Oct

A Thought: Deals & One’s Self

‘What kind of deal is it to get everything you want but lose yourself? What could you ever trade your soul for?’

– Jesus, ‭Matthew‬ ‭16‬:‭26‬ (The Message)

Don’t worry, I’m not going to preach. I’m just citing the source material for one of the biggest questions I’ve had to contend with as a young, Nigerian, freelance shooter/editor and filmmaker living in New York City with very little financial gain to show for (read: broke-ty, broke, broke).

It seems like no matter how hard I try, I’m still struggling to make ends meet and still need help from my parents. The great part about this state of being is that I’ve come to truly value my parents’ sacrifices and now have a sort of boundless appreciation for my family’s love and support. The bad part is it that I sometimes have this insatiable displeasure towards my life and myself for not having it all together. My mind is constantly wrapped around the thought that I’m going to be 30 in a few years and feel no closer to being a real adult. In my mind, 30 is the holy land and if I’m not able to be on my feet financially by then, I’ll be placed in stocks so people can throw rotting vegetables at me and I’ll be one of those morality tales Nigerian parents tell their kids to dissuade them from becoming artists. Apparently, in my mind, I’m that big of a deal.

The result of all that frantic thinking is that I get to a point where I become desperate to find paying work. Obviously, looking for paying work isn’t bad. The issue is that every time I’ve been fueled solely by that desperation, I’ve had to deal with all sorts of unnecessary mayhem and foolishness, and all because I sold myself incredibly short. It’s kind of like a person who so badly wants to be in a relationship that he/she settles for anything just so he/she can say they have something and have perceived value. Whether it’s dating or work, that sort of thinking doesn’t lead to a whole lot of good. So, to stop the cycle, I started asking: “Will I lose myself if I take this job?” And if it’s a situation that won’t add value to me, won’t help me grow or tries to convince me that I have nothing to offer and should be grateful someone’s throwing a bone my way, I know I have to step away from it. Because in those situations, it isn’t my pride or ego that’s on the line, it’s me.

Yes, asking myself that question has been extremely and excruciatingly difficult at times, especially having to pay bills in one of the most expensive cities in the world. But it has challenged me to go after the things I really want to do and learn, even if those things scare me. It’s helped me to worry less and less about whether people think I have value or not, and, instead, has encouraged me to take the time to get to know the people I’m actually interested in getting to know while letting others get to know me for who I really am. Sometimes it works out, sometimes it doesn’t, but it’s definitely made for better relationships. I’ve learned to go into each meeting and job excited about each opportunity, but also confident in the knowledge that I have something of value to offer. I’m finding I’m more appreciative of big and little things alike. But I think the most important thing that passage has taught me is that I have value and have something to bring to the world, regardless of whether I have everything or nothing, and regardless of whether I’m aware of it or not. I may or may not have it all together by 30, but I’m becoming the sort of person I’ll be happy with at 30, at 40, 50, 80, 1000, and the person I’m happy with now at 26.

Because it isn’t a deal if I get everything in the whole wide world, but lose myself.

And it isn’t a deal for you either.

10 years ago Short URL Comments

Adventure/Learning/Self Discovery/Uncategorized

freelancing/learning/self discovery/self worth/soul/value

Dec

A Fight Worth Fighting For

I’m writing this for purely selfish reasons. I’m not a psychiatrist, a counselor or a healthcare professional, so I’m not speaking from that perspective. I’m writing what I wish someone else could have told me. Hopefully, this can help somebody out.

I distinctly remember being 6 years old and being incredibly upset that the way in which I wanted to kill myself wouldn’t work. What’s sadder is that I didn’t see anything wrong with that until I was about 20. This was all compounded (or maybe it was the depression and suicidal thoughts that did the compounding) by the fact that someone my family trusted began sexually abusing me when I was 4. It came to an end when I was 9 because I threatened to tell if it didn’t stop. Even now, there are days it’s still a struggle to talk about it because it hurt me so deeply and so profoundly. I spent my childhood, adolescence and young adulthood convinced that my life was worthless and that it would always be a place of perpetual deep darkness, sadness and death. I accepted this all as my identity and that there would be no way out. I think what made it harder is that I’m Nigerian and Christian and somewhere along the line it was indoctrinated into me that “black folk” and/or people who love Jesus are above depression and suicidal thoughts. That “mess” was for “weak people” who hadn’t known what a history of suffering could do and for people “without faith and hope”. So I became really good at acting like I was fine and happy when I wasn’t. No one could imagine that I was going through what I was. Thankfully, when I was 19, God was good enough to let me know that that’s absolute rubbish. When I couldn’t love myself or even consider the idea of being worth caring for, He stepped in and let me know I was worthy of good care and that it was okay to need help. I started looking for help when I was 19 and went to someone on and off for a bit. When I was 21, I started going to someone regularly and have been doing so for the last three years. I’d like to share 5 things I’ve learned/been learning during my journey of healing and recovery:

1.) NEEDING HELP DOESN’T MAKE YOU WEAK

I have never heard of a cancer patient being seen as “weak” for needing chemo or any treatment for their cancer. You know why? Because weakness has nothing to do with it. They are going through something very real and very serious that their body cannot fight on its own. That’s why they need medication and specialists to help them fight and get better. Now, if only we had that kind of understanding, grace and wherewithal with our emotional and psychological health. The things you may be dealing with may not have a “physical” manifestation, but they are still very real and it’s important that you get on the road to healing and recovery. Again, if it’s okay for some cancer patients to need chemo, it’s okay if what you need is medication. As with any health issue, just make sure you have a healthcare professional you can trust, who listens to you and who can help you get better. Find out what works for you and if you need medication, that’s totally okay. By the way, like cancer, abuse, depression and suicide don’t care about your race, culture, socio-economic background or faith. They are indiscriminate and ruthless. If you’re going through something, please know that though it’s very real and has the power to affect you deeply, it doesn’t have the power to define you. I learned that neither abuse, depression, suicidal thoughts or self-harm say a single thing about the person that I am. They only have that power if I give it to them.

