This friend was actually a friend of a friend. Her name is Hope. She became my friend because our men were friends. I gravitated to Hope right away. She had the first quintessential perfectly tilted southern accent I had fallen in love with. I loved to hear her talk just to hear that sweet drawl usually followed by a sweet chuckle.

Tom was my boss. He is from England. His was the first English accent I could not get enough of hearing in my thirties. So proper and distinguished sounding. When I dressed nice for work he said I looked "brilliant." I tried to look brilliant every day.
He was also the first boss to take me on an international business trip. Yep to England.

The one thing both Hope and Tom had in common was me. Besides my husband, they were the first to tell me I talked too much. And both hurt my feelings to the bone. They did not mean to, but they did.

I used to ride to work with Hope during our friend of a friend stage of friendship back in 1991. I was working as an intern in New Jersey without transportation to work. My fiancé at the time asked Hope if she would take me since she worked not far from where I worked that summer. She agreed. About two weeks into our riding together Hope looked like she had about all she could take one morning as she picked me up. Finally just at the moment that it appeared her head may come off she turned to me and with her best southern hospitality eloquence spoke, "Look I like you. I enjoy our time together. I don't mind taking you in the mornings and after work but ..... But I need you to wait just a bit longer in the morning before you start talking to me. I am not the morning person you are. It takes me a bit longer to get going." She looked like it was hard to say but needed saying. Almost like she had to rehearse it first in the mirror.

Tom and I were to be in London for about a week. As his direct-report favorite,  I had begged him to take me with him. Tom was full of protocol making sure I was fully ready for the trip including packing not one but two travel alarms. The year was 1997. One morning just as Tom had insisted we met in the lobby of the hotel at 7:45 AM on the dot. As was my norm I started in on the hellos and the how was your evening etc..... I was happy and full of excitement for the day. By the time we made it out of the lobby of the hotel Tom cornered me.

I usually loved the way my name sounded in the Queen's English but not this time. I felt something coming. "La Detra, I need you not to speak. Please understand but just no speaking for awhile. I will let you know when. You understand don't you?" And with that we boarded the train and went about our day. About an hour later with my chin still in my hands, Tom thawed and he unlocked my voice box.

I learned a valuable lesson from these two events that I have carried with me throughout my life. We must be able to adjust to our environment, be able to meet people where they are in their station in life. We need to be able to roll with the punches. Don't let everything people do to us effect us negatively. We need to be able to seek understanding in the motivations and actions of others. Neither Hope nor Tom wanted to hurt me but they needed something I failed to recognize. They were brave enough and in need of enough to ask for it.

I would go onto to carve out a career being paid to talk. Paid well I should add. But I often go back to those early days and find myself asking, should I be talking right now or is now a time of silence? Great lesson learned.

Everybody loves to see a good fight. You will hear people say, "break it up, break it up." But almost never are they the ones actually breaking it up. No deep inside we are a creation of bystanders. Always sitting in the backdrop waiting for someone else to show up and do our dirty work. Today is Easter, and I just wonder what I would have done had I been at the crucifixion.

I think what I did, how I acted would have depended on how I felt in the moment. I mean how was the environment? What direct access did I have to the situation at hand? Did I even know this person so accused? Was it any of my business? If I did not want to be involved, the first thing I would have done is to look for a way out mentally. Give myself permission to disassociate. What's in this for me? No skin off my back right?

My likely way out of this picture would have been, if He made it all the way to the cross he must have done something mighty deserving to be hanging up there. What is happening to him must be just. I mean why else would anyone go through all the trouble to assemble so many people if there weren't something justified going on? It doesn't seem He was singled out, look there are three of them hanging up there.

If I wanted to get more involved I would have gone to my posse, asked what they knew about the situation. And depending on their response one of two things might have occurred. If their hair raised a bit, I would ask them, what would they do? What should we do? But if on the on chance they felt like I did, I would let it ride and go back to my business, minding my own business. Just another day and by the way, I did not know him personally anyway or his people.

Sad but true. I wish I had a better answer for all this. But I wasn't there, so does it really matter?

Now that I know more, I do wonder if He has been watching me to see what I have done since knowing. Since finding out what it was really all about. That His being there was all about me. That He was fighting my battle and with much skin off His back.

In my half century of living I have come to know a few things. If you ask my children I don't know much. They seem to think I was born yesterday. Nonetheless, despite their belief to the contrary I have managed to survive on my wit and my knowledge.

