Money < Culture

I have been struggling with consumer intersectionality lately. Maybe struggling is a bit dramatic, but I have endeavored to de-compartmentalize and live a more cohesive, singular life. This means that these days, being a mom and a professional needs to feel less like 2 sides of the same coin and more like the whole value of the currency itself. A union I’ve been pondering seriously these days, post-Nipsey Hussle, is how to bring together my values on money and culture into a succinct spending pattern. Anyone who knows me knows I’m a bit of a finance geek, who is also well-read on things culture and feminism. As of late, I’ve tried to merge those passions in the way I choose to allocate my buying power. I’ve read a bit on the BDS movement in Angela Y. Davis’ recent book “Freedom is a Constant Struggle” and for years I’ve been head over heels for Courtney Carver’s 333 minimalism and I’m a believer in knowing the entrepreneur who supplies whatever sliver of consumerism makes it out of your wallet and into your home. But what does that really look like in lived experience?

 

Honestly, it’s exhausting. I spend a great deal of time googling not just prices, but companies, before actually making a purchase. And, while I’m still a slave to amazon.com, they’ve seen a lot less of my business lately than in years past. Every holiday season there’s a new “shopping list” out of Black, women, trans, transcendent vendors out there, but considering I rarely spend money on traditional gifts I usually have long forgotten about these lists by the time I’m ready to buy. And, to be frank, every company has some problem. I was excited to buy Girl Scout cookies only to have them arrive and realize that the bulk of my stock was made with artificial colors and flavors. I recently bought a (great quality) bag from R. Riveter, and felt awesome about what it does to economically empower women, then I thought a layer deeper on all that supporting the military could mean. Then, there’s buying Black. I am a proponent of buying from small and minority businesses, but I have found that many are not as eco-friendly as I would prefer. For example, I love True Detergent (I know, I’m on a military roll here). They have removed the caustic chemicals from the liquid (YAY!), but what to do about all these plastic bottles (have you heard about the plastic whale)? And after all, I did buy a Sodastream to minimize plastic bottle consumption involved in my carbonated water habit, but that goes full circle back to the BDS movement’s recent calls for a boycott. I could go on…

Maybe my concern with intersectionality is just my most recent awakening to recognizing the challenges that a global economy brings. Products, like people, are a collection of many experiences. Nothing is as singular as it appears in an online store. Even your “African” clothing vendor gets their Indonesian-styled fabrics from Vlisco in the Netherlands, which has been living that neo-colonial life since been since. I say this to say, we are global creatures made local by choice and imagination. The products we create and the ones we consume reflect that reality. How can we live in the modern world and survive with our morals (perhaps competing ones) in tact? Here’s my strategy:

1- Save money. Buy less: I figure, if I buy less, I’ll have the time and the money to make smarter (though fewer) purchases. I’m trying to de-clutter my whole life – not just by Marie Kondo-style trashing the joyless items taking up valuable mental space, but by choosing to accumulate less with each passing day. After all, if I have to check the ownership structure, the eco-impact, and the “about us” page for every purchase, it’s highly likely that I’ll just give up before I even get to the till (British speak for the check out counter).

2- Make sure it’s healthy: Always search the Environmental Working Group to ensure that what I expose myself and my family to actually merits use. There are so many financial and health ramifications to each dollar we spend, the least we could do is know that before we buy. And, I always feel like I win double brownie points if I can go healthy AND zerowaste. It ain’t easy, but once I figure out what works well, it’s easy to replicate (or buy again).

3- Buy in bulk, if it makes sense: Expiration date and binge shopping not withstanding, I have gotten very good at buying in bulk to reduce waste. The easiest tends to be cleaning and household goods, so I’ve become a lover (and repeat customer) at bulkapothecary.com . From lavender to olive oil, and castile soap by the gallons, I haven’t been disappointed.

4- Check those niche holiday lists all year-long: Even for the smallest of purchases, I go back to lists from madamenoire.com & blackenterprise.com (among others) to see which new vendors are out there and which ones have been de-bunked. Below see a list of what I’ve been tracking lately, you know, in case you’ve got some holiday, birthday, household needs built into your budget:

5- Expect to get it wrong: If the VW emissions scandal has taught us nothing, it should be that well-meaning consumers also get duped. We can control very little outside of our own intentions, so even with the best of research and positive vibes, our money may land in the hands of tricksters telling us what we want to hear.