2.) TALK TO THE RIGHT PEOPLE

The operative word being “talk”. At 19, when I first got hit with the idea that maybe, just maybe, I didn’t have to grin and bear it all and soldier on, I went to one of the head pastors of the church I was attending at the time to ask if she knew who I could speak to. She was excellent in recommending someone who I started seeing on and off, but had to stop due to scheduling conflicts. It took a while before I found the person I go to regularly (about a year), but during that time, when I had no idea where to start, I asked people I knew I could trust and who I knew could at least help point me in the right direction. Some situations didn’t work out and others were dead ends. But, for whatever crazy reason, I refused to keep quiet. Even before I started seeing someone regularly, I’d find myself reaching out to friends whenever I was going through a period of self-harm or suicidal thoughts. I wasn’t seeking them out to counsel me in the way a healthcare professional would. I just needed them to know what was going on. One of the biggest weapons depression, self-harm, suicide and abuse have is silence. Deep down, I knew that if I kept quiet, I wouldn’t be able to win against the overpowering desire to try to hurt or kill myself. There were friends who talked to me on the phone until I fell asleep, and others who answered the phone at 3AM when I needed to hear a friendly voice. Having trustworthy people to talk to was a huge deal because it was good to have the right people checking in with me to make sure I was taking care of myself. It was also important because not everyone you know can be there for you or should be there for you. It’s not because you’re horrible or they’re horrible; it’s just that we all have different capacities for different things. There are friends I can talk to about guy problems and friends I can talk to about work. Sometimes they overlap, sometimes they don’t. In the end, it’s about figuring out what’s healthiest for you. There’s also great power in talking to your doctor. As I continued with counseling, I found that there were physical health issues I had that were making things worse like food sensitivities, thyroid issues and having a low immune system. Getting those things checked and sorted has helped tremendously. And like I said before, try to find a counselor or therapist that you can trust, who listens to you and who can help you get better. I’ve been seeing mine for the last three years and I’m extremely grateful for her. She’s been incredibly instrumental on my journey of healing and recovery.

3.) GOOD FRIENDS ARE WORTH MORE THAN THEIR WEIGHT IN GOLD

This point is also for people who have loved ones and friends who are going through a hard time. I had the worse bouts of depression I’d ever experienced during the late spring of 2012 that lasted through the summer. It came after a really great time in my life and it came with a vengeance. I was seeing my counselor (excruciatingly difficult as it was) and seeing a psychiatrist who was evaluating me to see if I needed to be put on medication. Super important, but it wasn’t enough. I still struggled with loneliness and isolation (another set of weapons abuse, depression, self-harm and suicidal thoughts thrive on). You know what helped? Having great friends who had no idea how to help me, but made it plain that they were committed to being my friends. They didn’t try to “fix” me or say the right things. They were just present. One friend would come over and watch Bollywood movies with me, another would visit and sometimes nap alongside me, one, all the way in Australia, would constantly check in on me, one wrote me a letter telling me how valuable I am, one would text, another would call, and yet another kept me accountable and made sure I was doing things that I enjoyed that would get me out of the house (like learning how to ride a bike and taking an Instagram photo a day outside). I’m actually crying while I think about it because it was so good to just have people be there. They couldn’t be my healthcare professionals, but they offered me something my counselor and psychiatrist couldn’t: love through friendship.

4.) GETTING HELP CAN BE INCREDIBLY DIFFICULT, BUT IT’S WORTH IT

I remember when I got bunion surgery on both my feet, specifically my left foot. For days I could feel where the bone had been sawed off and where the screws had been drilled in. The pain was maddening and I cried a lot. But I needed that surgery in order to be able to walk properly, to be able to stand without wanting to saw my feet off and to actually enjoy wearing cute, regular shoes. Some days (especially rainy ones), the surgery areas get stiff and I feel like a character from “The Golden Girls”. But it’s okay because I have the tools to get rid of the stiffness and it’s nowhere as bad as it could be without having had surgery. Recovery has been a lot like that. There are days that are too difficult for words. Some days it hurts to unearth things that I wish I could pretend aren’t there. (But that’s the thing about pretending, isn’t it? It isn’t living.) There are also days when I can clearly see why it’s worth it. A breakthrough after months of giving my counselor the death stare that screams “Why are you doing this to me?!”, learning something new to help me along the way. Please understand, this isn’t a one size fits all situation. What’s worked for me may not work for you. I’m still on my journey, there are still things I’m figuring out, there are still obstacles to get over, but I find that I don’t have to fake being okay or happy anymore. I can now mourn for Miriam who was abused from 4 through 9 and believed she had to carry her pain by herself, Miriam at 6 who was more concerned about ending her life than enjoying her childhood, Miriam the teenager who blamed herself for everything and believed she was a screw up, and Miriam the young adult who had no idea how to live freely and was resigned to a life of misery and depression. I have fewer and fewer harmful and unhealthy thoughts and habits and if I find myself regressing, I have tools and people to help me get back on track. I’ve started giving myself permission to feel without judging myself. I’ve started learning how to love life and, most of all, love myself. If you’re a survivor of abuse, if you struggle with depression, self-harm, suicidal thoughts, anxiety, whatever it is, you’ve got to try for you because you are worth it, even if you can’t see it. Especially when you can’t see it.

