Today was one of those day where I know spirit was led me. I was able to accomplish more than ever. Although, I appear to be a multitasker, I really don't think so. Every task that I carry out has to be well-thought out and executed and I give each task its proper attention. I try my best to leave little room for errors with just enough to revise. See, I've learned some valuable lessons about about not taking "Erika Time". That was one of the notes that was given to me during the tech rehearsal, "you felt rushed, take your time."
"Erika Time" has been established since college days although I know there were patterns developing during pre-adolescents. What I began to notice was there were specific things I needed in order to prepare for anything--whether it was getting ready for a party at the Malcolm X Center, hosting a (DST) sorority event, chairing a Social Chair meeting for the Black Student Alliance, or handing in a written final exam. I know to some extent that we all have our rehearsed rituals and methods that work for us and set us up for success.
And yet, somehow, in college and even now I fee bad and a little guilty like I don't think I deserve, "Erika Time." People tend to call it eccentricity, being an actor, being a drama Queen, being an angry Black woman, having high anxiety and I somehowI decided deep inside that other people were right. Maybe, I was "EXTRA." Besides, when I looked around some people thought I was hilarious and just accepted me but there were those who seemed to be uncomfortable and bothered by me or at least appear to be. And you know, I was feeling this a little today at rehearsal. Like I was asking for things that others didn't ask for but I had to ask it/ or at the very least voice it and in doing so everyone was annoyed but also relieved cause they wanted to ask too. It did bring about more clarity. You feel me!
I know that when I was in college I did my best to set my schedule up to have classes in the late morning around ten and eleven. Since, I majored in theater at Smith College all most all my theater classes were in the afternoon after 1pm. This really worked for me because nine am was also the time when our housekeeper came to clean the bathroom and showers. And so the housekeeper knew my schedule, when she arrived on my floor I would always say good morning and she'd knock on my door and let me know that she'd prepared a clean shower and clean stall. I always thanked her and we had lovely exchanges.
We shared lots about lives and she was assigned to our house for at least two years. We got to know each other very well, I remember she had a son. Everyone in the house, knew that I we had this close relationship. Everyone knew my schedule, knew she knew my schedule, and everyone knew that she did what she did for me. And no one said anything to me personally but I would get some glaring looks. I was always trying to figure it out; was it because she was a White housekeeper and I was Black or was it something else? Every time I played this dynamic in my head I thought, "I hope that this is not the case and it better not be because last time I checked I'm one of the few people in this house that speak to her and acknowledge her, and have a conversation. Please you'll better yourselves together." I'm thinking, I am sure that if they were in the house at nine in the morning and wanted to know when the showers and stalls were clean they could find out too. I learned so much about this woman and her family and she knew all about me. I didn't think of her like a peer or servant at all. To me, she was a nurturer. I looked forward to our conversations. She was a blessing; she made me feel at home away from home. The wonderful thing about her and why I remember her so vividly is that she was more concerned and asked me about how I was feeling rather than what I was doing.
I had similar experiences with the cooking staff at Smith. Sometimes, I would wander into the kitchen and kick it with the cooks. I remember walking in the house and smelling something delicious and I wanted to know what they were making. Sometimes, if they noticed that I wasn't feeling the food they'd inquire and prepare it in a different way or make a dish special for me. I could always run into the kitchen when I wanted and they let me make a snack. It was only two of us that I knew of me and my best-friend from college Michele who had this closeness with the cooking staff. And everybody knew Michele loved ice-cream and she could eat it everyday at every meal. Michele knew exactly where they kept it too. There was this one time, during finals and it looked like the entire house was doing "all-nighters." Michele snuck in to the kitchen and took out gallons and gallons of ice cream. It was ice cream for all. And I know Michele ate a gallon of ice cream all by herself. The next morning when the kitchen staff found out there all the ice cream was gone. They were laughing because they knew who it was Michele, "Beauty Queen" that's what she called herself. Michele didn't have to lie or hide or say anything because she was so sick. But it was all love because we were at home, this was our home for four years and they made us feel special.
Then somewhere I started to doubt whether or not I worthy. Was I worthy of all these blessings surrounding me? Was I worthy? I loved these people I had drew into my circle who I was forming nurturing healthy relationships with and they loved me. Did they love me? Did they love me because I special or because I was"special" you know the kind of person we call "special" who have mental challenges. Did I have a mental challenge? Was my connectedness somehow synonymous with neediness and needing to cast people into roles that they didn't know existed?
I started to ask myself to a series of questions to try to understand myself and straighten this all out. Question number one: Did the housekeeper really knock on your door or is that how you need to remember it? Question one clarified: I mean, it could haven't been easy for you-- attending a small, all women's, predominantly white Ivy-League Liberal Arts college, in Northampton, Massachusetts. So what I am asking is, is this what you needed to survive to feel you belong and you matter in an environment where you obviously were different, felt out of place, and inferior? Question number two: Was this housekeeper, these cooks, and the others you remember in your life simply who made you feel "at home" just doing their jobs or taking pride in their jobs and demonstrating excellent customer service? You know doing what it takes to make you feel like a true "Smithie"? Question number two with a twist: Did these people secretly need to keep their customer satisfaction rating extremely high for fear they would lose their jobs? Question number three: Did the housekeeper you describe really clean showers and stalls for you? I answer myself sheepishly, "Well, I guess no; not just for me but for everybody body, I guess."
