Joy Comes in the Mourning

[A friend of mine, Brent Barnett, posted a status on Facebook about grieving who you thought you would be and accepting you are. It inspired me write this during The Writers' Room]

When I sit still and get settled

I question myself. Am I settling in my life?

Such a perfectionist waiting for the perfect time to do right

Where else am I supposed to be?

Behind a screen beebooping pursuing a software engineering degree?

Was I supposed to be a radio personality, gettin in free for all the entertainment outings?

Was I to marry rich, stfu and be submissive?

Thinking of this life's trajectory

I want to know what's next for me.

It is too late to pursue that A&R role I always wanted?

Will I ever open mic night to show imma comic?

Who am I even living for?

Who even am I?

There are so many lives I want to live

So many people I want to be

To accept who I am

(An organizer, a lover, a mother, a writer, a DJ, a dancer, a comedian, a connector)

I must accept me.

I must expect me--to be ever changing,

never knowing, always growing -- ebbing and flowing.

Settle has such a negative connotation

If life's a race...then...I'm already dead

I want to be comfortable with my dreads, in my head, in my bed.