“There are years that ask questions and years that answer.”
Zora Neale Hurston
I saw this quote circulate the internet as we approached the new year and welcomed it. On January 1, 2023, I sat on my couch with a Wendy’s bacon cheeseburger in my left hand, a large plate of crispy french fries nesting on my lap, a heap of ketchup smeared across the plate, and an extra large red Powerade to coax my lingering hangover from the night before. I partied like I was twenty-one on New Years Eve, rocking my large blonde afro wig, attended a murder mystery dinner party as if it was 1969, managed an outfit change at 11:33pm, and took an Uber around midnight to a dance party to sweat away the stress of 2022. I devoured that Wendy’s burger in about five minutes at 6:15pm and just hours before I snuck my mom’s leftovers to get rid of the impending headache from one too many gin + tonics and margaritas. The grease from Ruby Tuesday's ribs and buttery baked potato, orange chicken dripping from the Panda chinese container and the recent joy of eating a burger in five minutes made me feel like a satisfied bum who just won the lottery.
In that moment of deep satisfaction, I was still a 34 year old girl who was sitting on her couch with no direction for the upcoming year ahead. I had not written any goals, charted any plans, shared any grand visions with my team. I had nothing, no answers, and only one question for myself: Who am I and who do I want to be this year?
Just weeks before my month long sabbatical my assistant asked me candidly, “What are the titles that you give yourself?” and “Which one of those titles take up most of your time and day?”
Have you ever asserted who you are beyond your given name?
It’s quite frightening and enlightening the titles and names we conjur in our minds. Entrepreneur. Friend. Artist. Nurturer. Mother. Sister. Husband. Wife. Partner. How much do these titles weigh in our minds, seap into our lives and shape the way we live? It’s fascinating the titles we assume based on other people’s assumptions of who we are supposed to be.
When I did this exercise, I realized that I name myself an “artist” about ten percent of the time. I am a “consultant” about forty percent of the day; a “boss and entrepreneur” about twenty-five percent of the week; a “writer” about fifteen percent of any given month and a “lover, partner, confidant and friend” for the remaining 10 percent of my day.
When I sat with these numbers it appeared to me that I spent most of my time helping other people bring their visions to life as a consultant. As a writer, artist, boss, entrepreneur, lover and friend, I spend less than twenty percent of my time in these areas of my life. While these are the areas where I would like to spend more of my time, I’ve come to understand that each of these titles are severely neglected, malnourished, underdeveloped and undervalued.
I’ve been working on evolving from the woman that was an overly selfless, people-pleasing, work obsessed, title chasing, eager Black girl who wanted others to determine her value instead of understanding her self-worth.
My time and titles were a reflection of how I undervalued myself and overvalued others.
How many titles do you wear because it’s easier than to become who you truly want to be? How many times do you make up an excuse to devote more time to something than what your intuition is pulling you towards just because society’s selling a false narrative of safety, security and success?
It’s okay to begin again and reimagine newness for yourself.
In my drunken stupor, I sat on the couch and reread the quote over and over again - “There are years that ask questions and years that answer.” “There are years that ask questions and years that answer”…
The magic of Zora Neal Hurston’s words rolling off my tongue propelled me into action. I wrote in my journal - “2023 is the year of STABILITY.” It’s a year of deep commitment to the core of who I am and who I am becoming. This means rearranging my time to fit the titles I want to assume and grow into.
I want to spend 40 percent of my time writing, painting and journaling to define my voice and share it with others. In 2013, I wrote on my apartment wall in bold permanent marker that I wanted an MFA. My apartment was located right off the D train in the Bronx; you could smell Fordham road and the Dominican barber shops from my window. I neatly tucked away that dream in a box labeled NYC memories and forgot that I wanted something bigger for myself as an artist. For the past few years, I was okay with the small residencies and infrequent exhibitions. When in reality, I wanted to be pushed, critiqued and propelled in new ways rather than sitting in comfort. For years, I’ve been dreaming of ways to write a memoir, witness my words dance in the mouths of others and experience the joy of overhearing two best friends dissecting, quoting and dog-earing the pages of my memoir as if the words were alive.
I want to spend 30 percent of my time cherishing each loving moment with my partner who listens to my wildest dreams and holds them earnestly and carefully. The future feels bright, safe and honest with him. I want to nurture us from a place of wholeness where we can process some of our deepest triggers and let them be buried beneath our feet as a reminder that we always got each other. I want to hold his secrets and loudest dreams without fear of time being compromised. I want us to imagine a brilliant future, one that we are proud of, one that we can leave behind, one that we can pay it forward. I want to smile endlessly as we bask in this once-in-a-lifetime kind of love.
I want to spend 20 percent of my time investing in my business, focusing on key projects and knowing that I won’t be everything to everyone and that's okay. As an entrepreneur, I’ve been so focused on building and scaling this big machine that makes a shit ton of money, working sleepless hours, raising a bunch of capital, living, eating and sleeping my brand. I’ve done it before and it did not bring me joy. To be honest, that’s never been my dream; it’s been the dream of others. For me success is producing work that makes my heart whole, doing it slowly and with intention and care, taking breaks when I am overwhelmed, working nine months out of the year to prevent burnout, and allowing creativity to flow to me with ease.
I am not defined by my work. Rather my work is purposeful and aligned with my spirit.
I want to spend 10 percent of my time pouring into others that pour into me. This means taking those quiet morning walks with a friend. It means going to game nights, kickbacks, weddings, drunken bachelorettes and nights of endless wine and boisterous laughter. It means taking a flight cross country if only to give a hug. It means dinners. It means tears and brave conversations. It means leaving flowers on their doorstep just to say thank you and I love you. It means moments spent in solitude at the sauna, sharing recipes, swapping clothes, going shopping and getting dressed up, just because. I want to spend more time falling deeply in love with the people that love me the most.
While 2022 was a year that called into question who I was. 2023 is the year that ignites the answers. It's the year of rebirth and reimagining. It’s a year of radically owning that who I once was is not who I will be by the end of the year.
Can you dream with me?
But first…will you dream for yourself and then tell me about it at dawn when your heart is unafraid to take that leap of faith and trust that the beautiful arches in your feet have prepared you to take flight.