f**k up. 

Now, what happens if she doesn’t? What if she sticks with what she’s doing and translates her inner workings into 2,000 plus word posts to the public consistently without fail? What if she decides to remain outside of the box, out of the safe zone and continues to line up spades as they are called one by one?  What if her unmitigated truth continues to shake things up, piss people off, yet makes them think longer and harder? What if she stopped taking precaution, and instead started taking creative liberties? What if she told the stories where the past overlaps with the present and they begin to see how we don’t always transition smoothly in life? 

What if?

The “breaking of the shell that contains our understanding” is often the beginning of a moment in our lives where we take a sharp turn unexpectedly. S**t happens and there’s a moment when you either roll with the punches, run back to the safe zone or create an alternative. 

Here is where I am now with the creation of my alternative: I became a full-time writer. I made it my career. I incorporated a blog into the mix. I decided to write about my life and the lessons I’ve learned in this blog. I’ve been mostly praised so far, but I’ve also been criticized by those (“they”) who know me personally for getting too personal. 

I’ve made a little corner of the world a bit uncomfortable. In the grand scheme of things, it shouldn’t really matter because we know that with all stories to greatness, you’re not able to keep everyone happy. 

But, what about the ones I love? How do I tell the truth about what I’ve overcome to be where I am and what I went through without pulling them into occasional references? How do I keep them comfortable and still tell the story?  Even now, how do I protect them while exposing myself? 

The truth is that I can’t at times and it all comes down to the decision to not cut corners. I cannot cut corners. 

Jay Z brought us the acclaimed “4:44” on June 30. He sealed the deal with those who were on the fence about him. He quenched the four-year drought of his die-hard fans. He stopped the world with ten tracks for $9.99 and we couldn’t be happier. He spilled it all and we lapped it up because we love the truth that doesn’t belong to us. We take those lessons because we value what he says. We listened over and over as he aimed and hit the target despite whoever was objectified because there is no one in the rap game greater than Jay. We stepped into his shade and gave him more than a pass. We gave him a grand entrance because we respect his hustle, we want to understand more about his pathway to success, and sh*t, he married Beyonce (can’t top that).  In any event, we ate up his lyrical deposition on his current life and times because to us, he is credible and “true”.

Oh, how easy it is to grab the truth from the work of the celebrities of the world.

In truth, I love him even more than I already did for this album. He ticked some people off in order to tell and sell the truth and there is nothing anyone can do about it. There are no tweets, rebuttals, diss tracks, nor press statements that can take away from the angles he created that geometrically pieced together the reasoning behind his actions and decisions.

Track One of 4:44 “Kill Jay Z”, he says,

“Cry Jay Z, we know the pain is real. But you can’t heal what you never reveal.”

Yes.

The lessons of my life helped to heal my pain when I wrote about them. The stories of my life reveal to heal, so I will always write about them. I didn’t need Jay to tell me that. Yet, I’m ever grateful for the reminder (let me testify).

Watch this:

Today, in real time, the very same people that praise Jay’s greatness will be the very same ones in my life who will turn on me when my truth comes pouring down. They don’t want that. Someone else’s truth is always more comfortable. 

So, here I am, reading the signs, taking the cues, weighing the odds, rearranging the details and considering the ramifications of streamlined story telling or my current open book policy. 

A few months ago, I actually took a short interlude to writing about ideal behavior and self-improvement. This minor segue led me down a path where I was sure I knew what the lesson was, but I myself was still learning it and not sure I was telling it right. That’s why I’ve rewritten so much of what I’ve posted over the last few months. I found myself trying to find a way to tell stories based on a reader’s quest for a preconceived happy ending.

I abandoned that idea quickly. If something is very difficult to write, it is because it doesn’t flow naturally. If it doesn’t flow naturally, then it means I’m “fixing” it to make it socially correct. That’s hard for me because, by nature, I am allergic to standard social pre-set notions most of the time. If you read the way I write, the truth shows my ugliness before you get to the part where I finally “get it”. I’ve been a hot mess long enough to finally admit that I absolutely love this process of beautifying my inside to match the outside.

I’ve exposed myself. Yes, I have and that in itself is where the ugly transforms to beautiful. 

I’m not the kind of woman to get my point across by strategically positioning myself to be seen in a certain light. I’m not fighting for a position in a stage play. I’m not desperate for a minor role because I have nothing else and I am nothing else of value. I’m not one of the contemptuous bottom feeders who can’t quite cut the mustard, so they take the crumbs and chew loudly in the corner. I’m insolent at times, I think highly of myself, I’m haughty and a tad bit rude. Somehow, despite this collection of not-so-great traits; they work toward my self-confidence as a writer.

To sum things up, my goodness and my badness create my essential humanness. 

I use a saying over and over: “Pain is the breaking of the shell that contains our understanding” – Khalil Gibran (The Prophet).

I believe in establishing power within by sticking to the immovable truth. I let my pain rip through me until I truly understood it and then I took control of it and made it into something else. Finally. 

We make our best decisions when our minds are clear and open. We think the best when we peel away the layers of pretense and use our life experiences as guidelines. I’ve waited long enough, sacrificed a lot and the value of my honesty now prevails. As long as I steer this course with my stories, no one has the power to make me feel less than I am and adversely to what I know. 

There are going to be those who will walk away from me. There are going to be those who will assume I’ve targeted them, even if I haven’t. There will be those who will criticize me negatively no matter how acclaimed I may become. 

It comes with the territory. I accept it. 

They all said I should be a writer. They all said I should write books. I will. Whether they read them or not is up to them. 

Here’s a little bit of useful advice:

Don’t let anyone who is quick to tell their story, no matter what kind of light it shines on the characters of others tell YOU not to tell yours. Don’t let the reckless behavior of underachievers mitigate your greatness. You can tell your story and say your piece in your own way whether they choose to own up to any reference you make to them or not. Dammit.

For me, this is how it goes:

There will be men who were once a part of my life who will get annoyed at me because I don’t paint them into the picture as being the ideal objects of manly decadence. I have to paint what I see, guys.

There will be women or overgrown girls who will be upset when I portray them as the malicious, immature b***hes that they have been at some intervals in my life. 

There will be those who get offended because they feel that my use of “big words” and proper grammar makes me an “intelligent airhead” (one of the silliest references to me I’ve ever heard, by the way). 

Yes, yes, yes. There are people lined up to find fault. 

It’s only because the truth hurts, baby. 

The truth cuts deep and reveals some ugly things. Still, the key motive should be this: you have to dig through this ugliness. You have to clear it away to find the root and replant something new, something meaningful. That’s the smart thing to do. Smartness is the quick witted element of intelligence and intelligence is a coveted thing (don’t believe the ignorant naysayers). 

Ah, life. It could all be so simple if we weren’t afraid of the truth. 

The critics will read and perceive and I’m here for it.  They told me to be a writer. They said I’m good at it. 

They may want fairy-tales.  I don’t have the propensity to write those. I’ve never experienced them. Everything I see around me on a daily is hardcore levels of truth with no lube. It’s full force and demanding of my acceptance. 

I cannot write about blissful love and uncharted motivation at every turn without breaking down the processes. I cannot write about virtue and will power when the real story is about moving beyond a scandalous past. I cannot GROW as a person nor write a single damned thing if I don’t write the truth.

That’s the long and short. 

Two weeks ago, I celebrated another birthday and in a few days, I welcome a new life. There are milestones, one after the other being conquered by me in this moment in time. I’ve got my stories lined up. I’m positioned for great things this year. Real things. True things.

I’ve become the writer “they” said I should be. 

They will deal with it.