May My Inspiration For Writing Settling Down Inspire Your (Single) New Year's Resolutions

"I'm always with him, because:  That. Is. What He Is. There. For."

As with all revolutions, this one started with a proverbial shot. Only this one emanated from a childhood friend's mouth. Someone that I had literally grown up with. 

Or so I thought.

Truth is, what started as a convo about friendship (ours), free time (the majority of it spent with her boyfriend) and working on the balance of the two, her angry words said way more.

About herself. What she wanted in life. And more importantly, what she was willing to sacrifice to get there. Unfortunately, this wasn't a place that I could comfortably stand anymore.

Indeed. I believe in love. Passionately.

I believe in romance. Of relationships. Of marriages, partnering up, of finding someone who will help you grow into your best self. In fact, the growth that I've experienced being married to my husband is something that I know I would have never experienced on my own.

I am IN love. Someone asked me that, quite randomly (and kinda frantically) at a nightclub a few years back. The answer is yes. Twenty-four years and counting (17 of them married), and I can honestly say that I did a surprisingly good job picking my mate.

It's what my husband 'is there for', that's a little different. His job is to challenge me to evolve into a better person, something he accomplishes on the daily -- instead of being a physical symbol that I am lovable. And there's a huge difference there. Because in order to get to this healthy place at all, I had to learn how to love myself first, instead of aimlessly looking for someone to complete me.

'Cause that never works.

The thing about settling, especially if you don't know yourself, is it won't even register at first. It's the long game where you'll miss out. Because, instead of waiting for Mr. Amaze-balls, someone who will help make you a better person, settlers desperately choose the wrong partner, simply because they don't want to be alone.

You don't want this life.

So how about you make it your New Year's resolution. To rejoice in being single. To embrace the fact that you're really okay being alone. Instead of being alone until the next guy shows up. Because, there's a difference.

If you need some help, a fictional guidebook if you will, I wrote Settling Down as my gift to you.

And while it was initially inspired by real life events, I was intent on writing a better ending.

Back to Life

"When the place that you were born is not where you belong.

Tell me baby, what stops you from wearing a crown"

This is how my birthday kicked off this year.

In NYC. At 4am. In the sidewalk shadows before sunrise.

With these soulful lyrics by Ms. Alicia Keys that almost made me cry.

Because (vulnerable moment alert):  This. Is Me.

The place where I was born, is not where I belong. 

(And trust. No one mentioned anything 'bout any crown.)

So, how do become your own queen? The empress of your own kingdom? Especially when there's roadblocks at every turn? Easy (in concept):  Learn to love your damn self. Fiercely. Passionately. Above anything else. In spite of everything else. With wild reckless abandon.

And while it's a simple concept, the journey to get there isn't.

That path is incredibly hard. And so rocky most don't even try to scale it. Often times it's littered with the broken dreams of others and their truths (read: falses) for themselves, and you.

But you can, and need to claw your way beyond the negative voices. The ones that put down your choices. The ones that say that you're not good enough. The ones that say that you don't matter.

Because, dammit, dear girl. You do!

You deserve to wear that crown, polished to a blinding brilliance, with your head held high. You deserve to stride away from any negativity that binds you to the past. From the hurtful lies that kept you from growing. And achieving. And owning the fearless one of a kind Y-O-U.

You deserve to shine. Brighter than any damn diamond.

Years after embarking on this journey, here I was, in the darkness right before the dawn. On the Today Show Plaza:  Whole. Healed. Happy. Proud as hell of who I am now, and what I've already accomplished. But more importantly, who I have the potential of becoming. 'Cause that chick? She got mad untapped potential.

And then, that song, ironically called 'Back To Life'. A truly beautiful birthday blessing.

A reminder that not only am I wearing that sparkly crown that I designed myself.

I'm working it like a boss.

#MakeItStop

Enough with the thoughts and prayers.

Enough with the rainbow memes.

Enough with the #LoveIsLove. And virtual hugs. Or whatever bullshit gesture you've done, over the past few days that has allowed you to feel like a good person, pausing for a second before you ease back into your own busy life, with an overwhelming relief that this tragedy did not happen to you.

Trust. I get it. I've lived it. Not because I didn't care. Not because I wasn't heartbroken thinking about anyone going through that type of mind-blowing trauma. Not because tears wouldn't run down my face watching the news coverage. Not because I didn't want things to change.

Because I. Didn't. Know. What. To Do.

But then I woke up super angry Sunday morning, especially on the heels on the senseless murder of Christina Grimmie Friday night. And while I was deeply saddened, once again, about the loss of beautiful life, I was also super sick of feeling powerless. And that's when I realized that I not only needed to figure out what to do, I needed to pass along my knowledge, for others who also don't know what to do.

Let's go.

As hopefully you're aware, yesterday, Senator Chris Murphy from Connecticut, stood up on the Senate floor for 15 hours--that's two full work days-- in an impromptu filibuster, to force the Republican lead Senate to agree to consider to vote for tighter gun restrictions. We're not talking abolishing the second amendment people. We're talking a ban on weapons of war. Maybe tighter purchase restrictions for people on terror watch lists. Reasonable stuff, right?

But here's the important part. YOU'VE got to step up to the plate.

Like NOW.

In a super easy, non-governmental analogy that anyone can understand, here's what just happened:  You and Senator Murphy (as your wingman) just walked into a bar. He breaks the ice with the hot chick that you were scoping out, but were too afraid to approach. A date appears to be on the horizon. Maybe even a long term romance. No one even rules out marriage.