5.) THERE ARE RESOURCES

Whether you’ve been abused, battling depression, self-harm or suicidal thoughts, there are resources out there:

Committed to Freedom, a Christian non-for-profit organization that specializes in abuse recovery solutions: committedtofreedom.org
IM ALIVE, an online crisis network: https://www.imalive.org
National Organization for People of Color Against Suicide: http://www.nopcas.com
To Write Love On Her Arms, “an American non-profit organization which aims to present hope for people struggling with addiction, depression, self injury, and thoughts of suicide while also investing directly into treatment and recovery”: http://twloha.com
Redeemer Counseling: http://www.redeemer.com/care/counseling/

These are literally a handful of what I’ve come across. The good news? There are more resources out there. Reach out and if you don’t find one that works for you, that’s okay. Just keep going until you find one that works for you.

A Special Note For My Fellow Christians

God loves you. I mean really loves you. The kind of love that scares you because it isn’t looking for anything, it’s just there to give. He absolutely and utterly doesn’t think less of you because you’re struggling with something bigger than you. If anything, that’s what He specializes in. During that awful bout of depression last year, I sat on my bed and I heard God ask me, “Why is it so hard for you to let me in to this place?” I began to violently cry and I said, “Because I don’t know if this will always be my life. I don’t know if this will ever end and I don’t know if this will always be who I am or if I’ll even ever get better.” And in the stillness of my tears, He said, “I have absolutely no problem staying with you and going through the ugliness of this all with you. Even if you have a problem with it and even when you don’t want to be around yourself.” That revelation changed so much for me. If God was okay with my humanity, why couldn’t I be? I mean, Christ died for our humanity, didn’t He? If He could have grace, love and patience for where I was, why couldn’t I do it for myself? I go back to that day every time I need to be reminded that it’s okay that I’m flesh and bones, especially on the days that the healing process is harder than I’d like it to be. It’s made a huge difference between just existing between birth and death and actually living and experiencing and, dare I say, enjoying life. And I’m crying again. I’m crying because I’m able to wrap childhood Miriam in my arms and say that there’s a really good chance that we’re going to be more than okay in this life of ours.

10 years ago Short URL 21 Comments

Learning/Self Discovery/Uncategorized

abuse/Christian/depression/healing/learning/recovery/self discovery/self harm/suicide

Apr

Falling In Love with Neil Gaiman: or How I Learned to Take the Plunge

I recently finished reading The Graveyard Book, written by Neil Gaiman of Coraline and The Sandman fame. The story is about Bod, a little boy who grows up in a graveyard and is raised by ghosts. And it took me over a friggin year to read it because I was petrified of how it made me feel. Did I mention that it’s a children’s book?

Let me explain. For me, reading a Neil Gaiman book, comic, short story, hell, even a grocery list, is very much like falling in love with someone. Your heart expands and your mind is dumbfounded by the realization that you have the capacity to feel so much and to feel so alive. It is breathtaking. And also crapping bricks scary because you can’t conceal or ignore how you feel. No matter how hard you try. And so it’s extremely difficult for me to not be affected by Neil Gaiman’s writing.

But let’s start from the beginning of this love story. I first stumbled upon Neil Gaiman twice in 2011. Oddly enough, each time was associated with something I wasn’t crazy about.

Early on in 2011, my friend, Ukeme, loaned me his copy of Neil Gaiman’s Eternals, which Gaiman wrote for Marvel. I’m more of a DC Comics loyalist and, outside of The X-Men, I’ve had a really hard time connecting with most characters in the Marvel Universe. It was out of my indifference to Marvel that Ukeme loaned me Eternals. Though there was a lot to like about the graphic novel, I still had a hard time really connecting to the story. But there was something in Neil Gaiman’s writing that I liked. The best way for me to describe it would be to compare it to catching the faint scent of a perfume you know from childhood. It awakens something deeply beautiful and joyous in you, but you’re not exactly sure why. So while you’re hurtling down memory lane, trying to place where you know the fragrant notes from, the scent is gone. But the feeling of happiness, though unexplained, still lingers. That’s how I felt when I read Eternals. So I tucked his name in the back of my mind, just in case I came across more of his work.

Then came the summer of 2011. I was waiting for a friend in Union Square. We were going to catch a movie, Cowboys and Aliens, if I recall correctly. It was getting later and later. Out of sheer boredom and desperation, I popped into Barnes and Noble even though I hate crowded bookstores (especially a crowded Barnes and Noble). There was a pile of leather bound books going on sale. I was familiar with most of the books: Pride and Prejudice, Alice in Wonderland, Frankenstein. Then I saw American Gods. I picked it up and took a closer look. It was two books in one (Anansi Boys was the second, holler!) and the author was, lo and behold, Neil Gaiman. I promptly purchased the book and began to devour it. I was immediately hooked, like some sort of literary crack fiend. It was like finding out the person I was only mildly attracted to was also deeply intelligent, funny and a genuinely interesting and good person. I was screwed dot org forward slash, porqué Jesus? Porqué? So when my friend Kyle (of The STOPboys fame) loaned me his copy of The Graveyard Book in 2012, I knew I wasn’t ready for that jelly.

