Here I am.

Life is funny. We define ourselves by what we do thinking that our position makes us who we are-interestingly enough historically occupations did define our status and name in society that’s where many of our last names come from. Our perception often times seem skewed we are either complaining about our situation with no plans to change it, or we’re holding on so tightly to it that we think we will die if we lose it, when letting go could be the most liberating opportunity for us to really begin living. We forget about our fellow man or woman who have it much worse than we do. And rarely do we really appreciate the things we have. I was blessed to be educated in a conversation that I had with a young lady who was going through a storm in her life and had almost given up. I found myself encouraging her, yet simultaneously asking myself the last time I encouraged myself? Telling her she needed to speak life into her own situation, and asking myself when was the last time I gave myself affirmation? Telling her that her substance didn’t lie in possessions, but asking myself how much substance I was giving to the material things in my life? Our conversation inspired this prose and I’m truly thankful for her lesson and her blessings.
It’s quiet now, and the silence deafening. All I hear is my thoughts screaming accusations of all of my faults and shortcomings, all of my failures, all of my mistakes to me. I am only rescued by the sound of crying, I look to see who is there and only realize it’s me when I taste the salt from tears. It is so cold the winds of doubt and loneliness are blowing all around me I cry out for help but no one seems to answer. It is so dark that I can’t see what is in front me and so here I remain seemingly drowning the abyss of dispair. Lost in the recess of my perception.
My history is comprised of what they thought of me, because they think they know me. Hell they ought to they raised me and developed me teaching me what they thought would be important in life. But now it doesn’t seem to hold weight in this place. They told me “get good grades so you can get into a good school” so I did. They told me to “get a good job, a house, so you can find a mate” so I did.
The sun was shining on my life, then the clouds of trials began to roll in, and the rain of tribulation began to fall and the floods of stress and fear consumed me. I lost my job then my house, and nobody wanted me, so here I am, cold, destitute, and lonely. I am haunted by all of things that I was supposed to be, with the promise those accomplishments would bring the blossom of spring in my life but spring never came. I have lost everything but here I am.
Here I am.
Here I am breathing, clothed, sheltered, and in my right mind, with all that I have lost I must never forget what I have gained. Here I am stronger with the knowledge that life’s hardships could not break or deter me. Here I am Here I am wiser understanding that those things they said I should have don’t mean anything if they don’t mean anything to me. Here I am finding my strength in my struggle. Fulfillment truly comes when there is balance. One cannot not truly appreciate pleasure without pain, cannot truly appreciate success without failures, and can’t truly know their strength until it is tested. That substance lies not in what others say about me, but what I say about myself. I found peace in the chaos of my thoughts He touched me and the warmth of the Son filled me and the light that was in me permeated the darkness and I began to shine.

Lovers and Friends....

It’s been said that friends make the best lovers,
I have often wondered why?
Is it because they know ones ins and outs?
Or because they know what lies behind their eyes?
Is it their attention their history and comprisal of all the things that make them up?
Or their ability to see the beauty you possess even if it’s in the morning without your make up?
Or is it simply because they took time to experience your story?
In this fickle world we are often afraid to reveal who we are intimately,
But a true friend takes time to displace insecurity,
When one truly cares, they want to experience your mind,
Far before they are ever concerned about the other side of “quality time”,

When you tell them your deepest secrets,
They are not dissuaded or intimidated,
Nor do they find perverse intrigue,
They simply understand that’s apart of your personality,
And you can rest assure that they won’t tell anybody,
Or even more so it because they know all of those pleasurable places others never privily to, simply because they took the time to listen to you,
Stories you freely disclosed, racy, sometimes wild,
And with attentive ears they simply listened and smiled,
All the while respecting you and suppressing selfish desires,
Allowing you to fine solace and affection in their arms,
A lady or a gentleman they remain,
Unless you both fall victim to seduction and her charms,

Regardless of the each situation what is most important of all,
Whatever should happen you can always depend on your friend
To be there whenever you call,
So next time your making excuses of why you think it won’t work out,
Go ahead and try the friend thing out,
You never know what may happen in the end the greatest lover in life could end up being your best friend.

