Category: Writing

In a workshop about developing my own personal brand, the presenter stated that a branding statement consisted of three P’s: portable skills (What do I do well?), previous experience (What is my greatest strength/accomplishment?), and personal passion (What would I like to do and why?)

After writing my personal brand, I was about to recycle the piece of paper where I’d written down the template. Instead, I gifted it to my nephew. Figuring he wouldn’t write a personal brand unless there was a proper incentive in place, I knew he had a few things that he would actually work for. The idea of promoting himself to get a promotion was far too abstract.

So, I asked him what his favorite hamburger was. He named two. One I’d never heard of before. Nonetheless, I told him that if he wrote his personal brand, I’d buy him one of his favorite burgers.

Two weeks later, I took a day trip to attend a dance competition. My friend and I grabbed a quick bite at a fast food restaurant where I ordered the burger I’d never had before. One thing for sure, I could only eat the burger in one settling. I saved the fries for breakfast, which I warmed up in an air fryer to get them nice and crispy. Even so, I split half of them with Dad because there were so many of them.

Not only did I want to try out the burger, which wasn’t anything spectacular except for the caloric intake, but I wanted to text the photo op to my nephew. He knew exactly why I’d sent the picture. Even so, he still hasn’t written his personal brand yet.

Although a free burger tends to taste better than one you pay for yourself, my nephew apparently views the job of writing his personal brand a Herculean task.

Nonetheless, I’m not going to nag him about it. If he doesn’t want a free burger, then I’ll save my money. One thing I cannot save is someone who won’t try to help themselves out of a dead-end job.

Superstitious or not, I made sure my first dinner of the new year included yellow food, green food and black eyed peas. My Hoppin’ John wasn’t as “hopping” as I would have hoped since I used the chicken broth found in the pantry rather than looking for the spicy version. No matter. I still enjoyed ringing in the new year with this delicious meal.

The next day, I attended my chair dancing class. I handed out the free samples of topical CBD that I’d wanted to gift everyone two weeks ago when I was dressed as Santa’s Helper. Back then, I thought I’d have a virtual warehouse to take orders, make some retail sales and then have the company handle shipping out the packages. What a difference a fortnight makes!

Instead, I handed out my samples while wishing everyone a Happy New Year. Now that I think about it, it may be better that I’d waited to do that during a non-religious time. The first thing people noticed was the limerick that I attached to the top of the little boxes. The reception was very positive, even bringing smiles to their faces.

After dancing on the pole, chair or floor
When your body feels sore
Feel relief with Topical CBD
Resupply with me
Teresa: XXX-XXX-XXX4

As energized as I’d felt when writing that limerick, I felt even more so seeing their reactions. Time will show how effective a marketing campaign it was. I wonder if anyone picked up on how the last digit in my cell number completes the rhyme scheme? I put several days’ worth of creative energy into the construction of that one limerick.

A few days later, money that I had expected was finally deposited into my account and I still had the rest of the first week of 2023 to look forward to! Especially since I still have five more CBD samples to gift at my pole fitness studio.

In a way, that effort represents money that I expect to eventually deposit into my account. Money seeds that I’m planting this week to reap in the following weeks.

tried to calm down any superstitious belief that my New Year’s Day dinner had anything to do with this week. After all, I’ve made such an effort at least twice before. I chalk this experience up to some years starting off better than others.

Continuing this week’s auspicious beginning, the company’s CEO sent a company-wide email, stating that a “thank you” bonus would be included in our first paycheck of the year. Talk about reading the room!

The cynic in me knew that this bonus didn’t take the place of a cost of living raise, but at least I’d be able to pay off half of my emergency credit card. The sooner I can get a $0 balance on that card, the happier I’ll be financially. Again, another seed planted for greater financial security.

So the other aspect of life commonly revamped this time of year is upping one’s health regimen. Although I’ve continued exercising nearly every day since relocating home, the routine I followed, namely waking up 2.5 hours early to exercise, shower, eat breakfast, then log onto work was no longer working for me.

I rushed, going from one activity to another, especially eating quickly. Often times, Dad joined me for breakfast, but I was too busy wolfing down my food and cleaning up the kitchen to fully appreciate the time.

So, I joined a gym. My motivation to seek out a gym came from a shoulder injury, resulting from a pole dancing class. I knew from past experience that swimming would help my shoulder. I ended the work week swimming laps, followed by a stint in the steam room, then the jacuzzi. Next week, I’ll check out the hot yoga class.

Tweaking my exercise time and location meant never setting my alarm clock again during the workweek, a practice that began during Kwanzaa. Since I didn’t have any saved PTO for an actual vacation, I gifted myself more sleep.

Next week, for the first time in a long time, I’ll be able to taste my breakfast. I’ll stretch a little before breakfast, but not the extensive workout I used to do, thanks to my new exercise routine after work. What I’m really working toward is setting my own schedule since my favorite time to exercise is in the middle of the day.