“There was a hand in the darkness and it held a knife.” *

That’s how the book starts and with that sentence, I immediately became invested in the story. After. The. Very. First. Sentence. I wanted to throw the book across the room and never look at it again. I didn’t want to be so invested, I didn’t want to be inspired, I didn’t want to feel anything apart from surface level entertainment because, after all, it was only a book. A book. Not a living, breathing, sentient individual. A BOOK! By the time I got to Chapter Four, I stopped reading it all together because I knew I couldn’t keep it from affecting me. I returned the book to Kyle and even wrote him a long letter apologizing for being emotional and thanking him for loaning me the book in the first place. Kyle gave the book back to me and forbade me from returning it to him until I was done reading it and I’m forever grateful to him for doing that. The issue wasn’t that I was emotional or that I’m greatly attached to Neil Gaiman’s work. His writing isn’t toxic and neither does it have an unhealthy effect on me. The issue was that I was running away from something that brought me joy because I couldn’t control it. Me running wasn’t about The Graveyard Book, or American Gods, or Eternals or anything else Neil Gaiman’s written. It was about me trying to suppress what makes me me. Kyle, being the amazing friend that he is, understood that and that’s why he wouldn’t let me return the book to him unread.

So in 2013, on a bright, warm spring day, I finished The Graveyard Book. I got scared for Bod when he was in danger and I triumphed with him. I was with him when he found the ghoul gate and when he asked Silas questions in the dead of night. I felt deep sorrow for his mother when she charged Mrs. Owens to take care of him. And I watched him grow from a young boy to a young man. I even got inspired by something Silas says to Bod:

“You are alive, Bod. That means you have infinite potential. You can do anything, make anything, dream anything. If you change the world, the world will change. Potential. Once you’re dead, it’s gone. Over. You’ve made what you’ve made, dreamed your dream, written your name. You may be buried here, you may even walk. But that potential is finished.”*

There were times I had to put the book down for five or ten minutes because I would get incredibly overwhelmed and would need a break. But I would pick the book back up again and continue reading. I kept on doing that until I got to the very last sentence:

“But between now and then, there was Life; and Bod walked into it with his eyes and his heart wide open.”*

I started to cry. “Yes”, I admitted to myself, “Neil Gaiman’s writing moves and inspires me to huge heights, even greater than Michael Fassbender himself” (and anyone who knows me knows that that is LEGIT). And you know what? It’s totally and absolutely okay because that’s part of what makes me me. To paraphrase Mr. Gaiman, between now and the end, there’s Life; so I might as well walk into it with my eyes and my heart wide open because once I’m dead, it’s gone.

So I’ve decided to unabashedly keep my eyes and my heart open to books and movies and art and the people I love. And everything else in between.

*All excerpts from: Gaiman, Neil. The Graveyard Book. New York: HarperCollins Publishers, 2008. Print.

Jan

New Year, New Adventure: A Trip To The Painting Lounge

New year, new post! Granted, it’s taken me almost a year to write a new post, but we shan’t dwell on that.

I’ve been on a few adventures since my last post. Going to the New York City Ballet, seeing Sleep No More (serious tangent, this show, Holy Cannoli. Whether you like it or not, it’s worth seeing because there’s no way you can leave that show without an opinion), becoming a redhead for a hot second and a handful of other things went down last year.

This year’s inaugural adventure took me to the Painting Lounge in Williamsburg (thanks to Time Out New York’s “Self-improvement guide 2013: Ten Classes to Try”.) Being an artist, I love being able to use other mediums and I’ve always wanted to paint. But painting and drawing are not my calling.

I draw a mean break dancing stick figure

But the Painting Lounge, like some insanely awesome beacon in the night, understands that there are people like me out there who are dying to paint, but have no desire to look like an idiot while doing so. Hence their BYOB painting classes where they teach you how to paint masterpieces by Monet, Warhol, Picasso, etc. Can I get a hellz yeah?

HELLZ YEAH!

I signed up for the Claude Monet’s “The Cliff, Etretat, Sunset” class and went armed with a six-pack of Woodchuck’s hard cider.

Our painting: “The Cliff, Etretat, Sunset” by Claude Monet

Because you never know.

First off, the space is awesome. It’s intimate enough so that everyone gets attention, but there’s enough space so that you can avoid the girl that might be giving you some side eye (which didn’t happen, but I like to know I’m covered just in case). They have an amazing playlist going to get you in the artistic mood for the piece. Plus, the staff (big up to Liz and Kevin!) are kick ass artists who help you unleash your inner Van Gogh while guiding your unsure hand without patronizing you. And without encouraging you to cut off your ear.

Right before class started

Some of the paintings they’ve taught classes on

Essentially, the staff take you step by step through creating the painting. You start off with super basic stuff, so basic that you start to question whether it really is that simple or if they’re pulling your leg and are secretly laughing at your gullibility. But it really is that simple. As with anything, you have to start with building blocks. The tricky thing is keeping all the blocks straight so that they actually come together to create the initial vision, or, since I’m feeling particularly pun-y today, the bigger picture.

How we started off

A whole lot of yellow…

It’s starting to make sense!

So much concentration, so little time…

The hardest part for me was letting go of perfectionism and trusting that I was doing great and that my work didn’t resemble, as one of my fellow painters put it, the smoke monster from Lost. Having the staff on hand to give pointers and feedback was particularly fantastic because I found I wasn’t as free-spirited with my painting as I had thought. I was far too controlled and needed to be a little “wild” in order to make it work. In the end, every mistake was fixable and didn’t take away from the painting, but instead added to its character.

Because I’m fond of trying to find ways to improve myself (I know, you’d have never guessed that from reading this blog), I found that a lot of that applied in my own life. There are times you just need to “breath, stretch, shake, let it go” and not stress out about getting everything exactly right and perfect because that’s not the point. Sometimes the point is to just go with the flow and follow through as best as you can. I went to the Painting Lounge with a mission to get boozed up while painting a Monet and ended up with a life lesson. Go figure.

Letting go and having fun. Le boom!

Once I relaxed and let go, everything went pretty fantastic (and that’s without the influence of hard cider). I followed my instincts as best as I could and when in doubt, I asked Liz and Kevin for pointers. However, 95% of the way through, I still thought my painting made no sense and would in no way resemble Monet’s original. Thankfully, I wasn’t alone because pretty much everyone in the class felt the same way about theirs.