Pause for Prose: Baby it's cold outside

There are universal questions that we all ask ourselves throughout course of our life's journey. One of them seems to always be “Who am I?” For some of us it feels like it takes a lifetime to answer while we are met with more and more intense questions at varying crossroads that often feel frightening. Frightening because it requires reflection of ourselves, who we are and we desire to be.
Yesterday I awakened work to freshly fallen snow that covered all of New York as I was getting ready for work. This was a totally new experience for me because I am from Texas. It rarely snows there, and when it does everything shut down. Here in New York folks don’t miss a beat, so with a “when in Rome” attitude I began my trek to the job.
In the midst of tingling frozen fingers, a runny nose, and a flurry of flakes hitting my face, I had an epiphany. Not just that it was cold but something more. As I walked down the avenue to my train I noticed footsteps in the snow going in every direction. Some seemed to disappear in the dirt and grime of the street while others were going right and some retreating back from whence they came. As I began to make my own impressions I thought about all of the pressures I have put on myself to be something grand and to make my impression on the world. I heard the crunch of contentment and felt myself slipping on a path that says, “Life is too short for mistakes you have to get things right the first time” yet when an elder passes we are often met with words of solace like “they made many mistakes but with those mistakes that were life lessons, and left impressions on them that made them the person they are. We should celebrate their life for their greatest successes and many failures.”
Too often we focus on the destination that our footsteps will take us to, yet we forget to enjoy the texture that life brings and the journey that leads us to our destination. We step out into the cold world feeling all alone, on our own trying to make sure that we don’t slip and fall, or get on the wrong path and having to turn around.
Often discouragement and fear lies in the knowledge that these paths are unchartered and therefore unknown. There are holes you could sink into, snow covering ice that could cause you to slip an fall, slippery walk ways that could cause you to lose your footing. For this reason it seems that many of us run from the path that was laid before us, retreating back to beginnings and never progressing. You got folks telling you, you may get out there and that cold is going to kick your ass, only to find out that it’s not that bad. For me as I moved forward I began to see things differently, as I took each step I was creating a temporary path for someone to use as a guide and even if I were to fall or step in a hole my mistake helped expose my followers to not step that way. But the thing I think I liked most about the snow is that any misstep I made would soon be blanketed so that I could try again, and soon after it will all wash away when I reach the warm destination of self-contentment.

A night at the Opera

Despite a long day, working midnight shift then getting off at eight in the morning to be at my internship at nine, I was anticipating going to my first opera with a co-worker of mine who is a lover of the arts. After I received the call that she had gotten the rush tickets (if you don’t know you better ask somebody) I hopped on the bus headed to 62ndstreet. There was a light but consistent rain as I got on that was just heavy enough to make it annoying. That, coupled with the traffic from the lighting of the tree in Rockerfeller Center, would have been enough to aggravate most but I was enjoying the rest I was getting and knew that we had time before the show started.



Because we arrived so early we had about an hour and a half to spend, so we decided to check out the gift shop. I thought it’d be the perfect opportunity to find something for my mother for Christmas. Unfortunately even the smallest trinkets were out of my price range. Still, the place had some beautiful costume displays and other nice memorabilia to look at. As we walked a little further and listened to Pavarotti playing lowly in the background


I was drawn to this painting. The gentleman in it was poised and elegant in a brocaded suit with knickers, cream silk stockings, and pumps with a cape to match. I couldn’t help but feel underdressed in my car coat, cable knit, and cords, but it was my first time at the Opera so I figured my fellow patrons would cut me some slack.





Before going into the lobby area we checked out an exhibit entitled Mary Magadeline that showcased artist's different interpretations of Mary Magadeline. Check the “Good Book” for more info on her. The thing I especially enjoyed about these remarkable artists was that they each had a individual interpretation of who Mary was and what she represented and they conveyed them in an array of mediums -- one in sculpture another in mosaic, some depicting her as a saint, others demurely, and others still in a more seductively and rakish manner. While the mediums, depictions and dispositions were quite different from one another, all of the artists came together to create something beautiful. Life is a lot like art in this way.



As we walked through the museum the pictures and keepsakes from the house spoke to it’s rich history. Speaking of history, this is the perfect place for a little bit about the Metropolitan Opera House, it was founded in 1883 by a group of business men who wanted their own theatre. In the beginning the management and language changed frequently which often meant translating original scores from one language to another. Finally management decided it would be easiest to keep each play in its original language. The Met (as is it is typically referred to) host more than two hundred performances with more than a quarter million people in attendance each year. New York’s socialites and movers and shakers often come out opening night in sartorial splendor to celebrate first curtain. The Met seems to be vested in continuing the arts developing a new program that commission playwrights and composers with whatever they need to develop new works that can be produced at The Met. The Met also offers a rush ticket program that provides discounted seats ($20) in the orchestra section which provided this opportunity.



With all the visual and audio stimulation around me I was amped going into the autotorium and was pleasantly surprised to see that I wasn’t under dressed. We found our way to our seats and I prepared myself for “The House of the Dead”. I was comfortably in my seat as a hush fell over the crowd when a the first act began and the lights went out. And then, so did I. I was awakened by my co-worker telling me she had to use the powder room and if I didn’t see her she enjoyed attending with me I couldn’t believe it, I had fallen asleep. Oh well at least I could say I had been to the Opera and I had a reason to go again.

The Holiday Spirit.

With the holiday season in full swing, I wanted to offer an alternative perspective to typical mindset that comes with the season. With the economy on the rebound and consumer confidence on the rise, some say there is a temptation to be sucked into the commercialism of the Christmas season. But is that the attitude we should have? With Thanksgiving having just passed I have had an opportunity to take a moment to think about on what I was really thankful for. While I am sure we are all thankful for the turkey, stuffing, and sweet potato pie, let’s not forget that all these things are “dressings” for the real reason for the season.