When I think of all I know most of it can be burned in a campfire as kindling. Nobody would miss it. But there are a few things I know for sure. And these are worth knowing and sharing. Allow me to share.
The mess I have ever encountered  is not worth the strength it takes to hold onto it. I have gotten my just reward by letting it go and forgetting it ever existed. This drives the messer crazy as it takes two to tango. Life and energy wasted on plotting is time taken away from planning and preparation toward things that build up not that which tears down. It is hard to walk away from mess without a fight but in the long run it is worth it, I know. What I have learned is that it is impossible to do two things well at the same time. So I  choose wisely. The thing that gets the attention gets the water and will grow. I have gotten to the place in my life where "mess does not grow here." I will not allow it. I will not water it.

I study people I admire. There are a lot of them. One of the common characteristics of these people is that they have a very short fuse for nonsense. I mean nonsense of any kind. They are polite yet curt. They are decisive and non apologetic. They say what they mean and they mean what they say. When you are in their presence you know exactly what you are getting. I admire that. The thing that I admire above all else is that they are consistently living in a "mess-free" zone.

So in a nut shell, I realize now that the best don't mess. And you will know when you have come across one of these types by this. You never see them starting mess and you never see them fanning mess. These folks have a creed. And the creed says, I have no time for anything that takes me away from my quest toward excellence. And there is no mess in that message.

I remember learning to swim as a little girl growing up in Utah. By learning I mean being taught by someone who swam at least better. No one I knew actually had real lessons from a trained paid instructor. We learned by being shamed into it or by someone who had once learned or both. Nothing more embarrassing than being seen in the neighborhood pool wearing a fishing life jacket. Yes the heavy duty Titanic industry issue kind. But I did wear it and for a long time, yellow daisy one piece  swim ensemble just beneath.
 
Learning went like this, when you got shamed long enough and loud enough by others at the pool you took off that jacket. And then if you were like me, you held onto the sides of the pool. Even if I was near the ladder and someone wanted to get around me, I would not let go of the side of that pool. Too bad, they would just have to go around me or under me but I was not going to let loose of my grip on those sides for anything. Say a friend called me into the deeper end or to join them on the other side of the pool I would either get out of the pool and walk around the perimeter until I reached them then ease back into the water holding the sides or I would slink my way there while inside the pool hand-over-hand until I reached them, never letting go of the sides. Didn't matter, call me what you wanted. I was not letting go and drown. I did not trust myself to survive without hanging onto to those sides, even after I could swim some, like doggy paddle the short width of the pool from side to side. I had one simple goal; leave one side and rush like I was on fire to reach the other side just to hang on again.

When I think of the sides of that pool and what it represented to me it reminds me of my early prayer life. And sometimes my current prayer life. When we pray, we are instructed to pray then let it go. Letting go is scary. Letting go means letting go of control. No one wants to feel out of control. But trusting God means turning control over to him to handle our challenges or problems. By not letting go tells him we do not trust him to do what he has promised. Holding onto past hurts, past mistakes, anxious and fearful thoughts keeps us at the sides and a prisoner of our own choosing.

Romans 12:12 urges us to, "Be transformed by the renewing of your mind." 2 Corinthians 3:17 tells us that, "The Lord is the Spirit, and where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom."

Here is a prayer for letting go of the sides. A Prayer for Letting Go
Dear God,
In this moment, I let go of all thoughts and concerns.
When I let go, I am able to receive.
When my hands are formed into tight fists, I cannot open my hands to receive anything.
When I hang onto tight control,
When I close off my heart and my spirit,
I cannot receive your blessings for me.
I let go to receive your blessings. 
Letting go in this moment, I receive your loving presence around me and within me.
Help me to let go when I am feeling overwhelmed, so that I may receive your peace.
Help me to let go when I feel fear so that in fear’s place I may receive love and courage.
I let go of problems and challenges in order to receive your guidance and clarity.
I let go and trust you.
I will not fall.
You will catch me.
I let go and trust in the still, small voice inside of me.
Help me not to struggle but to surrender my struggle to you.
I gladly receive this gift of letting go and letting you lead me and guide me.
Amen

I grew up among the elements. We had good times all right. Lots of good times. We used to create fun. I remember playing King and Queen with my siblings. A made up game. It was when everyone from oldest to youngest could boss the others around for a certain amount of time on the clock when it was their turn. Mostly the time was used to boss others to do the King or Queen's chores during their turn. Thing is, my oldest brother controlled the clock and it appeared his "time" was never up. That is until all of his chores were completed by the rest of us. We were onto him all right, but we were defenseless to do anything substantial about it. For the few minutes I spent as queen were fun and I liked being queen.

I was both a leader and a follower. Most of the time I followed was to fit in. I followed a good friend into a department store and less than an hour later was arrested as a juvenile for shoplifting. That was my first and only encounter with law enforcement and later my record was expunged. Well it was not my first encounter, other times I was on the outside looking in as others close to me took their various turns with the penal system.