Right now, the only current opportunity that can set both my finances and time free is my emerging CBD business. With this latest iteration of entrepreneurship, I’ll see how successful my overall endeavor will be.

I started off my Christmas celebration dressing up as Santa’s Helper for the last Chair Dance class before the holiday. My instructor, dressed as the iconic Jack Skellington from “The Nightmare before Christmas,” was the only other person in costume. Although I usually video my weekly chair dance routine to mark my progress, I normally don’t text the link to other people. Yet when I make the effort to dress up for class, then someone other than my parents will see that clip.

Five days later, an even greater adventure began. Seven family members and I went indoor skydiving on Christmas Eve with my octogenarian parents witnessing. One of my sisters and I treated the family to this experience as an alternative to materialistic gifts.

One Christmas miracle was that the ten of us left the house fifteen minutes later than we’d planned, in two cars and still arrived much earlier than we needed to. Even after weighing in and signing wavers, we could have made the 2:30 PM class except it was already full.

The only glitch to the entire experience occurred when we were checking in. At no time did the salesperson tell me that the group package that we purchased didn’t include a high flight. Not really a bait and switch, but the biggest appeal was that the package was the most affordable for that number of people; so, once we arrived, the upselling began. At the end of some awkward discussion, we concluded that we didn’t need to fly high on our first venture.

Since we’d arrived an hour ahead of time, we enjoyed watching a father and daughter practicing higher-level skills. Then, the 2:30 class provided a more realistic demonstration of what we’d do.

About 15 minutes prior to our reservation time, our trainer asked us to meet him at the desk to receive our flight suits, helmets and other needed attire. The onesie was supposed to be baggy, but there weren’t any wing flaps like flying squirrels.

Once suited up, of course we took the requisite pictures in front of the iFly background and the Christmas display. Afterwards, we assembled into the classroom where we watched a short video, which emphasized the hand signals used in the flight chamber. Pointing up meant “chin up,” two fingers up meant “straighten your legs,” and the hang ten hand gesture meant what it always does, “relax.”

Since this was my idea, I had to be the fearless leader and go first. I asked if anyone else wanted to go first, but no one had a burning desire to do so. Originally, I had the preconceived idea that there wasn’t a safety net. Once I saw the safety net, I wasn’t the least bit nervous. The air started flowing and I leaned into it with my arms raised above my head.

My sister, who’d jumped on the opportunity to pay for half and make this her Christmas gift to the family as well, went after me. They made accommodations for her to participate even though she was a whisper above the recommended weight limit. Instead of leaning into the air with her arms raised, she laid on the safety net without any air flowing and two instructors were in the chamber with her. Once the air flowed, the instructors guided her until she was airborne. From there, our main instructor guided her.

In the past, my other sister had arranged many different Christmas excursions, along with her husband. This was the first time that they were treated to a Christmas excursion themselves. Not only that, but they’d never tried indoor skydiving before.

This niece was the only one who had tried indoor skydiving before. She enjoyed it so much that she’d bought passes for her family, but they hadn’t used them yet. So, it was another Christmas miracle that two of her aunts had the family to try it out.

Full disclosure: I thought out of all of us who were flying that day, this niece would back out at the last minute. I credit her sister for being the biggest influence. Positive peer pressure, if you will.

By contrast, I knew this nephew would be all over this experience. He’s the reason I wanted to try parkour. I’ve not gotten around to it yet– if ever.

If this nephew was at all apprehensive about participating, he hadn’t say anything. As a matter of fact, when we were heading home, I asked him if he enjoyed the experience. He agreed. When I asked him if he wanted to do it again, there was a pregnant pause before he said yes.

I knew my brother-in-law would jump on this experience. He doesn’t let anyone forget that he’s an athlete. His only complaint was that our excursion occurred on Christmas Eve. Normally, he cooks a huge delicious feast; so this adventure delayed his cooking.

After all was said and done, my 82 year-old mother stated that she wanted to try indoor skydiving. Once she saw that we were guided by an instructor and weren’t bumping into anything, she felt that she’d be able to do it. Something to look forward to in 2023!

Over the years, Christmas morning has become very mellow since the youngest “child” was 22. I had plenty of time to wake up, get myself together, and take a picture of the Christmas tree.

One unplanned thing before our gift exchange: being snaked into making muffin-sized quiches. When I’d made a similar dish the previous Saturday, Mom loved it so much that she said she’d make that for Christmas breakfast. Mom had bought only one ingredient for the quiches and paid one of my sisters and me to make them. I scavenger hunted the rest of the ingredients, complaining the entire time.

The other sister was the first to try them. Even though I made them under protest and with alternative ingredients, they turned out delicious. I’d spent nearly a year making different quiche recipes, mainly with a crust; so this hadn’t been too much of a stretch.