And since those questions and answers were making me uneasy I thought up new ones and drummed up a rather interesting debate. I was trying to decide if this strong urge to do things "my way" grew out of typical adolescent rebellion or was it because I hated for anyone to tell me what to do. Then, I came to this realization which really helped me to establish some of the core principals of "Erika's Time." I recognized that telling me what to do or how to do something was not the problem at all. Often, I need a blue print or at least an outline for implementation. What I have learned is I have to honor my process that I have for preparing for any process to happen. It's as if I have these internal and external needs that only I can fulfill in order to be open, positive, and patient. It's learning to have patience with me.
Patience with me is so important. Inside of me is this tiny critic. I'm not sure of its gender but I do know that this person is very short in stature because when it talks to me it has to use a stepping stool, pull it up to this huge podium and hop to stand on it. This critic is so short legged that even with the stepping stool you can barely see it's lips. But, you can see that giant head and those piercing eyes that squint sometimes when he/she talks. This tiny critic shouts with a booming voice, and uses its' hands a lot when it talks. This tinycritic pumps their right hand in the air and loves to point that index finger in your direction. This tiny critic shocks and strikes the podium with it's left to emphasize a point. And how this tiny critic became a public speaker concerns me because they really aren't very good. This tiny critic yells the entire lecture. It rants and raves and has the nerve to call you out never really saying your name per se just shouting the word "YOU" repeatedly. The whole lecture is full of, "You Talk" belittling and berating behind the podium. And sometimes, the lectures don't go on for very long. Sometimes, the lecturer has very few words, or statements but they almost always begin with "you." What kills me is as soon as the lecture is over this tiny tot hops down off the stool and disappears. This critic has the nerve to be a coward. This tiny critic makes sure they are no where to be found. There is no forum to ask questions or give feedback. Nope, not a PO BOX, email address, cell phone number, not even a lousy drop box. I always leave this lecture disempowered, confused, angry and feeling worse than I came. This is torture, why do I continue to go? I wonder has anyone that I know been there too?
The more and more I think about it, the tiny critic is a man and he wears a grey suit. And the podium is made of wood and it is draped with a burgundy cloth. And I can see now that we are actually in a church but there are no signs of the holy cross anywhere and no bibles anywhere. Yep, this is a storefront church that was once a brownstone. Now, I can see that I am not the only person in there listening to the lecture. After the lecture they seem be fine and unscathed. During the lecture I sometimes look around to watch others reactions. I notice them all staring steadfast and nodding their heads in agreement. No one ever claps, shouts, or calls out. The five attendees and I make six, we all sit there politely in a civilized manner. Then we listen and leave silently in an orderly fashion. No one looks at each other. Sometimes, I try to make eye contact hoping to read an expression, to evoke empathy compassion, or maybe even a hint of a smile. I get nothing and no response. Everyone turns away and avoids looking in my direction or looking up. I wouldn't say that they are rude or impolite just distant. I always feel isolated, alone, and I want to speak but I don't. I want to smile but it feels like a waste. I give up just don't want to be ostracized for speaking up.
It's been a few months since I've been back to those lectures and seeing the tiny little man. But, he is still very fresh in my memory. And you know he pops up in my mind. Yeah, you know I think he has a Skype account. He sees me online and decides let me see if she will answer my call. What does he want? I see my choices, accept or decline. Without hesitation, I click " decline." At times I think I am having deja vu and I will see someone who I think are the other 5 people who were at the lecture. I am not sure because I don't recognize their faces. It's only the energy that I feel when I think they've passed me that leaves a familiar trace. I sometimes wonder will this tiny critic ever go away. Is it possible for him to grow; evolve, change? Maybe he has grown a little talker. I haven't been back so I don't know. All I know is I can't go back, not now. It's not the time.
Ecclesiastes, Chapter 3 verses 1-8 was a quoted often in my household when I grew up.
1To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven:
2A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted;
3A time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up;
4A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance;
5A time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing;
6A time to get, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away;
7A time to rend, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak;
8A time to love, and a time to hate; a time of war, and a time of peace.
9What profit hath he that worketh in that wherein he laboureth?
10I have seen the travail, which God hath given to the sons of men to be exercised in it.
11He hath made every thing beautiful in his time: also he hath set the world in their heart, so that no man can find out the work that God maketh from the beginning to the end.
12I know that there is no good in them, but for a man to rejoice, and to do good in his life.
13And also that every man should eat and drink, and enjoy the good of all his labour, it is the gift of God.
14I know that, whatsoever God doeth, it shall be for ever: nothing can be put to it, nor any thing taken from it: and God doeth it, that men should fear before him.
15That which hath been is now; and that which is to be hath already been; and God requireth that which is past.
I continued to read down to verse 15 and I found ME. Two days away and there is more to be revealed.
IT IS MY SEASON, IT IS "ERIKA TIME"
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