I recently saw a meme lamenting that Mr. Rogers didn’t properly prepare the author for their neighbors. How many of us can relate to that? I know I can.

All stories, documentaries, and observations prove that Fred Rogers was concerned about the conditions of the world, and the effects it had on the people – children specifically – in it.

His show had episodes addressing racism, terrorism, emotions, family relations, mental illness, you name it. Content was presented in a way for children (and many adults) to process their experiences and subsequent emotions regarding issues affecting them and their environment. Fred Rogers wanted children to know they were important and their feelings mattered.

Then we grew up. We grew up in a world that didn’t always reflect those values Mr. Rogers taught. We live in communities where not only don’t we know our neighbors, we don’t care to. We hide behind designer window treatments and privacy fences at home, and tinted windows in our cars. Smiling and speaking is seen as harassment (not to be confused with actual harassment), and we want to be accountable only for ourselves.

Racism continues to exist and seems to be on the rise despite the well-known fact that race is a social construct. The wealth gap continues to grow and divide with no reparations in sight. It’s no beautiful day in the neighborhood.

Terrorism is no longer considered an outside threat, it’s now more likely to be home-grown. Neighborhoods sound more like war zones than school zones. Recess has become a luxury at schools and a request at community meetings. It’s not a beautiful day for a neighbor.

The nuclear family has taken on so many different shapes that new vocabulary is regularly being developed to identify its members. We no longer recognize him as father; our relationships have transformed. I don’t have a sister anymore, would you be mine?

As a nation we are emotionally out of control. Our collective anger, fear, hatred, bigotry, and intolerance are spewed irresponsibly 140 characters at a time. All the time. No one says I’ve always wanted to have a neighbor just like you.

Mental illness has become a defense plea for murderers and a death sentence for the defenseless and often harmless. Former patients sent home with families ill equipped and unprepared to deal with obscure diagnosis and unaffordable medication. Homeless and invisible or intolerable to a society that wishes they’d just go away. Proclaiming the opposite of, I always wanted to live in a neighborhood with you.

We could learn some valuable lessons about building communities from the Dagara people of West Africa. In her book, The Spirit of Intimacy, Sobunfu Somé says, “Community is the spirit, the guiding light of the tribe, whereby people come together in order to fulfill their purpose, and to take care of one another.” She also shares that in her village the people spend more time outside with each other, helping each other and when you stay inside all day it’s an indication that something is wrong and people worry. Regarding this, Sister Somé says, “And so we can begin by going outside, talking to our neighbors and helping each other out.” Imagine that.

Mr. Rogers didn’t prepare us for a world where our neighbor Next Door is an app and we share news (usually bad), with each other through a Ring doorbell forum. He often referred to the commandment found in Mark 12:31 – love your neighbor as you love yourself, perhaps that’s where the problem begins – with the lack of love of self, and the lack of intrinsic goodness.

In his 1999 Television Hall of Fame Acceptance Speech Fred Rogers said, “But how do we make goodness attractive?” By doing whatever we can do to bring courage to those whose lives move near our own-by treating our “neighbor” at least as well as we treat ourselves and allowing that to inform everything that we produce.”

Can you imagine a world where we leave out of our doors with the thought to help each other? Communities where we are our brothers keeper? Where we treat our neighbors well and with dignity and respect? I can.

I create the possibility that in my neighborhood (for starters) we are indeed neighborly. We look out for each other, each other’s families, and each other’s property. We will value the lives of our neighbors and refuse to allow drugs and shootings. In my neighborhood our behavior is informed by the desire to treat each other at least as well as we treat ourselves. To care for the elderly, the children, and the pets of our neighbors. We will keep our community clean by not littering and picking up litter when we see it.

In my neighborhood we’ll make the most of each beautiful day, since we’re together we might as well say…I’m grateful you’re my neighbor. (The remix)

Love,

Robin ❤️

“I want you to be concerned about your next door neighbor. Do you know your next door neighbor?” ~ Mother Teresa

From a letter to my “friend” written February 2019.

I’ve been thinking about something we discussed recently. You mentioned my perfectionism and I agreed with you except I didn’t have any current examples of it. Because I’ve let that go. 

I recognized my quest for perfect as a remnant of childhood trauma. A wound I was attempting to heal. Perfectionism = approval = love = worthiness = crazy. In my opinion. 