Then, like the friggin Delphic Sibyl, Liz tells us that it all comes together when you pull it away from yourself (another life lesson). Sure enough, once we looked at our paintings from afar, we found we were a bunch of Monet infused BOSSES. No one was hesitant about signing their names on their paintings any more and I wasn’t worried about where I’d get a garbage bag to cover up mine while I was on the subway. I would be able to hold up my painting on the L train and tell everyone: “See this??? This is mine!! I did this, homies!! BOOOOOOOOOOM!!!” (Not that I would do that, but I like knowing I have that option).

Liz, our phenomenal teacher for the night

The finished product

Proud mama over here!

I’ll absolutely and most definitely be re-visiting the Painting Lounge. It’s a great adventure if you want to learn how to let go of perfectionism and have fun. The best part is, you really don’t need the booze.

** Be sure to check out the Painting Lounge’s website and a big thank you to Liz and Kevin for the photos. **

11 years ago Short URL 2 Comments

Adventure/Art/Learning/Monet/Painting/Self Discovery/Single/Uncategorized

adventure/art/learning/Monet/painting/self discovery

May

A Lesson in Living and Loving – An Icelandic Adventure

From April 16 through April 24 I was in Iceland on what would be best described as a solo woman’s retreat. I’d been dying to get out of New York for a year, just go some place quiet with a whole lot less people and a whole lot more nature. I needed to be reminded that there are things bigger than me, than my dreams and failings, than New York itself. I actually didn’t see Iceland as an option at first. I kind of saw it as an amazing place I could only go to in ten years or something. But when I actually looked, I saw it was more accessible than I allowed myself to believe (oh, the power of not making assumptions).

Iceland was breathtaking. I stayed in Reykjavik and did a few tours: the Viking Horse and Golden Circle, whale watching, the South Coast and Jokursarlon Glacial Lagoon and the Blue Lagoon. One of the best things about the trip was that I gave myself permission to be myself: no insane expectations, no strict personal rules, just me having grace with myself. It was great to see what a little love, appreciation and grace can do.

On my second day in Iceland, I went horseback riding. The Icelandic horse is a fascinating animal. My horse was Long Nose (I know how to say it in Icelandic, but have no idea how to write it). He was beautiful, a great horse, but a wee bit stubborn. He liked riding a little too close to the edge of sloped roads. At least too close for my tastes. It didn’t bother me at first, but then some of the horses would get too close to each other and once one started to trot, the others would follow and that led to overcrowding and pushing. It wasn’t anything super dangerous, but I wasn’t comfortable with it. So I’d steer Long Nose away from the edge or just slow him down. He wasn’t having it the first few times I tried to steer him. But I wasn’t having it either. So I persisted in steering him away from the edge and then he started to listen. After a while, it dawned on me that I’d grown. Two years ago, I would have given up and let that horse do whatever it wanted. But instead, I made my comfort level a priority and gave consideration to my instincts. I don’t know when it happened, but somewhere in the last few months, I’d gotten confident and now riding through the Icelandic countryside, I could clearly see that confidence. I literally sat up straighter in my saddle and smiled. During the course of the ride, there were a few more stubborn moments with Long Nose and there were a handful of times that he did get his way (I’m copping it up to the fact that he is a Viking Horse). But he was still a great horse and I really wouldn’t have wanted any other horse but him.

My horse, Long Nose.

During the course of the trip, I allowed myself to be loved by the people I came across. I met an Australian woman, Julie, during the Viking Horse and Golden Circle tour; I met Anna-Maija and Stefan, a Finnish pastoral couple, and Emma, their Icelandic friend, while whale watching; and I met Jan and Anna and their husbands Paul and Richard at the Blue Lagoon. Every one of these amazing people showed me love by simply talking with me and including me. We talked about our families, our respective trips and just life in general. Even though I didn’t need their company and they didn’t need mine, they reached out to me solely because that’s what they wanted to do. I had nothing to bring to the table except myself and that was enough. It was nice to be reminded that as human beings we are all more than what we bring to the table. We are enough, even when other people treat us like a means to an end for their own personal agenda and even when we don’t believe it or see it. I may never see any of them again, but I am incredibly thankful to God for letting me meet them. They all, in their own beautifully simple way, made my trip that much better.

Anna-Majia, Stefan, Emma and me.

There were so many moments that I got to enjoy solely because I let go. Like taking in the view of Reykjavik from Perlan, eating an amazing meal at 3 Frakkar, buying a graphic novel from Nexus and just walking to the Old Harbour. I allowed myself to let my jaw drop and gasp audibly when I walked into Hallgrimskirkja and saw their organ. I was in awe and I wasn’t afraid to show it. I wore a swimsuit without swim shorts to the Blue Lagoon (a huge deal for me because as an adult, I’ve only worn swimsuits with swim shorts, not because I don’t like my body, but because I’m just super conscious of it). At the Blue Lagoon, I tebowed underwater because the water was shallow enough and because I could. In the steam bath, I stretched my hands and feet towards the rising steam so my fingers and toes could feel the heat better and I stared at the dewy moisture from the steam that had rested on the hairs on my arms. I did this in the presence of other people and I didn’t care if they thought I was weird or not. I had a moment to enjoy and I wasn’t going to let it slip away.

