Skip to main content

MackDiva, Your Gift is Calling...

If confession is good for the soul, I'm in a really good place right now since I'm putting all my business in the street. Last time we were together, I told you about my Sex and the City situation. Now I'm going to share another secret with you.

I love music. In Jr. High, I was in the band. High school found me in the choir. I was a voice major in college, and I sang with a few church choirs and groups before my career started taking up too much time. Working nights in New York City meant that I couldn't be as committed to the church choir as I wanted to be. So I resigned myself to singing my heart out in the privacy of booths at my second radio job, and belting out a few tunes for my most trusted friends.

For me, music has always been a personal expression -- one that I don't share with the masses -- much like my writing. Since my voice has more of a jazzy appeal than the gospel acrobatics that most people find fascinating in singers, I've always felt like my gift was inferior. I'd never admit this in mixed company, but the perfectionist in me hasn't allowed me to subject myself to possibly being second best until now.

The parents of one of my new friends in California put on a play every year called Uncle Fletcher's Money. It's the story of how Fletcher Martin's money will be divided between his surviving relatives -- two nieces and a nephew -- and two family friends after he dies. One niece wants the money all to herself, and she's willing to do whatever it takes to achieve her goal.

Since it's a gospel play, there's some singing involved. When they first approached me about doing it, I was more than a little hesitant. The acting didn't scare me as much as the singing did. I haven't exercised my vocal instrument in about ten years. I read for them, and it was decided that I'd take a non-singing role. I was cool with that because I didn't really want to embarrass myself. However, that all changed when one of the ladies wasn't able to do it for prior obligations. That's when I stepped up and decided to expose myself to the world.

Now I've just got to get over myself and do the doggone thing. Fortunately, I've got about two months to get it together. Please pray for me, and I'll let you know how it goes.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

On Barack, the Nomination, and Black Love

I'm so excited about Barack Obama! I know I'm just joining the teeming millions when I say that, but I think something this big is worth repeating. Never before in the history of our country has a Black man been in a position to lead the free world, and it feels good. I'm so glad that I've lived long enough to see this day.

Beside the fact that Barack is a great candidate for the Democratic party, I'm moved by his relationship with Michelle. Not since The Cosby Show have we seen a successful Black couple who have a genuine and sincere love and respect for one another. What makes their relationship so special is that it's real -- not the product of someone's imagination.

I obviously don't know Michelle Obama, but I want to grow up to be just like her. I love the fact that she doesn't NEED Barack. She's strong, smart, and successful in her own right, yet secure enough to fall back and be supportive of her man. That's something that all y…

In My Feelings...Again

There are times when I think I should change the name of this blog. Today I do NOT feel like a diva. I feel like a pitiful mess of a woman who's completely in my feelings.

I hate it when I get here.

I was minding my business last night when Juice hit me up. (Remind me to tell you about him later.) He wanted to hang out because we'd actually said we would. But he's he's only after one thing and I wasn't inspired enough to venture out to deal with him, so I told him I was in for the evening.

At the same time, New Boo asked me if I'd done my hair.

Let's be clear. My hair in and of itself isn't necessarily that big a deal. However, him asking me about it could indicate that I was on his mind and that he cared about me in more than a horizontal way. That would be awesome...but I know it's not true. Even though I engaged in conversation with him -- because that's what I do -- it was painful.

I am lonely. I want to be with someone who cares about me. I…

Out of Time

Time. You always think you have more...until you don't. I'm there.

I just left the doctor, where we discussed my fibroid. She said it was huge. So huge, in fact, that she couldn't get it all. If there's a need for another surgery, it'll be a hysterectomy.

I want babies. I want to be someone's mother. I also want to be someone's wife before I become someone's mother. And therein lies my dilemma.

It would be stupid for me to have a baby with My Teddy Bear. That's the reality of my life right now. But it would be even stupider to have a child with New Boo. Not only does he not want any more babies, he does't take care of the ones he already has. I would be an absolute idiot to attempt procreation with him. And as quiet as it's kept, I'm not interested in raising a child alone. I want my baby to have a mother AND a father.

So here I am, a 46-year-old woman who's run out of time.