I know longer hold myself to that standard. I’m much kinder to myself. I know that I am enough because of and with all my imperfections. I began seeing myself and loving myself and accepting myself in a healthier way. 

Do I still have a standard of excellence? Absolutely. Am I going to start a project over if it’s not developing as expected? More than likely. I will continue to grow to be the best, loving spirit I can possibly be in all aspects. I also have a measure of grace that I give myself when things are less than perfect. I’m able to laugh at myself, learn the lesson for next time, forgive myself, and enjoy the moment as is. I have learned to see perfection in the what it is…now. And I am infinitely grateful for every moment. 

I been delivert.

It’s the 200 pound gorilla in the room. You all know what I’m referencing. People on their cell phones in public spaces. In quiet restaurants, movie theaters, bathrooms, walking down the street, in line behind us…everywhere.

They’re talking extra loud about virtually nothing. Are they asking my opinion? Am I supposed to respond to “do you think I should call him first?”, or are you not talking to me? Sometimes I’m not sure since you’re standing right next to me and did I mention, you’re talking so loud.

It’s hella easier to know what’s going on when the rude-ometer is on ten and they have their friend on speakerphone! Now I know they’re not talking to me because I have the privilege of the whole entire conversation on extra loud. For no good reason.

I’d rather they go back to using Bluetooth and me thinking they’re crazy and talking to themselves. I knew to steer clear of the nut job in Aisle 3. As it is now, I’m not sure who they’re addressing, if I’m part of a group chat, and am I expected to respond.

Are there no sacred spaces? Is there no longer a need to be present? Is that exchange that crucial? I already know it’s not because I heard the whole darn thing. Because you talk so dang loud and you’re using the speakerphone.

Of course, no one wants to address the elephant in the room. With all the anger and hatred going around, who knows what such a person would do when confronted? Particularly when there’s a heated argument going on and you see the other person’s point. Should you weigh in? After all, they forced you to be in the middle of it.

No. We usually roll our eyes, shake our heads, and deal with it. Occasionally, I see some aggrieved patron attempt to shush the offender only to get cursed out and become the next topic of the conversation. “Can you believe this bish?” There have been reports of phone abusers being attacked or shot – but those were extreme cases. I guess.

Be honest, is this you? If it is, why must you talk so loud? If it’s not, and it’s bothersome to you – what do you do?

Asking for a friend.

Love,
Robin ❤️

Taking stock of my life and life choices, I’m haunted by the three little words that have helped shape my current situation.

Just. In. Case.

Why do I have two sets of Christmas decorations? Just in case. What are you doing with all these plastic bags in your trunk? Just in case. Why are you keeping that huge styrofoam container the food was delivered in? Just in case. Why do you need so many hand sanitizers, school supplies, umbrellas, toothbrushes, wine bottle stoppers (especially since we drink whole bottles at a time), clothes, candles, white face-towels, heart shaped pans, different phone chargers, journals, pairs of shoes? Just. In. Case.

Those three little words have allowed me to accumulate enough things to stock a small town General Goods store.

When I purchased new phones to replace my dying house phones, did I discard or donate the old set? Nope. I still have them…just in case. Most people I know have cancelled their landlines, I probably can’t find anyone to give them to. I’m not technologically challenged either. I have the (once) new iPhone 7 plus AND my old 6 plus. Why do I keep them? You know why. Just. In. Case.

I have my kids teeth I paid for while masquerading as the tooth fairy. My tax returns from 1995 through present. Padlocks I can’t find the key to. Every extra button packet from all those clothes I probably still have. The one earrings left after I lost the other. The 3D glasses from the Wonder Woman movie. It makes no sense to me either.

I started thinking about where else does this bit of nuttiness show up in my life? Am I reluctant to release habits that aren’t serving my highest good? Do I hang on to limited, and negative beliefs? Are there people or relationships whose purpose has passed but I can’t seem to cut the cord? Just in case?

Hmmmm.

So yeah. Epiphany. Time to take inventory on thoughts, things, and associations. To assess the attachment to it/them and free myself. Free myself from ambiguous boundaries and imbalanced relationships. Free my environment from clutter. Free my mind diminished understanding. Time to dismiss lack, fear, and emotional dependence and replace them with abundance, love, and freedom. As Roy T. Bennett once said, “Let go of something old that no longer serves you in order to make room for something new.” I’m ready for something new, are you?

