I CAN'T WAIT...

Do you remember when you couldn’t wait to be a teenager? Being a teenager meant that you weren’t a baby anymore. It meant you were getting closer to being grown. Growing up meant that no one (including your parents) could tell you what to do. It meant you could do whatever you wanted whenever you wanted to. At least that’s what your childish mind thought at the time.

In reality, there was always someone or something else dictating, to a certain extent, what you could do and when you could do it. Whether it was obtaining a degree, working, getting married, or raising kids, there was always something that affected how we lived our lives.

Even in retirement, when I thought I would be free to do whatever I wanted, something still holds me back from doing what I really want to do. As I grew up into a responsible adult with a job, the old saying that my mother liked to quote, “A hard head makes a soft behind,” proved to be true. Even though some of my decisions negatively impacted the course of my life, I’m not sure I would have made a different choice if I had the chance to do it over again.

Being a young adult was an exciting time. I was so naïve, and because of that naivety, I was open to life and rushed, unafraid, into new experiences. There was a sweetness and freshness that I brought with my perspectives and viewpoints that elude me now. I hesitate and look at all the angles before I leap. Some would call it wisdom, others would call it fear. I think it is a little of both, but I also know that I don’t have the luxury of time that youth afford. I can’t wait another ten years to do this thing I’ve been dreaming of. Time is running out for me. Soon I’ll be too old to do what my heart longs to do. I sit with this knowledge, afraid to do the thing I long to do because it will hurt others. So, I wait, and wonder if the day will ever come or if my chance will pass me by.

My book, “Finally, Doing Me!” by Evelyn C. Fortson, is about four women finding the courage to do what makes them happy after years of prioritizing everyone else's happiness. It’s a good read and recommended for anyone who has been dreaming about making a change or simply wants to read about mature women searching for happiness.

This book, along with my other books, is available on Amazon and BookBaby Bookshop. Click the link below:

https://store.bookbaby.com/book/finally-doing-me

www.amazon.com/Finally-Doing-Me-Evelyn-Fortson/dp/1667821385

JUMPING OF BRIDGES

Remember when your mother asked, “Would you jump off a bridge if your friends did?” Well, the irony of that question was that you had already jumped off the bridge, or she wouldn’t be asking the question.  Looking back at all the stupid, reckless stuff I did with friends makes me smile, mostly because I survived it and also because I can hear my mother’s voice again (a voice that speaks beyond her existence).

I remember saying those exact words to my son after he got into some foolishness. But the craziest thing about that conversation was that I waited for him to answer with the correct response of no, just like my mother did with me. When I look at my eleven-year-old grandson, who can’t wait to be a teenager, I wonder if my son will ever ask his son that insane question. If he should ask, I hope he hears my voice and recalls the times I asked him the same thing, and I hope it makes him smile.

The decision to jump or not is a rite of passage that most kids will have to make. What kid hasn’t done something stupid, foolish, or dangerous at the urging of a friend? That’s precisely why parents stay up at night until they hear their kids come home. That’s why mothers pray, and fathers sound like the rumbling of a coming storm when they tell their children to do something. That’s why they stay up at night until they hear the front door open and the patter of their kids' feet sneaking into the house.

When I look back at the times I jumped off bridges, I remember them fondly, but honestly, some of those experiences had negative consequences. So, although jumping off bridges with friends can be adventurous and exciting, that one bad choice can adversely impact one’s future. The only advice I can give to any parent of young kids today is to pray for them daily and speak to them about the times you jumped off bridges with your friends, including the good and bad outcomes of those choices. Let them know that their life will be a series of choices that will become more complex as they grow older, and how important it is for them to make wise choices.

MY LIFE IN ROSES

Somehow, I knew early that life wouldn’t be a bed of roses for me. My childhood was good; looking back, I know I romanticized it as anyone who has had a good childhood would. I enjoy the pleasant feeling that indulging in nostalgia brings. But even as a young girl, I knew my life wouldn’t be like the ones I watched on TV. Maybe that was why I always rooted for the underdog, because I knew that society had already slated me to lose. But I had something going for me that no amount of hate, racism, or lies could destroy. I had parents who loved me and worked hard to provide for all six of their children. My mother still inspires me even though her spirit has long been set free. Her wisdom was only fully recognized long after it was first spoken.

There was a regalness about the way she held her head at times. She cleaned houses for a living, and sometimes I went to work with her. If the people were home when we arrived, she would introduce me with her head tilted upward, speaking the Queen’s English. As a kid, I didn’t understand code switching or why she wore a mask in public. I would laugh with my siblings whenever we recounted how our parents spoke one way at home and another way in front of white folks. As an adult, I know how necessary and satisfying it is to be able to do so.

My life has been untraditional in almost every way. I was a single parent for nearly fourteen years, never received public assistance, bought my first house as a sole owner before I was thirty, worked over forty years in the court system, married late in life, and started my writing career at sixty.

Life hasn’t always been easy, nor has it always been hard. There have been incredible, joyous moments, and there have been seasons of heart-wrenching pain. Whenever I think it's too hard to move forward, I think about my parents and grandparents. I think about what they must have gone through. I look at a map of the Middle Passage that hangs on my living room wall and imagine what my ancestors went through. In their survival, I find my strength and do whatever is needed to move forward.

Life is a beautiful and precious gift from God. Although I may not have had the same opportunities as someone else growing up, I know that God made the sun to rise and sent the rain for all of us. Working hard to obtain what I have and sometimes fighting to keep it made me tough, determined, and appreciative. It also allowed me to see God working on my behalf.

My garden was once in the lush, fertile soil of Altadena, where it was easy to grow a variety of colorful plants. Although I could never grow hydrangeas, I had a Japanese maple tree that survived for almost a year. Now my garden is in the desert, which could be a metaphor for this stage in my life, where growing vibrant plants can be difficult. I’m slower now. It takes me longer to complete a project. The effortless, carefree days of youth are gone. Instead, I have days that pass too quickly, where I haven’t accomplished a thing. Even though my days are rushing by, there are times when I manage to complete a few chapters in the book I’m writing, work on a quilt, or finish a blog post. On those days, I see how past events planted a seed, bloomed, and expressed themselves in written words or manipulated fabrics.  I equate my rose bushes, succulents, pine, and native trees with my life experience and the people I have encountered. Some of my plants are prickly and must be handled carefully. Others are soft and fragrant, and pleasant to touch. Some plants, try as I might to nurture them, will fail me. Knowing all of this has never stopped me from pursuing a garden of my own. My desert garden isn’t as colorful as I would like, but it’s pretty when everything is briefly in bloom in the spring before the sun burns it all up. Although it’s more arduous to produce something beautiful in this dry land of mine, the result is so worth it.