My brother John was a true King in the streets of our hood. He was revered by everyone. He was the first person I recognized as being larger than life. If there was anything, and I mean anything that you wanted, my brother John could get it. Sometimes you learned not to ask how but he got it. When I went away to college I unwrapped my first computer. I nearly fainted when I unwrapped it. Not because it was a computer but because it came with a real receipt. Yes. It was bought from a store with money with a salesperson. I kept the receipt longer than the computer.

I followed my brother into drugs too. I should say I have never done drugs myself. But I was so affected by my environment that I once thought I was missing something. I don't mean the high but the connection to the edge of something edgy. I felt outside and I wanted inside. I wanted a connection to him and his environment for no other reason than to be closer to him. He was big time in my heart. The male figure in my household growing up.

I talked a friend into mimicking a high. We took the outside lining of cardboard and dry grass/straw from the front yard, a lighter I snuck from my oldest brother's nightstand and we commenced to getting high in the front yard under a tree. Well dang. The cherry on our joint was so pronounced it did go unnoticed by passers by. Somebody ratted me out and all I can remember is my brother darting toward me jumping bushes to get to me. The only thing he said through what looked like MAN TEARS was "hold your arm out." He put the cherry of the joint out on my inside forearm. I felt it and I smelled it. He turned and walked away.

The only thing I could think of was momma not finding out. And she never did. And how much I had disappointed my big brother. I was his way out. I was the one thing he could look to and say I helped create that. I was his reason for tapping into the good he had inside himself. And I stepped all over it.

I still have the scar. My brother passed away at age 45 from cancer. We never once spoke about that night under the tree. We did not have to. He lived long enough to see what I did with his computer and to know that the only cherry I would see again was atop of the sundae I made with my life. The life he helped me get to.

We met in New Jersey around 1986, neither of us can remember exactly where. I wish I could. At age 31, she was ten years older than my tender 21. We became fast friends, "thick as thieves" some might call it. I had just moved to the area, fresh to urban life sort of. Definitely the first time I had ever lived on my own outside of a dormitory. I was just a kid. I looked up to her.  I lived in Montclair, NJ, she lived in West Orange. We pledged different sororities back then, but sisterhood brought us together and our love as sisters kept us there.

We did everything together. She even helped me to learn to drive a manual shift. While at first I had thought of Denise as a big sister from Philadelphia, she was that and more. We were just awesome friends. I was at her house more than she was at mine. Simply put, I lived in an efficiency above a book store. Denise lived In a "real" apartment with different rooms versus my nearly all in one. We spent a lot of time together Denise and myself. Denise never did cook much, but boy she knew the best Take Out. I laugh because at age 60 she still does not cook and we just ordered Take Out. Back then, we got together to spend authentic time together over wine, Take Out and TV/Movies and boyfriends. I am happy to say our taste in all of the above has improved tremendously over the years. Denise was around when I met my husband. She approved so I pursued him.

In 1990, I was accepted into Harvard Business School. I was all set to leave New Jersey and move to Cambridge. The last official send off was a going away party at a local New Jersey venue. I remember Denise was bringing the cake. I never saw Denise that night and I would not lay eyes on her again for over 30 years. By the time I did, she was picking me up from the airport in Chicago with her new best friend, Donna. So many years had passed. And like it was yesterday, I remember the pain of how our friendship had ended. All night in 1990, I had stared at the door. It was the first time in my life I had been hurt by a friend I loved so deeply. The pain and loss completely turned me inside out.

I did have one conversation with Denise over the years. I had become very active in church with my own family. The pastor said do not take communion if you have unsettled hurt. I knew I had to find Denise. I tracked her down via the yellow pages. I found her in Chicago. I did all the talking. I told her I needed to forgive. I do not recall telling her I DO FORGIVE YOU. Our call was awkward and short.

Fast forward another decade plus, and Denise both friended me on Facebook and followed up with a letter. The letter explained everything. I cried and read it a million times. I will just say, I forgave her and she finally forgave herself.

Denise, Donna, and myself just wrote a book together. It is called, "This is my story, but it is not my life." The book is about women's pain and suffering. Let me tell you, we are all three more than qualified to write this book. The best part, 29 other women also participated. And we tell how Christ brought us to the other side of pain and suffering. The book also has stories speaking of forgiveness.

So on March 11, 2016 beautiful Denise and her most funny friend Donna gathered me up from the airport in Chicago, took me straight to their favorite restaurant, and then for the next three days are hosting me in Denise's home where I met her now husband and family.

It is a long time from yesterday, but it is exactly as God planned it. Love and forgiveness are mighty gifts from our Lord. We need to pull them out a lot more.

Many will live their entire lives being underestimated. It is one debilitating feeling from the inside out. Imagine, people expecting you to fail. Some hoping you do. Some helping you to.

