What 2015 Taught Me: Words of Wisdom From A Not-So-Wise Twenty Something Year Old

New Year's resolutions are notorious for being broken, therefore instead of making any for the 2016 year I decided to reflect on what 2015 has taught me instead. Fifty years from now when my young adult grandkids say "Hey grandma! What are some wise sayings that you learned in your twenties that will help us on our trek to adulthood?" I will be able to share them the following sentiments:

1.) There is no one on this Earth as loyal as your dog.

Acquaintance: "Hey, Rebecca. You haven't posted any pictures of Eddie today. Is everything alright?"

I am not at all embarrassed that my obsessive snapchat pictures of my dog is
 the center of most conversations throughout my day. Eddie is just awesome. Even when I accidentally step on his tail, he still wants to cuddle and watch Parks and Rec reruns with me. He also let's me dress him in ridiculous outfits and let's me make him dance Sean Paul's "Shake That Thing" without even one complaint. He listens to my constant ranting, terrible singing, and bad jokes yet still thinks I'm the coolest person that has ever graced the planet. Is there a human that will do all those things? Nope. 

Note: I am thoroughly convinced Eddie is a human reincarnated into a dog's body. 

2.) Taking care of your body is just as important as taking care of your mind and your soul. 

Being a college student taking 18+ hours of senior level classes while also working a part-time job and teaching dance made me appreciate taking naps more than ever before. I found myself closing my eyes for a short 10 minute snooze in between classes and jobs just to keep my sanity. In those (rare) quiet moments, praying also brought a sense of peace. However, I found myself forgetting to take care of my physical self. Though my scale didn't waver, my clothes began to fit differently and my confidence began diminishing as well. To fully take care of myself I learned I needed to devote time to nurture myself physically, mentally, and emotionally. Being on campus starting at 8:00am, eating lunch on my way to work, leaving work at 7:30pm to then be welcomed home by the reality of hours of homework and an empty stomach did not warrant for much time to exercise. I am still working on taking better care of my physical self but 2015 taught me that taking care of my physical self should be just as valued as nurturing my mind and soul.

3.) Living back home with your parents is a blessing not a curse. 

I decided to go to a college in the same town I grew up in. When deciding on where to attend, I chose this university because it was "affordable" (Note: the word "affordable" and "college" don't really go together but this school is more "affordable" than others) and has a terrific accredited education program. I remember comparing myself to my other friends who were moving away for school. Though I was happy with my decision to stay in town for college, I couldn't shrug away the lingering feeling of jealousy I felt because I too wanted to live on my own in a new town away from my parents. After saving up money my freshman year, I moved into an apartment with one of my dearest friends I made while being a Lionette in the university's band. I loved living in the apartment and having that sense of independence. However, when our third roommate graduated and moved out and we could not find a replacement, life hit hard and I had to ask my parents for help with some of my bills. I hate asking my parents for money. Hate it. I like working and knowing I can provide for myself. But life happens. And I learned that it is okay to ask for help. Asking for help doesn't mean you are weak, dumb, or incapable. We all come across tough times. The next semester, my roommate and I decided it would be best if we both moved home to save some money.
Moving home after a year allowed me to better appreciate my parents' love and guidance and I am forever grateful and blessed that they welcomed me back home. It was then that I also realized that other kids (I still consider myself a kid) my age were not so fortunate to have parents willing and able to help them in such ways.
Moving home also brought to light how much young adults shame others their age who move home with their parents. Perhaps I noticed this because in a way I felt as if they were shaming me for my transition back home. Whatever the case may be, moving home taught me that each of us has a unique situation. Some of use leave home and never return. Some of us always stay home. Some of us leave and later return. Our stories/journeys/situations/needs/wants/finances/hopes/dreams/passions/goals/limitations/lives are all so different.

These are my roommates. They are pretty darn cool if you ask me. 

Which brings me to... 

4.) Having a savings account should be a top priority.