The organ at Hallgrimskirkja

So much more happened during that trip and it would take forever to fully detail it all. So I’ll end on two things: I was listening to my iPod on the way back to Reykjavik from the South Coast and Jokurlsarlon Glacial Lagoon tour when Beyonce’s “I Was Here” came on. As of that time, I’d seen an active geysir, a volcanic crater, four waterfalls and five humpback whales. I’d ridden an Icelandic horse, a horse so unique and specific to the country that interbreeding isn’t allowed and once one leaves Iceland, it can never come back. I’d ridden on a boat through a glacial lagoon and left my footprints on black sand at the beach in Vik. I’d also had several cups of great hot chocolate and eaten amazing food. I was so content to be where I was and so grateful that I was able to make the trip. And then on cue, Beyonce’s voice came: “I was here. I lived, I loved. I was here. I did, I’ve done everything that I wanted and it was more than I thought it would be”. And I smiled because I couldn’t have said it any better. I got an opportunity to live a little and to love myself during my trip and I wouldn’t trade it for the world..

The second thing I’d like to end on is a short video I’d like to share. It’s of footage I shot during my trip. I have to warn you, even though I’m an adequate director, I’m no cinematographer or editor, but I still hope you enjoy the video nonetheless. It’s the closest thing I could think of to bringing everyone on the trip with me while still having me time =D

Photos from the trip:

Street art made of mirrors in the shape of Iceland

At Jokurlsarlon

Skogafoss Waterfall

Gulfoss waterfall

At Vik

My footprints in the sand at Vik

View from the Old Harbour

The Leif Eriksson statue

Reykjavik

Me at the end of the trip at The Blue Lagoon

12 years ago Short URL 4 Comments

Adventure/Fun/Iceland/Learning/Self Discovery/Single/Travel/Uncategorized

adventure/Iceland/self discovery/single/travel

Apr

Learning To Love – A Large Mini Adventure

About a month or so ago, I stumbled upon a mini project my dad’s doing. Since we’re very much a nomadic family (army brats in the hi-zzouse!) our photos are scattered about in various boxes in our house back home, so my dad started compiling all our photos and creating a digital library. Being the youngest by seven years, there are a lot of memories I don’t share with my sisters or parents so being able to see the pictures my dad has so far was amazing.

First off, my parents were seriously happening:

And my sisters and I were adorable kids!!

I spent about two hours with my dad going over photos and I smiled the whole time. I felt like I was getting a better picture of my family and I loved every second of it (and yes, the was pun intended. Partially). I also got to see photos of myself I didn’t even know existed. There was one night in particular that I was going over our family photos by myself. I landed on the batch of me on my first birthday…

…and I started to cry. The sobbing intensely, crying-so-much-your-tears-wipe-your-eyes-clear-of-any-and-all-mascara type of crying. This went on for close to five minutes before I realized I had no idea why I was crying. So I took a second to ask myself why. The answer was: “She was just a little girl and I didn’t love or appreciate her.”

I’ve always been excessively hard on myself. Now, I want to make it clear: I was (and still am) absolutely loved by my family and I love them too. It’s just that life had, unfortunately, dealt me a difficult hand that had me believing from a very young age that I wasn’t good enough and that I was too much in all the wrong ways. So I learned to put crazy expectations on myself, to cut myself down and, to a great extent, despise myself. Looking at that little girl and realizing I would have loved her if she had been anyone but me really hurt. I wanted to reach into the photo and hold her in my arms and tell her that I loved her, that I was so sorry for not loving or appreciating her. I wanted so badly to hear that she forgave me, but all I had were my tears and a huge gaping pain I couldn’t close.

So I made a promise to myself: I would do right by this little girl. Granted, I’ve been on the road to loving and appreciating myself for a few months now. But having a visual reminder made me realize how important it really is for me to be on this road if I’m ever going to truly live and love life and if I’m ever going to fully reconcile my childhood self with my adult self. It’s still a little sad looking at those photos of me just because I think of all the time I lost in choosing to not appreciate myself. But knowing that I’ve been actively learning to have grace and love for myself in the last few months helps to take the sting away. And even though I haven’t been going on too many noteworthy adventures of late, learning to choose adventures over fear in everyday life is helping me to do right by that little girl. And by me.

I’m going to Iceland in the next few days. (My tax return made it possible for me to go and instead of trying to be Little Miss Perfect, I decided to do something fun for myself). Bon Iver’s Holocene and Neil Gaiman’s Stardust are to blame for my decision to go to Iceland. I plan on learning as much as I can about Vikings, how to pronounce Eyjafjallajökull properly and what sumardagurinn fyrsti is all about. But above all, I plan on taking this time away from the noise and rush of New York City to better learn how to appreciate myself despite my imperfections and without any ridiculous expectations of who I should or shouldn’t be. I will never be perfect, but I am strong, I am intelligent, I am creative, loving, caring, determined, diligent, funny and so much more. And I’m excited to get to know myself for me.

12 years ago Short URL Comments

Adventure/Learning/Self Discovery/Uncategorized

adventure/learning/self discovery

Feb

Big is Beautfiful or A Night at The Metropolitan Opera

I’ve always wanted to go on a date to The Metropolitan Opera. It’s like the Lincoln Center was made for falling hopelessly in love. Alas, there is no man in sight at the moment, but thankfully that doesn’t put the kibosh on me going to an opera and having a wonderful time. I went last night to see Aida with two fabulous and foxy friends, Ekene and Hanna, and I even donned a bow-tie (which I tied all by myself, thank you very much).

Now permit me to go on a little tangent (I promise it’ll all make sense. At least partially). Coming from a film background, I’ve learned that less is more, subtlety is key and big is rarely ever better. Some of my favourite moments in film consist of small moments. I watch the BBC’s 2007 version of Persuasion at least once a month because Sally Hawkins’ Anne Elliot manages to tell you everything she’s feeling with one upward glance. And watching Gary Oldman in Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy was bananas. There’s a scene early on in the film, when his character, George Smiley, gets a bombshell dropped on him. You don’t see the reaction in his face but in the back of his head. Tension rises to his neck as he turns slowly and stiffly to his boss. You can he’s stunned and is trying desperately to compose himself from the back of his head. If that’s not skill, I don’t know what is.