Time to embrace three different words.

Let. It. Go.

Love,
Robin ❤️

“The greatest step towards a life of simplicity is to learn to let go.” ~ Steve Maraboli

I’ve been watching more television lately. I’m not sure why, I certainly don’t have more time, I’m busy showing people how to live their best lives traveling, shopping, and eating like rock stars! Spending hours in front of a TV is not in the equation. Nevertheless… I’m hooked on HBO’s Insecure.

I’ve read so many critical reviews about Issa Rae’s Insecure finale that made me question the self awareness of my people.

First of all, it’s fiction. Seriously y’all, they’re stories she writes for our entertainment. I think the problem is, they’re so hella real, everyone’s saying either ouch or amen, and taking them hella personally.

Her YouTube series titled Awkward Black Girl was hella good, so HBO wisely picked it up and voila! Insecure. The titles alone should lend a clue to the content. She’s NOT perfect, none of the characters are perfect, and that’s why I love it.

I see me and my friends in every episode. I see real life situations in every episode. I see black women facing workplace inequities, relationship difficulties, friendship challenges, and environmental changes, in every episode. I see realistic characters making realistic mistakes IN EVERY EPISODE. It’s all hella relatable.

From where I sit (insecure awkward black girl – still), they’re not so much angry with Issa’s characters choices, they’re remembering making the same or similar bad ones in the past (read yesterday), and it’s painful watching. They want the fairytale…finally. Me? I like knowing I’m not alone in this big scary world. I’m encouraged when I see them grow and work through them, or not.

Who hasn’t dealt with infidelity, racism, lying partners, gentrification, and semen in their eye? Haven’t you ever been ‘tricked’ into a relationship that you felt was wrong…but didn’t wanna be right? And that finale scene so many of you have a problem with. Which one of us Cinderella watching, fairytale princesses, hasn’t wished that guy we’ve poured so much of ourselves into, falls to his knees and professes undying love while begging forgiveness and admitting he doesn’t want to live another day without our black girl magnificence?

I get excited to turn on the box and watch shows with people who look like me. People who are affected by issues that affect me in the same manner. People with real roles, real lives, and real presence.

Who hasn’t been the fall-back person or been that person, licking wounds or getting ours licked – until loser bae calls again. It’s real folks. It might not be you (insert side-eye here), but it’s definitely someone you know. Cause y’all sure mad. And, as my grandmother used to say, the hit dog always hollers.

I’m looking forward to Season 3. I know you are too.

Dear drivers behind me on the north side and downtown Chicago,

Please don’t rear-end me at the traffic light. You see, I live on the south side of town and the lights are timed differently in my neighborhood.

Trust me – I’ve noticed the difference but I’m programmed to stop when the light is amber (yellow for those who haven’t had it described to them by an officer of the law). And don’t expect me to rely on the countdown next to it either. The pedestrian light is synchronized differently than yours.

On my side of town, the number one signals RED. You need to be stopping on two, stopped on one. On yours, numero uno is YELLOW. And it stays yellow FOREVER. We see yellow on the two, sometimes three – and we hit the brakes. Why? Because we’re tired of receiving $100 tickets in the mail stating you ran a red light…wanna see? And we stupidly go to the website and watch ourselves caught in the intersection on the suddenly red light. Or we clearly see our license plate as we turn right on red without coming to a complete standstill for whatever length of time deemed appropriate.

My fellow Chicagoans, there is no need for you to rudely blow your horn, call me nasty names (no, I’m not a $&@# idiot), or flip me the bird. I’m as surprised as you are that I’m sitting at a yellow light. The three, sometimes four cars angrily flying past me as the light remains amber/yellow amazes me. I’m honestly tempted to hit the gas pedal and progress through because surely the bloody thing is broken!

But alas, I have been conditioned by these mean and biased streets. I’m not only stopping, I’m staying. Why? Because enough people have shared with me that they never received the first ticket either. That first ticket has the tendency to get lost (insert side-eye here), on it’s way to the mailbox. However, that second one – the one that has doubled and is now $200 and doesn’t care that you never received the first one, always seems to arrive at the correct destination.