In the beginning of creation there was a 100% expectation that men will behave as they were created. It was of their own choosing that things went south. We are collateral damage of that original sin. There was the creation, the sin, the cost. And this is the cycle of choice. The thing, the action, the reaction.

Every time we encounter someone whether at the grocery store, the playground, at church or anywhere they are in one of three places. They are creating a thing, acting on a thing or reacting to a thing. Our interaction defines who we are now, not how we were created. We can choose to help them define their thing, help them birth their thing, or help them fix their thing. How we step into the "thing" says much more about us than the thing we are stepping into.

I remember two defining moments in my life as it relates to this very subject. The first was when I was 26 years old and I went to my boss and told him I had applied to Harvard Business School, and if accepted I would be leaving my position with the company for graduate school. Now he had a decision to make as he was now privy to this new information. What would he do? His reaction to hearing my news was this. "Well don't you get your hopes up. I don't even think I could get into Harvard." I was crushed, totally and completely in that moment. He stepped into my thing and tried to break it.

Six months later, I resigned and started my first year at Harvard Business School. I ran into him on NYC train some decade later. He was completely gray and worked for the same company. I was just beginning my own company.

The second defining "thing" moment came two years later. I was a blushing bride at my wedding. My mother was there. She had been married by the Justice Of Peace when she was all of 16 years old. In the middle of the pictures, just at the beginning of the reception she says at me but audible for anyone listening to hear, "Is this over yet? How much longer is this wedding going to last?" Again, crushing, totally devastating. She stepped in and tried to break my thing.

I have found this over time. People bring to you what they are carrying with them. They can't bring out what they don't have on them or in them. So they treat you from a position of their own strength or weakness. We will react based on our own inner fortitude. If we refuse to be broken, we will not break. If we can see past the other person's pain and intention we might even be able to redirect the outcome.

We do this by providing them love and understanding. We do this by refusing to fall victim. We do this by showing them better than we can ever tell them.

The mighty bison has been around since prehistoric times. Bison is strong, fast for its size and can pivot in an instant finding its desired position to attack predators. They are extremely loyal, traveling in herds and fiercely protective of one another.

I am BISON. I grew up among Bison. Bison take care of one another.

Bison recognize other Bison not in a handshake or chant or even a brand. Bison know each other by a shared experience. A raising up from something uncertain into something rare and undeniable. And once you have Bison in you it never leaves. You are forever Bison. And you become different, special, unwavering, and unshakable. You move about in search of other Bison and you always find them and they find you. Upon sighting, nothing contrived needs to be created because it already exist. It is kindred and grew at first on the yard and in the PUNCHOUT and down in the valley. Bison who roamed freely, explored freely, dreamed freely and fought doggedly to live as Bison.

I am proud to be Bison. I am proud to know Bison. I dream in Bison.

No matter where I go or what becomes of me professionally, financially, spiritually. I will always come back to where it first began and I will bow my best bow and show my extreme gratitude beside the hoofs of others like me and our first tread.

I will return to my herd and we will rejoice together, cry together, stand together as Bison. Without them I would not be who I have become.

With them I can become anything I desire.

I am sort of okay. I mean not bad, just not exactly all right. How can that be you ask? I mean either all is well or all is not well, right? Well not exactly. Because a lot of the time, I can give the appearance of being okay and if I continue the charade long enough, I almost believe it too. Being able to fake it gets easier, obtainable. So I will say it again, all is well. There I said it. Did I sound convincing? Well it does not matter what you say anyways because 1,547 of my friends believe me. Well not exactly. I mean they believe me alright but I don’t have 1,547 friends. But if you ask FACEBOOK I do. I have about the same on TWITTER and most of those on INSTAGRAM.  And I won’t even go into LIKES. I by social media metrics am one well liked human being. So if that is true, then why on heaven’s green earth do I often feel like complete #$%t. That is a rhetorical question. I did not expect an answer. Truth is I know the answer.

It is because there is no amount of LIKE that can fill a hole in the UNLIKE inside you. Most of my problems could be solved with a JUST ASK button. Trouble is people don’t really want to know. They just want to believe they are doing slightly better than the other person clicking away next them. If I could count the number of times I found out something about someone I thought I knew for the first time on FACEBOOK via a midnight post. Tis true unfortunately. I mean what the hell. And If I were really bonafide honest with myself I would admit this. I am fooling no one to the degree I want to in terms of how I am really doing and how I am really feeling. If there were a do over and Mark Z. asked me to design FACEBOOK, I would immediately throw out all the EMOJI nonsense and the options would be “THAT’S BS” “PRAY FOR ME” and “JUST ASK”.

Because the down to the dirt truth is none of us is truly “All OKAY”. Word up? This is intended for the say about 119 friends I truly have. And that's when I count family.
 
Signed, Keeping it Real  before I really start believing the nonsense.