I've been back home with my parents for two years now and my savings account is still no where near where it was before I decided to move out. I currently have about a fourth of what was in my savings pre-move and over the past couple years I have (slowly) tried to reestablish my savings account to the point it was before I moved out. Saving money is HARD. No one ever tells you how hard it is. I remember taking a financing class in high school. "Just put some money back each pay check and BAM! you have $1,000+ in a year!" What they failed to mention was how to save that much money in that short time span while paying for college, gas, food, clothes, etc. all on minimum wage. 

My small savings account taught me several things:

a. Having money does NOT mean you can afford something. 

Sure, I have $200. But I do not have $200 to spend on shoes.

Sure, I have $20. But buying Starbucks daily means that $20 is no longer available to fill my gas tank.

Sure, I have $150. But I do not have $150 to spend on an outfit that I'll maybe wear twice. 

b. Learn to say "NO". 

I've had to be the Debbie Downer who has had to say no to going places because of monetary reasons. While it sucks in the moment, not having any money later and having a ton of debt sucks more. 

c. Differentiate between needs and wants. 

Do you really need that overly priced shirt from that boutique that literally everyone in town has? Probably not. 

5.) There is such thing as social media etiquette. 

Here is a crash course to Social Media Etiquette 101:

a. Filters are cool and all but remember that most people on social media actually see you in person.

Meaning: If your filters/edits on your pictures make you look unrealistically crisp and perfect, people who see you in person will without a doubt know you spent way too much time taking/picking/editing your pictures. There are not filters in real life. Love and appreciate the skin you are in, no filters and all! 

  

No filters. 

 

Too many filters to even list.

b. If you post pictures all day everyday on Instagram yet have "46 posts" within the last 5 years you've had an account... we all know you play the deleting game. 

Meaning: Why go through all that trouble of deleting pictures? Just leave your posts posted. We all know you uploaded them; it's been all over our news feeds all day everyday. It's no secret.

c. Your worth is not found in the number of "likes" you receive.

Meaning: Post a picture because you like it. Do not post a picture because you want others to like it or to like you.

d. Deleting a picture because it did not get as many "likes" as you wanted is just silly. 

Meaning: Your worth is not found in the number of "likes" you receive. (See part c) If anyone looks at your picture and says, "Oh my goodness! How can he/she live with themselves! He/she got only 10 likes on that picture?! How does he/she have any dignity?! How does he/she show his/her face in public?!" then those people need to get a hobby and should not spend so much energy creeping on social media. It is sillier to delete pictures and repost them in hopes of getting more likes than to post a picture once and receive a few "likes".

e. "Liking" your own picture is just silly.

Meaning: We all know you like that picture you just posted. If you didn't like it, you wouldn't have posted it. If you "like" your own picture to increase the amount of "likes" you receive, then please revisit part c.

f. Live in the moment. 

Meaning: You do not have to take a picture of everything you do and/or everywhere you go. Doing fun things and spending time with the people you treasure gets somewhat tainted when you feel the need to prove your fun nature with your social media followers.

How It Feels To Be Mixed Me

I have been going back and forth on whether or not to write a blog about my being mixed for quite some time now. I would open up a blank template on my computer and stare at the glaring screen only to close it out and leave it the way I found it; blank. Part of me felt as though I needed to put into words what exactly it meant to be mixed. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized I didn't quite know what it meant to be mixed. And perhaps I still don't know exactly, even after 21 years of living in this skin.

The reason I felt compelled to share these thoughts now, though my uncertainties still linger, is that through all the stories dealing with race currently circulating on the news and social media, I couldn't help but think about how my viewpoint as a biracial woman compares to those around me. I may not be able to pinpoint exactly what it means to be mixed but being mixed subconsciously impacts most every aspect of me.

Props to my parents for an ever-flowing list of things, but most importantly for giving me and my older brother a great childhood. I don't have any memory during my early childhood of being singled out due to my race by my mostly white peers. However, I knew that I differed in that fact that my parents had different colored skin. The beautiful thing about children is their ability to recognize differences but not necessary oppose others due to those differences. Meaning, my classmates knew I was not fully white but it was not a topic of conversation because it didn't need to be. The same for myself: I knew my skin was darker and my hair kinkier with curls, but I didn't dwell on those things because I didn't see any reason to.