Clearly, the first date depends on your ability to be brave and ask for one. If you're scared or believe that you are not worthy of a love connection or think she'd never go out with you and you're going to be alone forever, then not only are you right, but you're the one to blame. 

Same goes for gun control. We need to move forth with the unwavering belief that WE THE PEOPLE not only have the power to affect the situation, but there will be a positive outcome. Too many citizens (myself included) haven't been speaking up because they believe their voices don't matter. Or we don't deserve better. Or this is how it is always going to be, so why bother. 

Pass me a bullet proof vest.

No more. Be brave. Own your powerful voice. Speak. The. Fuck. Up! 

Know that you can make a difference!

Today, the Boston Globe has made it super easy, going all beautiful social justice Spotlight days on you, showcasing a powerful editorial, along with an interactive app, complete with tweets already addressed to the, if we're gong to continue that bar analogy, Senators usually guilty of cock blocking the issue.

Go here. Read, then tweet. 

Not your state senator? Who gives a fuck. Tweet 'em anyway. I sure did. Also, use #TwitterFilibuster, so we can break the internet with something much more valuable and meaningful than an oiled-up Armenian American ass.

Let's #MakeItStop together!

Why I Stopped Checking My Book Numbers Every Ten Minutes, er, Seconds

My deepest author confession? I haven't checked my book sales numbers in ten days. 

Or explained in a way everyone can understand:  I haven't checked Facebook for likes. 

Since a week ago Tuesday.

Ah, now I got your attention.

Hey, listen, as a fellow member of Social Media Beast Nation. I understand the compulsion of checking. And checking. And checking. 'Cause it feels good to ride high on that virtual wave of likes. And follows.

And book sales.

Only problem? We always want more.

So instead of patting ourselves on the back and saying, fantastic job! Or damn girl, good for you patiently building this up slow and steady like, our brains are on the hunt for additional instant gratification. And when that doesn't come soon enough, like twelve seconds ago, we start focusing on all the things we don't have:  Like why nobody liked that photo. Or why only ten retweets. Or why hasn't anyone bought my book. 

In the last 8 hours?

I know you feel me.

And I'm not even saying that the numbers aren't valuable. Clearly, they work as a hard indicator of sales. They show you've got a good product on your hands, and indirectly, because people continue to purchase said product, that you're a relatively good writer. All true. But don't you think you should know this already anyway, especially if you've gotten this far in the process?

Trust. I'm not anti-sales. Indeed, I'd love to sell so many books I could purchase the New York Times Best Seller List. But if I haven't sold a bazillion books in the last ten minutes, will that alter my original marketing plan? Will I stop working any harder to get there? Does it mean that I'm lazy? Someone who hasn't accomplished anything?

Like, ever in life?

Hell no. So why even give yourself the opportunity to go there?

Honestly, I didn't become a writer for the money. I became one because it made me happy. Because I can't imagine doing anything else. Because I want to affect change with my words. To encourage people. To make them think. To make them understand that they are not alone. 

And truth is, I'm already doing that. 

You're here right now, aren't you?

So kiss off metrics. From here on out, we're gonna be monthly friends. Henceforth (best writer word ever), I'm committed to measuring my worth, in the kind of life that I lead every day. How I treat people. And the amount of books sold between 10am and 3pm on a Wednesday don't fit anywhere in that equation.

Permission to Read, Granted.

Oh, hey, old friend. 

Where have I been?

Well, writing a book for starters. Maybe you've heard about it? Settling Down A Novel. It's good stuff. In fact please read the following review. That I may (or may not) have just made up.

"It's really funny,"  André M. Brown, professional husband, NFL watcher and reader of exactly one book for women. (Disclaimer:  He read it at least 5 times. Maybe 10. He is an expert.)

Actually just writing doesn't even begin to encompass the massive amount of work I've been in the midst of. Yup, I dreamed up the story in my head, then sat on my ass for the better part of several years to write the words. But in addition, and more powerfully,  I've been creating a vision for my voice that's way bigger than a book.

A movement if you will. A revolution even.

A call not to settle. 

Not in love. Not in life. Not in happiness.

Not at your job. Or within your family. Not in your health.

Not in your clothes. Where you're supposed to live. How many kids you're supposed to have. The age that you're supposed to be married. Or stop wearing a bikini. Or give yourself a sensible bob haircut.

Do NOT settle. For anything!

Here's the thing in this life. We spend so much time asking for permission. Permission to be ourselves. Permission for our opinions to exist in the world. Permission to be validated. To be seen. To be heard. 

Permission to live.

Why? I dunno. The best I can figure out is we feel less scared when there are rules to follow. Markers to gauge our lives. Things that we're supposed to cross off our cosmic to-do-list in order to feel like we're making progress. Or that we're doing things correctly. 

We just blindly go along with tradition. Because you're supposed to. And that's how it's always been done. And because they say so. 

Whoever the hell 'they' are.

But what if there are no rules. No right way to do things. What if you started asking:  Who makes you the expert of everything, especially me?

I think you'd find the answers change. And if you're brave enough to shake things up, you will be better than okay. You'll learn that you can survive, and hell yeah, thrive,  just being true to you.

So welcome. Or welcome back.

Let's do this. How 'bout we #DontSettle together.