So fam, I’m stopping. I can’t afford not to stop. Between the bogus parking situation, the illegal cameras strategically positioned throughout the community that seldom catch a real crime being committed, and the boot mobile faithfully cruising the blocks – I need you to understand. Not stopping is not an option.

And don’t think I haven’t noticed the absence of red light cameras in certain communities. It’s true – you know it, I know it, everybody knows it and I get it. You have no idea why I stopped on the yellow. In your experience, at least three cars can pass through the intersection before the light turns red. And even if a car zips through as it’s turning red, there’s no blinding flashes of lights temporarily disorienting everyone in the vicinity. You northsiders aren’t about that life.

You have bike lanes on main streets that are safe for bikers. Hell, your pedestrian walkways have their own zip codes and police detail. I don’t expect for you to understand, really I don’t. I’m not hating or complaining either y’all. I’m simply requesting a little compassion while trying to raise your level of awareness. Oh yeah, and avoid having your front end all in my trunk. There’s always that.

Love,
Robin ❤️

The older I get, the more challenging my birthday becomes.

It started when my oldest sister, Sharilyn, died. Suddenly. Like a week before my birthday. I was in such disbelief and denial that I had my parents believing it was a lie. She was buried a day before my 37th birthday. And no, it doesn’t make it better that it wasn’t on my actual birthday – I still remember. But thanks for asking.

So, there’s that pressure of “what are you doing for your birthday?” every year (not complaining), when it’s a struggle to try to be “normal” on my birthday. And I’m so grateful for each day I’m alive, really I am, it’s just…hard to talk about it. It’s taken me 20 years to even speak about it to my other older sister, Bonnie, and there’s no one closer to me. So now that I mentioned it to her, today, I thought I’d tell you.

But that’s not all.

Father’s Day is today and I miss mine. He’s been gone 17 years now and I guess I’m grateful that it didn’t fall on my birthday again this year. This year it’s the trifecta of sorts – Dad’s day today, Sharilyn’s burial day tomorrow, and tada!, my birthday the next day. Please believe me, I’m not complaining about having a birthday. I’m über grateful to be alive another year! Truly I am. I have so much to be thankful for and still so much work to do. It’s just a reflective time.

I should have told y’all a long time ago, but I was trying to be “normal”. That’s not working for me. Honestly, normal never has worked for me. What saying is, if I don’t meet your celebratory expectations this year (or any year here after), don’t take it personally.

I’m not sad, grieving, depressed, weird, boring, or at a loss for something to do. Don’t feel sorry for me and don’t look surprised if you see me out having the time of my life. I’m still a Gemini. And lord, don’t get your feelings hurt if I’m unavailable. It’s not personal, it’s self-care.

I’m thinking 20 years from now, I’ll be so excited to be 77, I’ll throw a party for them and me. Maybe.

Meanwhile, keep calm. It’s #GeminiSeason. Still.

Oh yes. About the sex. Aren’t you the nosy one? Made you look! #GeminiBehavior

Love,
Robin ❤️

A long-time friend of mine shared concerns regarding a medical diagnosis they’d recently received. It wasn’t good so I offered some encouragement, followed by a scripture. Much to my surprise, they responded with, “thanks, wasn’t sure you were a believer.” Judgment day came sooner than I expected. 

I wasn’t upset by it. At this stage in life, I allow grown people to own their stuff. Their beliefs, fears, phobias, and judgements – they have nothing to do with me, or anyone else actually. They speak from their own level of experience and understanding. I kept my ego at bay and I didn’t take it personally. I just wasn’t ready for it.

However, I did respond with the truth of – first time I ever heard that. It made me rethink the relationship. How well does this ‘friend’ know me? Perhaps their frame of reference is grounded in the me they knew 30 years ago who didn’t believe in too much that I couldn’t see. Maybe it reflected their level of faith. I don’t know, I tried not to judge.

It helps to know who you are, what you believe and how you’re living. It’s really great when you have written and living testament to refer to that supports and documents your lifestyle. Otherwise, you might fall prey to a loose or fiery dart. Me, I simply observe them – and if they aren’t relevant and require no attention, let them pass by like a cloud in the sky.