 

$h!t my son likes…

It is legend in Black families that Sunday mornings are cleaning days. There is an entire soundtrack to these days. There’s Blues and R&B, smooth jazz and more blues. As I recall, there was a lot of WBLS and Dave Koz in my house. Obviously, as we grew up, we listened to more hip hop and rap, which just killed the vibe because my parents didn’t start agreeing to listen to that until the likes of contemporary hip pop artist like Drake and DJ Khaled emerged. Now that I have a family of my own, I’m trying to establish traditions that make my third culture kids feel grounded in something, even if we pack up the ritual and transport it around the world every few years. So, Sunday music mornings it is…

Screen_Shot_2018_08_30_at_12.22.36_PM.pngMy kid is a ‘Little Baby Bum‘ addict, which means we live our lives in musical interludes of Baa Baa Black Sheep and Johnny Johnny’s lies. So, we know he likes music, but what does he like aside from London lullabies? I am on a quest to find out…

Last week, we tried a Bob Marley medley and he lasted about 2 songs before tuning out. Today, I tried to go a bit edgier and it was a bigger success. This was the playlist of what he managed to like…

Emile Sande – Hurts

Lenny Kravitz – American woman

Lenny Kravitz – Fly Away

OutKast – Hey Ya!

Stevie Wonder – All I Do

… before demanding that I read “Not Norman” by Kelly Bennett, which – oddly enough – is available on screen here:

So, with each passing weekend, I’m learning more and more that my kid is becoming a technology and animal aficionado, who needs to hear soul and trap music at frequent intervals.

 

Silence is a Choice

Social media is consuming – entertaining, absorbing, hypnotic, addicting. I have had my fair share of it lately. I often wake up to check Facebook and fall asleep on Instagram. Very little of the content is uplifting and it forces us, particularly disadvantaged and tortured communities, to relive our pain lest we forget. Though forgetting, itself, is a form of self-care, I understand the impulse to rehash, review, share, like, and proliferate opinions, injustices, happenings, and heartbreaks. But, I would be dishonest with you if I didn’t admit that I am feeling compelled to offer myself a detox. I should be able to take a break from it all, just as easily as I took a break from writing here and as easily as I did a silent meditation retreat in 2017. But, I’ve found it harder than expected to truly unplug.

See, social media allows me to stay connected with so many friends and family that I would – frankly – never talk to without social media as an aggregator. Some call it a skill, this contact building and maintenance that I do. I have learned that, with a toddler in tow and a demanding expat life to attend to, perhaps staying in touch is more time and emotionally consuming than it is worth. Further, there is so much waste in between connections – the ads, the videos, the stuff I didn’t come for. And even with my online presence at its peak, it is only months later that I realize that some of my online “friends” have passed away or have given birth… what to make of this kind of pseudo-cyber friendship?

In addition, I must admit that in spite of my job as a professional newswatcher, I really struggle to absorb news shared outside of my own social media networks. I used to scour the BBC News (because, really, I can tolerate it much better than CNN – can’t you?) and I’d devour an Economist, even if was months out of date. Now, I’m tired beyond line 5 on a screen and I’m satisfied with not having learned the facts. Some of this is about trust. I trust my circle to tell me what I need to know – not just interesting and screwed up facts about the world. I mean, the relevant stuff, like when am I going to get paid next and where to donate to help Jazmine Barnes’ family bury her. But everything between the important stuff is leaving behind emotional residue. And I need a serious rinse.

I’m not sure what moderation looks like anymore, but I do know what an overdose feels like.  Is it possible to produce content and not consume it? Can I post here and on FB and on Insta AND not read anything from anyone else? Or do I have to choose one and let the others go? Does WhatsApp count? What is responsible use? Is withdrawing “fair” to my “friends”? What exactly does a social media detox look like for a media manager? I have no idea, but over this year I will find out. While I try to disengage from consumption, I’ll hope you’ll bear with me as I shake off the cobwebs of writing for an unknown public. In the process of finding balance, I hope this experience will bring us all a little closer.

Happy 2019!

 

 

…i think i remember

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Kidspot.com.au – http://bit.ly/2o4qFP0

I was a candy striper for all of 5 hours. And… i think i remember becoming a feminist, a naturalist, and a home birther that very day.

My mother got it into her head that it would be great for me to volunteer at a local hospital. She got many such ideas. I was in a girls’ summer science & tech camp. I spent many a weekend in a bowling league. She’s got quite the imagination. In any case, this candy striper business was all her idea. I didn’t even know what the term meant (I wore my regular clothes) or what they’d have me doing, but if you’ve ever met my mother you’ll know that I didn’t have a choice.

It’s the morning. This hospital is on the Portuguese and Puerto Rican side of town. I’m assigned to the maternity ward. There were just a few names on the white board. Next to them were times and the names of prescription drugs. For example, 4:15am Petocin. Let’s just say, it was 9:00am.

 

I sat at the desk with a quiet nurse for a while and I accompanied her on her next set of rounds. I only saw one patient. She was pregnant. I now know she was in labor. She was disoriented, in obvious pain and clearly drugged. She was alone in her room, save the nurse and me. She woke up to moan. The nurse did something for less than 30 seconds. And then we left her room. We left her alone. It was then that I remember thinking 1) this is my last day doing this candy striper crap. And then i think I remember thinking 2) I’m never delivering my baby in a hospital. Last, I recall knowing 3) no woman in her right mind would want this for herself.

