Fear of Flying

So, this weekend I’ll be flying out to Los Angeles thanks in all parts to a natural hair blogging contest that I won. The skeptic in me always wondered if anyone really wins these contests but alas- I’m going. The win was unexpected and exciting at once. It sounds pretty phenomenal on paper and when I’m telling my friends the story of how this trip came to exist. For about 36 hours I’ll be living it up- jet setting across the country, getting picked up by a private car, checking into a fabulous hotel and partying it up with a celeb-gone-curly and a natural hair rock star. Pass the Courvoisier please!

There’s only one problem. I’m afraid of flying. Seriously. My fear is not really based on anything other than perhaps EVERY SINGLE MOVIE about planes crashing. There is one out now. It is nurtured by the fact that every time I’m about to fly, there is a crashing plane report. This happened earlier this week, locally. And finally, there’s just more of a gamble involved than I like to take. I have no control. With every bit of turbulence, I scan the faces of the stewards who serve peanuts and soda from a silver, table-clothed cart for signs of danger. I behave as if I could possibly do anything should they display even the smallest hint of a problem. I know I can’t. But I do it anyway. And once we make it to our destination, I bless the ground and pray the hours don’t fly before I have to get back on and head home.

Although I’m addressing my fear of flying, there is another part of this story. I’m adopted. I’m still getting used to telling folks. I don’t know how to be any other way except blunt on the subject. I am what I am and its taken me a long time to get to this place. It was a one-way ticket! After divulging, I await reactions for a signal of danger. There is always the danger of them feeling sorry for me, suspecting I'm damaged goods or  seeing the shame and pain I’ve buried over the years after finding out the person who birthed me, chose not to raise me. Being adopted is a sensitive subject for me. For many like me. And yet- it is still a favorite joke of comedians and comedic writers. I’m guessing they’re not adopted. But I digress as always.

So here is the hitch to the giddy-up: My birth mom (BM) lives in Los Angeles. Since finding her, we have spoken only a few times a year and I’ve seen her only once during a week-long occasion in 2004. It may have been the most interesting Christmas present I've ever received. And from her it was the last and only. Fast forward nearly 7 years, too many painful conversations, long silences, weird and random text messages of “I love you’s” and “lets start overs” to now. 

After much internal debate, I sent her a message saying I would be in town and when. I relayed that there is a small window of opportunity for us to briefly connect. She agreed to meet, responding with her usual, hokey language, signing X’s and O’s next to her name. XOXOJoanne. In typing this, I realize we share the last 3 letters of our first name. It makes me giggle like a child. She reduces me in that way. In my dreams, I wish we shared more. But to date, we have only had fleeting moments of recognizing that which we share as mother and child; that which we have in common despite the great divide of adoption. I don’t know how this meeting will go but I admit I’m afraid. I’m afraid of allowing my emotions to fly. I’m afraid to allow them to land on any semblance of excitement or happiness at seeing her again. I’m terrified that she is forever the lothario and I the jilted lover. I’m afraid she won’t show. And afraid that I’ll be rejected, yet again by my first mother. She gave me life and I worry that with each rejection, she’ll take some of it away. It is a gamble and scarier than any plane ride I’ve been on thus far.

I'm a Winner!

Good morning!

I opened my email a couple of days ago and saw what I thought was another reminder to update my Kim Coles Grow Out Challenge blog. You already know I work hard to keep up with this one! As the message went on, I learned they had some very exciting news for me. My Kim Coles blog was selected as the grand prize winner!  I kept reading because of course I joined in February and had no recollection that there were prizes associated and if so- I'm thinking products. But this was bigger- I'm being flown to LA to attend the wrap-up party with Curly Nikki and Kim Coles! Can you say stoked? Surprised? Excited? Nervous? Yes! I experience all of those emotions. I'm still trying to wrap my brain around it and I'm already packing! You already know I'm taking my glasses and my camera! ;)

Well, there's a lot of scrambling going on as I prepare but I'm excited and thinking about extending my stay by a day. We'll see. In the meantime, what to wear and what to do with this hair??!!!

Hair Talk

In an effort to win her affections, there is a scene in the movie Brown Sugar where Mos Def is proclaiming to Queen Latifah "I'm a goer!". That scene makes me laugh. Every.Time. This post has absolutely nothing to do with Brown Sugar but instead about me and my hair. Instead of a "goer", I am a reflecter. I like to think about my journeys in life and lately my hair journey is consuming me. Once again, I spent time over the weekend reflecting on my hair after a prompt from a contest I entered back in February. The contest was the Kim Coles Grow Out Challenge. Although I had begun my blog last year, I thought I'd jump into this one because there were prizes involved. The product junking in me was attracted to the possible score of JessiCurl products and a small chance to win a trip to LA for the grand prize winner. 

I started the challenge way back in February and I was excited because I never particpate in challenges so this was my first. Plus, Kim Coles had revealed her beautiful hair and I just wanted to be a part of a movement involving a celebrity who was newly natural and proud of it. Two months later, I had an encounter with my hair dresser which left me feeling quite discouraged. I went in for a trim in March and came out with a chop. Trim... Chop... There is a difference, right? The difference being a 1/2 - 1 inch trim versus 3+ inches chopped. My bangs went from my chin to the bridge of my nose. The rest of my length suffered the same fate. We all cried "FOUL!" because we had just had a trim less than six weeks before. If my ends were worse than that, I attributed it to the use of heat because I'd had my hair flat-ironed at that time. I've realized since then that my hair doesn't take well to heat anymore. If heat is involved in styling, my hair also requires a significant amount of heat protection otherwise, stick straight hair is revealed after a wash. No bueno.  Needless to say I was upset and have taken only a few photos of my hair since then. Every photo would remind me of ... dun-dun-dun-de-dun... the incident. And the reminder was followed by anger. So! Moving on...

I know, I know. I am not my hair. I like the song and I've heard it all before! It grows back. Yeah... Again- Yadda. Yadda. But as for me and my hair- We're in love again! This after I realized I was blaming and punishing myself every time I looked into the mirror and viewed my shortened strands. Today... Again... I love my hair AND myself. We are Peaches and Herb... Reunited and it feels so good!!! Among other things, my hair has encouraged me to love and honor the rest of me. I'm drinking more water, taking vitamins and exercising more, which benefits all of me. So, when people assert I am not my hair... I think-- I am also not my limbs, my eyes or my smile. Rather- I am the sum of all my parts. And when I see all parts of me thriving, I know that I am those things and more. I am whole.

While the prompt for an update for the contest sparked this particular post, it is the love for self including my hair that made me dig a little deeper, beyond the setbacks and anger to see our relationship for what it is... To be honest, I didn't even remember the prize(s) until I reviewed the challenge information today. The real prize comes in the form of contant revelation about my natural hair and I... We've been reunited for nearly 3 years... (I know... we're kinda like newlyweds! Still lov'in on each other and thangs... ;)). And at the end of the day, we stick together, for better or worse. And for that I am gratefully and ever naturally- me!

Peace and love