Instead of finding our identity in our race, my mom taught us that your identity can only be found in Christ and Christ alone. It wasn't until years later that I would understand that statement.

She didn't hide the fact from us either that some people might treat us different because of the color of our skin. It wasn't until years later that I would understand that statement either.

As I entered into those dreaded preteen adolescent years I struggled deeply with self confidence issues. Like most girls, I wanted to be thinner and change various aspects of my physical self. But one thing I began to struggle the most with was being mixed. I hated my hair the way it wasn't flowy like all my friends. I hated my round nose covered with freckles. I hated that in class pictures, I was the odd ball with my yellow-toned skin.

As boys became an interest, I remember me and my friends giggling and interjecting on which guy we thought each other should date. Every time, I was set up with a black guy. It made me mad. Not that I didn't see myself dating a guy who was black, but rather they saw me and immediately thought I should only date guys with darker skin. I wanted to be like everyone else at my predominately white county school and just blend in, and once again my skin made me stand out. When one of my white friends would compliment the looks of a black guy, it was always mentioned that "he's attractive.. for a black guy" or "my parents would never let me date a black guy".

But wait.

These same people were the ones who welcomed me into their home and spoke nice words about my parents and befriended my whole family. Did they not see that my dad, a white man, married my mom, a black woman? Why was my parents' relationship something that my friends' parents did not want for their white daughters? Where does that leave me, the daughter of a biracial marriage?

I put away those thoughts deep in the back of my mind and carried on.

I remember going boating with my dad one sunny summer afternoon. Instead of going on the main strip of the river, we liked to stay on the creek in the country. My adventurous dad decided we would turn a different way and we found ourselves on a portion of the creek where houses were few and far between. I looked past the overgrown weeds and saw a small trailer with several confederate flags on display pinned to the aluminum siding, on the clothesline, and in the surrounding trees. I asked dad if we could go home. He didn't understand why but we did. This was several years ago, long before the debates on the confederate flag flooded the news and Facebook. But as a 14 year old mixed girl, a strange feeling whelmed inside me and I knew that I shouldn't be there.

My freshman year of college was the first time anyone had bluntly shown racism to me. I was out with one of my friends with some guys from her school. This was several years ago so I don't remember exactly what led to the incident (and frankly I wanted to forget what happened) but one of the guys began talking about how black and white people should not date or get married. The car grew silent because everyone knew I was mixed. One of the other guys finally spoke up and asked his friend to be quiet, saying "Don't you know Rebecca is mixed?" His friend laughed and said that he didn't care; he could say whatever he wanted to say whenever he wanted to say it.

I am a firm believer that there is a vast difference between a reason and an excuse. A reason answers the question why? but often times our reasons turn into excuses, which is an attempt to lessen  an offense and to justify our actions in a way that puts the blame away from ourselves. There is a reason why I felt mad when my friends only suggested black guys for me to date, why I was confused their parents were opposed to them dating black gentlemen, why I felt uncomfortable around the confederate flag, and why I cried when I got home after the guy bashed mixed relationships. It all goes back to race. As a child it never phased me, but children's innocence shields them from such feelings. Growing up, I tried to not make race an issue but subconsciously it was. We can claim that race doesn't matter, when in fact it does. But here is the difference: My mom was right when she told me and my brother that some people would treat us differently because we are mixed; I realized that soon enough. She was also right when she said our identity is found through Christ and Christ alone. I am not Rebecca The Mixed Girl. I am Rebecca, Christ-follower, who happens to be mixed. At the end of the day, we are all people. Not white people and black people, just people. That isn't to say we should overlook race. Race is a big part of each of us. It is a reason why we are the way we are in a lot of ways.

I may still not be able explain what it means to be mixed, but I think to everyone it may mean something different. But just as Zora Neale Hurston ended her great work How It Feels To Be Colored Me: "who knows?"