But the judgement surprised me. Now I know there’s no special day for it. No specific trumped up ceremony or horn blowing- judgements are made all the time. I was grateful for the opportunity to remember to check myself before I made one (or made any more). The Bible says, “judge not, or you too will be judged” ~ Matthew 7:1. Who wants to invite all that in their life? Not I.

I’m more of a Luke 6 girl (not be confused with Luke cage), “forgive and you shall be forgiven.” Or better yet, I ride with my all time favorites the Corinthians – “But with me it is a very small thing that I should be judged by you or by any human court. In fact, I do not even judge myself.” They say, paraphrased ala Tupac, “only God can judge me!”

Truth be told, (and you know what the Corinthians say about that, “Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth”), in my Colonel Jessup voice, I’d rather you say thank-you, and went on your way. But hey – who am I…to judge?

Namaste.

Just Robin ❤️

Flowers, candy, wine and champagne are staged in almost every aisle of the grocery store. Hearts adorn display windows in the mall. Sales representatives at Tiffany’s are putting in the hours – Jared’s and Pandora too. The parking lots of the adult toy stores are full and the not-so-secret lingerie shop is overrun with…men.

It’s the weekend before Valentine’s Day and the stores are filled with pink and red EVERYTHING.

The pressure is on for all husbands, boyfriends, significant others, and boo thangs to prove their love by shelling out the bucks in honor of Saint Valentine. Who, by the way, may be a fictitious character invented by poet Chaucer around 1375. Other accounts claim he was beheaded for illegally marrying couples in Rome during the third century. Really?

This “holiday” is also associated with a cute little Cupid holding a bow and drawing an arrow – ready to pierce unsuspecting hearts with love. Cupid is the Greek god of affection, love and romance and oddly enough, has nothing to do with Saint Valentine.

The valentine pressure is so great, An unnamed card company (the king of capitalizing on insecurities, sorrow and personal failure), has created a special holiday for singles. Singles Awareness Day whose acronym ironically spells S.A.D. Exactly.

That’s right, if you didn’t feel bad enough already, you can be honored for being too sorry to have a valentine. That’s worse than Charlie Brown being extra excited to receive that used Valentine’s Day card. On February 14th, single you and the other perceived relationship rejects can get together and commiserate – I mean commemorate your singlehood over cocktails and a movie. How thoughtful.

A “holiday” centered around a mysterious saint and a naked weapon toting cherub is sending a large majority of otherwise reasonable people into a pink and red, heart-shaped, sugary, flowery frenzy.

Which, from my observation, has nothing to do with love.

Or does it?

I’ve been taught that love always gives based on the scripture found in John 3:16 – ” For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son, that whoever believes in Him should not perish but have everlasting life.” Now, that’s love. I have three sons and I’m not giving up nary a one for any of you. Believe that!

In her book All About Love: New Vision, bell hooks said, “The word “love” is most often defined as a noun, yet all the more astute theorists of love acknowledge that we would all love better if we used it as a verb.”

I believe we should agree love is an action word. When we use the phrase ‘I love you’, we have a noun (I), a verb (love), and a pronoun (you) which is the direct object of the verb (love). Isn’t that what Valentine’s Day is all about?

So maybe – just maybe, husbands, boyfriends, significant others, boo thangs AND singles are all onto something. Giving gifts and spending time with each other on this one day designated for demonstrating love is actually showing love!

Making the effort to give your loved one something because you think it will make them happy (and keep you from sleeping on the sofa), is a genuine show of affection. And that’s what we all want isn’t it? Love?

Can we take it one tiny step further. Can we demonstrate love for each other in all of our relationships on a regular basis (is daily too much to ask?)? Perhaps there won’t be so much pressure and SADness on this one day if we show more KINDness towards each other every day.

I personally like Valentine’s Day and I’m single (and not the least bit SAD). The day I took down my Christmas wreath, I immediately replaced it with a heart wreath. So I’m not hating AT ALL. We need all the love we can get in this sometimes wicked world. I’m simply suggesting we show love and kindness a little more often. To couples and singles alike.

It has nothing to do with me feeling uncomfortable watching your man fumbling over the unmentionables in Victoria’s Secret and asking me for advice. About your underwear.

Happy Valentine’s Day!
Love,
Robin ❤