And of course no Christmas celebration wouldn’t be complete with out a Nana/grandson dance off!

I’m not sure if I should refer to myself as an “emerging” or a “recovering” entrepreneur.

Certainly, when I was an independent contractor, first as a health/life insurance agent, then as a customer service representative, I made money. That was the closest I came to my entrepreneurial dreams of working for myself, making money, setting my own schedule and enjoying my quality of life.

But the purely entrepreneurial ambitions of being my own boss was more of an exercise in “spending $3 to make 2.”

Just as I prepared to give selling CBD another go, the Devil rubbed his greasy palms together rapidly to set a fire to my plans.

As soon as I formulated a creative action plan that energized me, I spent a week hammering out the technical issues of a mobile app to access my virtual warehouse. Before I resolved the tech issues, I received two notifications. Both credit cards that I’d listed on Amazon had been hacked.

Although I agree with the practice of cancelling compromised cards and receiving new ones, I put my ambitions on the back burner as I waited for the replacements. From here on out, only one card will be listed on Amazon.

That bullshit delayed stocking my virtual warehouse. Once I gained access to the platform, I learned that the latest iteration of the virtual warehouse, which I’d purchased, wasn’t available yet. Not only that, but the deadline for its availability kept being pushed back. That bad news could have taken the wind out of my sails except I knew that patience now would reap rewards later.

Control the controllables. I learned that mantra when I was an insurance agent. I wouldn’t live out the fantasy of dressing up as Santa’s little helper and passing out the free samples of CBD product to my fellow exercise students. I still dressed up as Santa’s helper for a dance class and have a good time.

I watched a 2-week old recording of the CBD company’s weekly meeting. In the beginning of the zoom call, they always recognized the top 10 enrollers, followed by the top 10 retailers. And there it was at number five: my name and present location. I paused the recording and raced upstairs with my laptop. I asked my parents to look at number five. “Do you see it? Do you see my name?” They congratulated me.

Never did I expect to see my name. I normally have sarcastic things to say about such recognitions, but undeniably, seeing my name on the list energized me just when I needed it. Devil be damned.

At this point, it’s a race to see what will be available first: my replacement credit card or my virtual warehouse. Eventually, I’ll need both to put my plan in action.

was falling backwards and trusting that the hammock would catch me. Obviously, I have more faith in the hammock than I have that people would catch me during a so-called trust fall. Once, I overcame that apprehension, I had to build up my tolerance for being suspended by what felt like a thick rope cutting through my torso.

Yet, they were also exhausting. At least gravity helped to exit the poses. I wasn’t the least bit concerned with looking sexy. The instructor reminded us several times that the first class was the worst. That alone made me want to try it again.

The next class I want to try out is a hoop class in order to experience the difference. No matter which class I take at this studio, they never fail to be good work outs. I feel myself becoming stronger since there’s no way to cheat one’s way through any of the movements.

As a matter of fact, the biggest challenge to taking this class, along with some others, is my full time work schedule. I’m keeping my options open with my current job while working my writing side hustle. I’d love to either reduce my hours so I’m only working 4 days a week or pick up a lucrative writing gig.

Since relocating, I’ve been recreating my life. Not exactly the way it was in Austin since I was priced out of that city, but in a way that I can still enjoy being alive.

I hadn’t counted on not finding something as seemingly basic as a book exchange. One of those take a book/leave a book set ups found in some Mom and Pop coffee shops. I asked my sister to help me with that task on a laid-back Sunday when we both had time to kill.

The first place she took me to was so out of the way, out in yonder, I was impressed she knew about it. Nonetheless, their book exchange kiosk was no longer there. Then we paid a visit to an actual coffee shop that hosted open mics upstairs. We struck out there too.

As a matter of fact, the upstairs was so small, I’ll have to see it in action to believe that an actual open mic can exist there. I wonder whether there’s additional seating, or if people are cool with sitting on the floor, or if it’s so poorly attended that it’s left just the way it is.

My temporary solution to my book exchange dilemma is to ride around with that book in my car just in case I stumble upon a place where I can leave it.

I remember years ago being amazed that Build a Bear replaced the only bookstore in the oldest mall in town. Little did I know that was the canary in the coal mine.

One of my friends reminded me that the only reason such things like thriving open mics and book exchanges exist in Austin is that someone had started them. To which I said, “Yeah, yeah, yeah, but I don’t want to be the organizer, just a participant.”

Not sure how realistic that is, given the transitory nature of this town. I see myself as transitory as well, but I’d have to find more lucrative work in order to move.

A few days before I journeyed back to NC, I dreamed my father and I were at a crowded mall. We’d planned to eat at one of the restaurants. I told him to have a seat in one of the open areas of the mall while I sped walked to the restaurant to put my name in for a reservation.