This past Thanksgiving I had the pleasure of engaging in lively conversations with my new extended family over a few glasses of wine and several glasses of iced tea because still I had to work that night. We shared laughter, jokes, and had a wonderful time enjoying each other perspectives on the goings on of the world around us. It was in that moment that I had an epiphany - it is these moments--these experiences--that we should hold on to...that we should be thankful for. You cannot put a price tag on these moments. They are our most pure and priceless keepsakes.



One of my brothers from another mother took a picture of me and a literary friend of mine engaging in a conversation (...because we can fly blog at www.deborahcowell.com, check her out she may just bless you). She made mention during that conversation that the picture could be anywhere in years to come, and someone could be asking questions like, “What do you think they were talking about?” “What was going on in the world at that time?” We have the power to inspire thought, research, and inspiration through images, but what’s more is that we have a forum with which to discuss it on a global scale. For others to be invited into our life to see things through our eyes, and experience a different walk in our shoes.



I am thankful to my family back home, who cultivated and developed my curiosity which put on the path that led me here to this beautiful city. And I am thankful for the wonderful people that challenge me to be better and inspire me to contemplate deeper things, and live a more fulfilled life. As Christmas quickly approaches, and we rush out to buy the latest electronic devices, new toys, or trendy articles of clothing let us not forget about the gifts that can’t be bought but carry so much more value: family interaction, being with to the ones you love, and seeing Christ in those we interact with. That’s definitely something to be thankful for.

School is in secession

The longer that I live here in “The City”, the more I realize that my hardcore education did not really begin until the moment I stepped off the plane to this new chapter of my life. Whether it has been the fast pace of the people on the streets, the grit and rawness of almost everything, or the realization that you really do have to make it here on your own the lesson to be learned from it all is not cliche -- if you can survive here then you really can thrive anywhere. New York, as a mentor of mine has explained, is a kinetic city. It gives you right back what you put in, and you never know what seemingly random interaction might open the door to your greatness. I have been blessed to be in the right circles around the right people to educate myself on things that others may not have otherwise had the opportunity to experience, but as the good Book says, "Ask and you shall receive." I have done just that and that request has lead me here.



As soon as I arrived in New York my mentor told me I had to stop by the Alan Flusser Shop on 5th Avenue. As I walked passed Rockerfeller Center and Bloomingdales on this historic avenue I expected something a bit more grand than what I found. When I arrived at the address there was a nondescript buzzer on an unassuming building that many pass on a daily basis without a second thought. It was only after I got off on the elevator and entered what could only be described as a university of decorum, refinement, social interaction, and sartorial arts that I understood New York, a city often noted for its exportation of the grandiose, is a place where the great ones learn and teach of being understated and demure. There is an art to this.



If you aren’t familiar with my dean let me enlighten you. He is the author of several books on dressing and style including: Clothes and the Man, and Style and the Man, and most recently Dressing the Man. As a designer his accolades include receiving the Coty Award for top men’s designer, and being a costume designer for the move Wall Street. He remains a leading authority on men’s style and matters of taste. But the man himself is quietly reserved, confident, and mild in manner. His style, however, hints to something more engaging. Sonething that seemingly promotes conversation, and the guy seems to have a interesting story about a lot of things that you could listen to hours to. The rest of the professors have been in the retail industry for twenty plus years but beyond their knowledge of analytical operations, the offer lessons in color theory, sartorial textiles and origins, fit 101, and the psychology of clientele interaction. As my dean Alan Flusser has stated “This shop is a university of sorts teaching not only matters of sartorial knowledge, but social interaction and hospitality.”





While I am truly grateful for my matriculation and degree, I believe that it was all just preparation for the real education of life. As Oscar Wilde once said “Education is an admirable thing, but it is well to remember from time to time that nothing that is worth knowing can be taught.”

The Season of...

Behold that old things must pass away to make way for things to become anew. Life is all about change, and transition. Funny thing about transition it seems to be one of the most exciting, yet awkward, and confusing times in life each time it happens. I have equated it to walking into a dark room and trying to find your way around, being able to see images but unable to make out what they are or fully appreciate where they are. We tend to think these things are obstacles having to feel our way around and use other senses to guide us to our destination but once we arrive at the switch and turn the light on, it is revealed that those so called obstacles were actually gifts that we could only appreciate after we felt them out, often times we take precious things like the metamorphosis of maturity for granted and can only appreciate arriving at a desired destination if we had to go through something to get to it.
So I must begin this change that has started to take place with an apology. This journey that you are all taking with me should be so much more than fashion, or the proverbial luxurious lifestyle. As a side note I had the pleasure of meeting a very wise gentleman who spoke to me about what luxury is and he said that, “True luxury is having the resources and time to the things that you want to do at your leisure.” With this new revelation I will be attempting to take you on a luxurious experience filled with new understanding of self, and the world around me, through the relationships I build and maybe even some that I have discard. But I believe it was best said in David Copperfield when he said, “Whether I shall turn out to be the hero of my own life, or whether that station will be held by anybody else, these pages must show.”

With that said I thank you for taking this trip with me…