Skip to main content

40 Bags in 40 Days

We think it’s the job.
We think it’s the car.
We think it’s the house.
We think it’s the kids.
We think it’s the spouse.

We attempt to rationalize the irrational. The illusion is persuasive, but harsh reality alters our attention away from the blessings and into the fog of:

The lack.
The missing.
The voids.
The empty.
The cracks.

The vacancies never become occupancies in the mental utopian communities we create.
The exploits never become tangible accolades once "the next thing" claims our attention.
The shattered ceilings never become red carpet realities in comparison to our pretentious peers.

Conquer one giant, there’s a million more to slay! Life's kinetic way of testing our RESOLVE!

Life caught me by the coattail in December, I had finessed my mission-field like a boss crushing goals. Humbled but feeling like the matrix after a decade of L's.

I had pulled up the weeds, pushed the wagon (uphill), plowed the fields, and poured the offering.

It was time, my time to “collect!” 

I expected things to “pop off” in my favor—-suddenly. But. It didn’t. And I was devastated (AGAIN)!

I started counting back the steps.
I rewind the clock on my grind.
I tallied the good that I deposited in the atmosphere.
I double checked my charitable donations by proof of my receipts.
I dismissed the “Law of Attraction” with a ratchet side eye, cause I felt like a side chick getting a raw deal from the Universe.

I looked around and despised the “things” I had prayed for in former seasons, cause they seemed useless in the moment. The American dream felt a million galaxies away.

For every step towards independence was oppositional forces dragging me back to the pit of dependence.

My handcuffs were so restricted by the enforced opinions, criticism, and judgement that I fell down the optimistic ladder of justice that I longed to build on.

My life lesson: You can’t build a new construction in 2020 with your hands full of 2019's garbage.

Since I insisted on stock piling my pantry of thoughts with random toxicity, I’ve committed to removing 40 bags of clutter in 40 days.

Unraveling from the bondage.
Unveiling the illusion.
Untying the knots.
Unlocking the prison.

This is day FIVE of my overhaul.

What are you eliminating from your 2019 closet of habits, fears, or thoughts? 

What are you packing up & tossing out?

They say, "a man is known by the company/possessions he keeps."

 What have you authorized to occupy space in your life?

Trash

or

treasure?

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

The Glass Ceiling of Fear

"You can't "prop up" a person that refuses to stand ."-me Recently, I asked one of my " homeboys " to read a few of my blog posts and help " plug the gap " where my feet often stumbled. He didn't read one, but he read all of them! After a gut-wrenching, " throat punch of truth ," he unleashed the dragon. I was knee-deep in the swamp of hot ashes. Needless to say, I had allowed fear to become my glass ceiling ! Each time, I took off running for the hills , I looked back to the valley for "familiar hands." The " child within " had learned to go without the things needed most; so as an adult, I counseled my fears. I nursed my vulnerabilities. I coached my failures. However, my hands kept reaching for the " mentor within " that the younger version of me survived without. Let's face it! Kids learn what they live, even inherited dysfunction. Grown-up habits can resurf...

Get Out The Way

It takes an incredible “act of faith” to step out on the unknown, but that’s exactly what God did—pushed me right out of the nest. I extended my stay, way beyond the appointed time. My wings were ready, but I secretly clipped them,  so I could remain still. I’d been comfortably nested for years, while focused on the “lack of my own hands,” but failed to trust the real provider. I was so keyed in on my inabilities that I refused to take the first step. It was just too scary! What if I failed? Never once realized, that I was equipped to succeed! I’ve always known my life purpose was tied to the ministry of “ service ,” but I failed to develop that hidden potential. I was afraid of rejection . I was afraid to be seen or even heard. I didn’t like attention because it came with an army or critics, including the biggest one within . How would I ever help anyone, if I refused to help myself?  I ran into a former high school classmate at the gym. We briefly talked ab...

Becoming

One of the hardest truths to face is--being in a space that no longer serves you . Recently, I made a long, overdue decision to " disconnect " from the social media platform, Facebook. It seemed useless to work diligently to produce in a space that refused to acknowledge my efforts as a noticeable contribution. Showing up as a creative, in a world that pretends not to see you, reaffirms the wounds of " unhealed trauma " that remains undergirded by the scars of rejection. The " lack of engagement " sustained unwelcomed insecurities and prematurely wilted the petals of potential from forming full blooms. It reinforced the concrete walls of abandonment that lined the cracks of subconscious childhood memories.  It forced me into the isolated corners of desperation, trying to remain relevant in times of emotional uncertainty. My distress seemed oblivious to the masses that were drowning in their own pain. Help was like foreign aid, unattainable, beca...