Why on earth am I going into this? Because I really wasn’t sure I’d like Aida. I know I’m a pretty cultured person and I love music. But the thing is opera is all about being big and I wasn’t sure I’d truly love the big-ness of it all.

Yes, opera is big. Especially Aida. From where we were seated in the Family Circle (aka the nosebleed section), we could see the grandeur of the set pieces and most of the details on the costumes. There were horses – legit, very much alive horses on stage – and some of the most magnificent dancers I’ve ever seen. We couldn’t see the actors’ faces in great detail, but it was absolutely fine. All the subtlety and nuances were in the performer’s voices and the music and that’s all we needed. You can hear how torn Aida is between the love of her home country and the love of the man who has become her home. You can hear the jealousy and pride in Amneris’ voice and the loyalty and love in Ramades’. You hear so much in the music: reverential awe, desperation, hatred, valour, repentance. And it was all big and it was all beautiful and I not only appreciated it, I loved every second of it. You cannot hear the performers’ voices without being amazed by the fact that someone can make you feel so much with their voice even though they’re singing in a language you don’t understand.

I still don’t know what my favourite part was, but the most memorable moment for me came at the end. Aida and Ramades sing their last song, a song about heaven and freedom, and there’s a point where they pause and the orchestra keeps playing. I recall hearing two wind instruments (the flute and the oboe, I think). I have no idea what notes they played and I cannot describe it to you, but all I know is that it made my heart flutter. No man, none of the many men I’ve fancied, not Michael Fassbender, not Idris Elba, has gotten my heart to flutter like that. The singers, the musicians, the director, hell, the stage hands had me in the palm of their hands by coming together and creating this big and beautiful piece. And in that moment I was so happy I took the opportunity to go on that day, to that opera with two fantastic friends. I was totally and utterly captivated and I realized I haven’t felt like that in a really long time. It was nice to know that being an adult hasn’t totally hardened me and that there’s still a bit of childlike wonder in me. But most of all, I was happy that I didn’t wait for a man to ask me out on a date to the opera. Taking me to the opera may not be on any guy’s to-do list and if I had waited for that to happen, I may very well have missed out on a truly breathtaking experience.

Aida

Hanna and Ekene

Intermission Mayhem

BOW TIE!!

Partial view from the Family Circle

12 years ago Short URL 3 Comments

Adventure/Learning/Opera/Self Discovery/Single/Uncategorized

adventure/aida/date/learning/lincoln center/opera/self discovery/single/the metropolitan opera

Feb

Get Your Legolas On!

Yesterday I tried out archery for the second time. The first time was at camp and I was fifteen. It did not go well. The long and short was that I was very much a perfectionist and hated not being good at something I thought was cool even if it was my first try. The back of my throat burned all through that lesson as I tried to hold back tears.

So my friend Clarissa and I planned to venture to Proline Archery Lane in Ozone Park. I had no idea what to expect. I got there before Clarissa and these are pretty much the first things I saw:

And these are the regulars:

I immediately texted Clarissa: “We are about to integrate this place.” Needless to say, I felt super out of place and intimidated. As I waited for her, I tried to not flash back to the summer of 2003 in the midst of men that could probably shoot down a bear with a bow and arrow, blindfolded, in a fog, in the world’s thickest forest.

Neil, who works at Proline (I think he’s the owner, but don’t quote me), was our teacher for the night. They were about five of us taking lessons and he made everyone feel at ease and capable. Plus, the guys that scared the crap out of me, were really great at giving us pointers. Unfortunately, there were a few time my fifteen-year-old self showed up because I didn’t get things perfectly. But each time I felt frustration and self-deprecation rising in me, I chose to take a step back, relax and remind myself that taking this class wasn’t about being perfect, it was about learning and having a kick ass time with Clarissa. And even if I monumentally sucked at archery, it in now way defined me. It just meant I wasn’t meant to be an elf in Lord of the Rings.

I did okay. There were a few times my arrows hit Clarissa’s bull’s eye instead of mine, but I soon figured out why and corrected it. I may not be Legolas, but I’ll definitely be going back for more lessons. Fifteen-year-old Miriam, sweet as she is, will be sitting it out.

Clarissa!

Me!

I contributed to the bottom left corner

Yay!

Neil helping a customer out.

12 years ago Short URL Comments

Adventure/Archery/Fun/Learning/Self Discovery/Single/Uncategorized

adventure/archery/fun/learning/self discovery/single

Jan

Take A Risk – A Mini Adventure

I do not like taking risks. But really, who does? Who wants to put themselves out there knowing failure and being shut down are huge possibilities? Anyone? Anyone? Exactly.

But I’m finding that in the last couple of years I’ve started to take more risks. I’m not talking about risks in relationships and “opening up your heart” in that way, but about taking risks in general. So why on earth am I doing that if I hate is so much? It’s simple. I like being challenged. There’s the challenge of writing twenty pages of a script a day and then there’s the one that requires you to peel back the things you hide behind and let people see you for the person you really are. I find I grow more from the latter challenge and the latter challenge always involves a risk, so in an effort to grow, I (try to) take more risks.