I’m not sure if this was before or after the candy striper incident, but i think I remember watching my very first reality tv show, Brandy’s “Special Delivery.” I watched then with the save avid intensity as I currently watch the Real Housewives of Atlanta, Love & Hip Hop every city in America, so on and so forth. This is to say, I was addicted. I distinctly remember watching Brandy cry as she toured hospital maternity wards, saying how she too didn’t want to have her baby in a hospital. (Though, she ultimately did. And we later found out that she totally lied to all of us about being married! So, I blame her for the beginning of fake reality television…alas…) I remember being disappointed that even the most famous, wealthy, positive, female, Black icon of my generation (Don’t you dare contest me: see Moesha, Thea and ‘the Boy is Mine‘ music video as proof) didn’t find a way out of a hospital birth that she didn’t want. This was just the rich & famous version of the woman I left writhing in drugged up pain in a lonely labor room in New Jersey.

I think I remember shortly thereafter deciding that I would be unapologetic about NOT delivering my baby in a hospital. And I think that might have been my first declaration of feminism. It was the beginning of setting boundaries on my health and well-being that would mean that, in the future, my adult self simply couldn’t be trapped by modern medicine, conventional wisdom or popular belief to enter into a situation where I too would cry as I toured hospitals and imagined myself as that lonely woman trapped in pain purgatory.

I did tour a hospital. And I tried to do it Brandy’s way, but I refused to see the likes of Pitocin and I kept feeling that I’d be pressured to accept in the moment. Ultimately, my inner compass guided me swiftly away from the hospitals and doctors, who I feared would do to me just as I had done many years before – leave a scared, helpless woman to fend for herself against nature and her own body, with not so much as half a care to holding her hand, reassuring her, or letting her know that she was not, in fact, alone.

 

People now ask me how it is that I managed to have a home birth. And for a while I really didn’t know where the conviction came from. But looking back now, I think it’s because… i think i remember knowing from a very young age that women deserved better care and that children deserved to enter the world in a better way. So, really, I didn’t have a choice.

 

part time local

Being back in Washington, DC is always a tumultuous treat. I never spend enough time here to make it feel like home, but – unlike NYC – DC doesn’t change very quickly. So, I can go back to the spots I remember fondly and discover new ones at my leisure. Over the past few months, I have made a real effort to get out and about. The metro still sucks, but here are the highlights of journey.

I’ve discovered the Torpedo Factory with its art classes, studios and seminars. Just a few weeks ago, I went to see a talk by Sheldon Scott and discovered lots of interesting pieces by novice and seasoned artists.

 

My husband also got me to go to the CapitalOne Arena (formerly, the Verizon Center) to check out the Washington Wizards at their game against the Cavs. Let me be clear, the seats are uncomfortable, the other fans are kinda obnoxious, and I still don’t understand why cheerleaders still exist, but… it was a fun experience.

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I also revisited the Holocaust Memorial Museum for the first time since 8th grade. It was much less depressing than I remembered  as a kid and much more informative than I expected. I highly recommend that everyone take the time to check it out. It only takes about 2-3 hours to get through the permanent exhibit. The temporary ones tend to be about modern day slavery, which is also important to be aware of.

 

And though I’ve found myself being an architecture and design buff in other cities I’ve visited, I never considered walking tours in the nation’s capital.  The DC Design Tour of Georgetown was very cool and, frankly, took me to a part of town that I rarely visit.

All in all, living in the DC area has been a breath of fresh air. There are sidewalks and tap water! Even better, there are interesting tours, historical sites, museums, art talks, and apparently big events worth catching. I’m soaking it all up while I can!

#musicamondays #MusicMondays (78)

Welcome to the 78th installation of #musicamondays #MusicMondays, which features music from around the globe. Each song is selected to start your week off on the good foot! One still in the bed and the other in another country…

This morning we’ll head straight for that case of Mondays that I’ve been trying to avoid with good tunes.  It’s Columbus Day weekend and if you have to work, I know you’re feeling some type of way. And if you have this bloodletting holiday off, then you should be equally as pissed off. So, if this is how you’re feeling this morning, I don’t blame you.

The Bajan sensation, Rihanna needs no introduction… so get out there and shine bright like a diamond this Monday, even though you might be thinking “I swear I wish should somebody would try me… ohhh that’s all I want.”

#musicamondays #MusicMondays (77)

Welcome to the 77th installation of #musicamondays #MusicMondays, which features music from around the globe. Each song is selected to start your week off on the good foot! One still in the bed and the other in another country…

This morning we’ll start slowly with the jazzy musings of Ohio, USA native Nancy Wilson. The Grammy winner had her own variety series in the ’60s and has been known for classy little ditties that are grounded in the less romantic parts of real life…  but her silky voice makes it all go down so swell. Alas, I love this song because it just feels like a 1960s version of “Man Down” & badass women, calling the shots and taking no shit get me fired up for a week of greatness ahead…

Shots fired!