Romantic Realism - Bag lady

Man, I haven’t done one of these in a minute. Let me dust off my mic and clear my throat. Welcome to the Urban Sista Show!

I love reading other Black women’s blogs.

I guess getting a glimpse of what people are thinking, doing, living is kinda cool. And knowing that these sisters span the globe, one in Venezuela, one in Atlanta another in New York…

It’s global, but our issues, drama and joys are so much the same.

Today, I was reading a young woman’s blog – she had been at the Sugar Water Festival with Erykah Badu, Floetry, Jill Scott and some others in her home cit. Ms. Badu must have done her Bag Lady song because this person was commenting on her own baggage.

We all have baggage and it’s so similar: the person who broke your heart when you were young and vulnerable… or old and vulnerable. I remember the day my outlook on love changed… and the day that I saw how I could be treated and how I should be treated.

When he broke my heart I was young and impressionable. I didn’t know what real love was. I mean, I had watched enough Beverly Hills 90210 and Melrose Place, read countless romantic fiction novels and listened to enough R&B love jams to think I knew what love was about.

When I met said dude who drove a stake through my heart, I thought it would be all sunshine and roses.

It wasn’t.

And I carried that pain around for years. He was young, just like I was and I don’t think he truly realized how his actions would have hurt me. I mean, he didn’t know me or what I was going through emotionally. I sure as heck didn’t know him (a few conversations and being carried to a car does not a soulmate make).

So, instead of thinking, he’s just not that into me, I internalized all that mess and became bitter and depressed. I only know realized that I was going through some serious changes and probably should have spoken to a professional.

For a few years after that, I dealt with some questionable characters. No one too shady, but I was looking for love without loving myself and all that Oprah, self-help stuff that gets to be corny after a while.

But it was true.

Baggage? I had some Samsonite and Louis Vuitton cases up in the mix.

The biggest one? Are you talking about the big, red, steamer trunk over in the corner? That was my self-hatred. And if I couldn’t love myself, which decent guy was going to want to love me? I was going to continue attracting the losers until I realized what I was worth and unpacked that luggage.

So, now, I’m not baggage free, but I've only got some carry-on luggage.

I opened every piece of baggage and took everything out, piece by piece, examined it and gave it to Goodwill, ‘cause I had no more uses for it.

It’s hard to cart that baggage around and it’s hard to meet someone who wants to deal with the stuff you’ve got strapped to your back.

Two weekends ago, I saw Mr. Heartbreak at a Warner event I went to. I was kinda shocked to see him there; I didn’t know that was his thing. When he saw me, his lips folded into a smile and he hugged me.

And you know what?

I didn’t feel a damn thing: no anger, no excitement, no sadness. It was like running into someone I used to work with.

“You look amazing, as always,” he said, turning on that same disarming charm that worked on me before.

“Thanks,” I said. I knew I looked good, tell me something I don't know.

We chitchatted for a couple of minutes and my girlfriends and I decided to make moves to another part of the venue.

“OK, well, I’ll see you,” he said, still smiling. I smiled back and walked off with the girls.

And left that piece of luggage right by the bar.