Towards the end of last summer I had a project on my brain. I’m Nigerian and my relationship to my country can be best described by Kanye West, Jay-Z and Mr. Hudson: “I love you so, but why I love you, I never know”. I have experienced some of the greatest hurts and the greatest joys at the hands of my country. I really do love Nigeria, but there’s a lot I want to see changed. I was (and still am) tired of always reading something negative about Nigeria in the news. What bugged me the most was that the problems we have in Nigeria are not really the product of ignorance, but of indifference and complacency. Most people just can’t be bothered. I felt powerless to change anything and because I don’t currently live in Nigeria, I felt like I had no voice. I knew there were more young Nigerians living abroad who felt like me, so I rounded up some of my fantastic friends to do a video called “Nigerian Voices” (shout out to Amy L for the name). It would be a short message to our country that made it clear that we are aware of what’s going on in our country and that we care despite not being there.

We shot in September and had everything cut and ready to go this last Saturday/early hours of Sunday morning. Everyone involved was stellar and I was excited to share the video online. Then I got scared. What if it was all a waste of time and no one cared about what we had to say? What if everyone involved hated the end product? Hell, what if everyone that watched it hated it? What if all we had were 20 views at best? Plus, people who know me would see the video and may start to think differently of me. What if they thought I was a pretentious git? What if they thought I was an idiot for trying?

All of a sudden, I was a kid again worried about what other people would think. Although we shed a huge portion of that worry when we become adults, the fear never really leaves. I was about to show people something that was important to me and whenever we do that, we run the risk of being scrutinized and ridiculed. No matter how old you get, scrutiny and ridicule can have the power to punch you hard in the stomach and make you swear to yourself that you will never ever put yourself out there again.

I had a choice to make. I could choose to not put up the video because I was afraid of the possibility of failure and ridicule. Or I could post the video because I was passionate about having the voices of everyone who participated be heard. Even if it was only heard by 20 people. So I put on my big girl knickers, chose passion over fear and uploaded it.

I shared the video with the people involved in the project and then I took the plunge and posted it on Facebook. It felt good to share it despite the gigantic nervousness that sat at the pit of my stomach. But you know what? People like it. It’s been up three days now and has been viewed 303 times. Clearly, I’m glad it’s catching on, but the reality is, it could wane. This may be as high as it goes and in this day and age where a video of a cat dressed up as Yoda doing the Macarena can get 1 million views in 12 hours, 303 views is chump change. And who knows, maybe a portion of those views is made up of people who think the video is absolute crap. But at this moment, I don’t care. Because I didn’t share the project to get 1 million views and I didn’t share it so everyone would like it. I shared it in hopes that people like me, Nigerians in diaspora, would know that they are not alone in the way they feel about our country and that we do have a voice. If I can use my voice, they can too. And even if only 20 people feel that, it’s still a risk worth taking.

*To watch “Nigerian Voices”, click here.

12 years ago Short URL 1 Comment

Adventure/Self Discovery/Uncategorized

risk/self discovery

Jan

“Elementary, my dear Watson.”

I recently went on a date and at one point this guy and I talked about ‘Voltron’. It was a really good night and I had fun, but I was inordinately happy that he fully appreciated my random Murla quotes. Clearly, I like me some nerdy fun.

So in keeping with wanting to date a guy with nerdy tendencies (read An Introduction if you’re just tuning in), I went on a murder mystery scavenger hunt run by Watson Adventures Scavenger Hunt at the Museum of Natural History. I got to go with two dynamite ladies: Angela and Liz.

Angela, Liz and me

And you know what? It was an amazing time. The story is three museum staffers have been bumped off. They were all working on getting a sacred Egyptian relic and the Curse of Atchu seems to have reared its ugly head (pandemonium!) You and your team need to figure out who (or what) did it and how.

The clues and answers were not made for the lazy and unobservant. They were challenging, but super fun. Plus I now know a whole lot of cool and random facts about animals, history and the museum itself. I also found out that I have amazing taste in friends. Angela and Liz are both fun, loving and intelligent, but sometimes it takes random adventures like this for you to notice some of the little things that make your friends who they are.

Getting all Sherlock-y

Take Angela. She’s friendly and easy-going, but she also has drive. There was a point in time when we’d just found an answer to one of the last questions. We finished reading the next question and when Liz and I looked up, Angela was GONE. She was heading towards our next destination like there was lighting in her boots. She was determined that we make it to the next question so we could finish with more than enough time to put all the clues together and solve the mystery. Woman was in it to win it. I discovered that when Angela sets a goal for herself, she follows through with everything she’s got.

Then there’s Liz, she’s more reserved, but do not let that fool you. She has the most insane attention to detail. There were answers to questions she got that left me gobsmacked. When no one else knew where to look, she knew (usually in the least likely place). And like Angela, she has drive. Even though I’ve gotten glimpses of it before, it was cool to see it on a grander scale with challenging questions and 2.5 hours to go through a museum to find the answers. She is focused and thorough and that helped us blaze through the questions in record time.

Witnessing these parts of Angela and Liz made me love and respect them even more than I already do. It may not seem like a big deal, but I think it’s great when you discover new things about the people around you. Plus, they’re perfect people to do a scavenger hunt with. No drama, no quarreling, just pure, unadulterated awesomeness. That’s my kinda deal.

Angela and Liz blazing through the museum

And then there’s me. I found that my nerdiness has its uses. We had to come up with a creative team name in order to get an extra point and since this was a murder mystery hunt set up by Watson Adventures, I thought we’d call ourselves Team Moriarty (and all the Sherlock Holmes nerds said “Oh hey, girl, hey”). We got that extra point. And because we were the best team of all time, we solved the mystery and got a perfect score.

VICTORY!!! VIVA TEAM MORIARTY!!!

However, we tied with five other teams (a first for the Watson Adventures facilitators) so we had to go to a tie breaker. We lost, but so did four teams so it wasn’t too bad.

Besides, we were clearly the baddest and foxiest team there. And what’s more, I realized I want to date a guy with friends as fantastic as mine.