When I reached the host’s station, I asked for a table for two. The host looked on his seating chart and told me number 933 would be the next available table. I thanked him and sped walked back to where Dad sat, so we could leisurely walk back to the restaurant.

When I awoke, I realized how weird the host telling me the table number was. That doesn’t happen in real life. Nonetheless, I shared 933 with Dad because he loves playing the pick three.

I looked up the significance of 933. Apparently, that number was sent to me by my guardian angels. They wanted me to know that they were watching over me. So I would be successful and safe during my impending multi-state drive from TX to NC.

Not only were the angels working to fulfill my wishes, but 933 also symbolizes personal and spiritual growth as well as self-realization.

This relocation has allowed me to boost the reinvention of myself. I’m always searching for self-improvement, but a change of scenery always helps to get out of a routine if only to develop a new one.

Even with my current job, once I logged back on after a 2-week vacation, I was in training with a new team because I’d accepted a new position.

Outside of work, I’ve been taking dance classes of a genre I’d never tried before. Plus, I’ve been collaborating on a project with another writer and my cousin. I’m hoping that something will come of that creative endeavor, allowing me to stop being an employee and allowing me to return to the freelancing world.

In many ways, I returned home just in time. My parents had recently recovered from COVID. I’d hit a pandemic-induced stagnation. I’d been priced out of Austin. I hadn’t seen any of my immediate family in two and a half years. I’d saved up enough vacation time to take two weeks off for the relocation.

Even so, there’s a major difference between visiting and relocating. Not only did I have to reclaim space within my parents’ house, I had to integrate myself into everyone’s lives.

Part of reintegration involved family dinners.

Although I’m as secular as they come while still believing in God, I attended church with my family. For me, it’s more of a cultural practice than a religious one. Besides, it’s an act of optimism to believe that we’re on a positive path and there’s a point to existing.

For our first Sunday dinner, my sister chose Longhorn Steakhouse in honor of my return from Texas. Mom spoke up first to order fried pickles. When the server told Mom that that appetizer wasn’t on the menu, Mom insisted that she’d looked up the menu on her phone while we waited. The server was so sweet. “Ma’am, I don’t mean to keep correcting you, but we’ve never had fired pickles on the menu.”

Of course, we had the biggest laugh at Mom’s expense, which set an entertaining tone for the rest of the meal. Even my nephew, who notoriously orders a burger if that option is on the menu, entertained us. When he ordered a pork chop, I complimented him for branching out. Then, I thought about it. There was no way he’d try something new. I asked him if he’d seen the burger option. He hadn’t. Compliment rescinded.

The following Friday, my other sister and her family and a few of her in-laws, came into town and met us at a restaurant to celebrate my parents’ 61st Anniversary.

I marvel at how long my parents have been married to each other. I chalk it up to the fact that they work together as a team and know how to support one another. As a result of their union and support, I have a home to come home to. My sisters and I have a solid foundation from which to grow and continue.

Obviously, when I say “cashless,” it’s not like in my younger days, which was synonymous with “broke.” Now that I’m middle aged, I’m paycheck-to-paycheck broke, but that’s still not what I mean by “cashless.”

In this day and age, I no longer touch cash. I thought we were all on the same page about this. Apparently, my former existence prior to relocation was perfectly aligned for being cashless.

I paid Mom $30, using one of the digital platforms. You would’ve thought I’d just performed an exorcism. Once I set up the account for her, I sent her more money via the same digital platform a few days later. Mom repeated what her inner tech-phobic demon commanded, “Don’t send me money with that app! I want you to put cash in my hand.” Her demon also advised, “You should send it to yourself, then give me the cash.”

Mom has always been a logical person, but fear made her tell me to send my own money to myself and then give her the cash. As if there’s some magical app that would put cash in my hand if I sent it digitally to myself.

Of course it’s a generational thing. Nearly every job Mom had, she reported in person, except the time she was a babysitter. Even then, she interfaced with people. I, on the other hand, now work from home, interacting virtually with clients and coworkers.

Unlike Mom, I’ve not received a cut check on a regular basis in decades. There’s the occasional odd job where I may get a check, but it’s usually direct deposited.

On the other hand, Mom wanted to watch one of our relative’s funeral that was streaming on Facebook. Mom had heard that there was a way to see what she was streaming on her tablet, on the TV. As soon as I showed her how to cast from her iPad to the TV, Mom started dancing in her seat. “I’m going to be so good, I’m not going to know how to act!” Definitely no demons there.

Years ago, Mom’s demons would scream, “Don’t send me no text.” Now, she navigates through her smart phone like a pro, including sending the occasional text message.

Mom’s rarely an early adopter when it comes to technology, but she’s definitely on board with either internal motivation or familiarity–even if it takes her a decade or longer to become familiar.