As I've been preparing for my transition back to New York, in between searching for rooms to rent and getting my funds together, etc. I've been taking time to reflect on my time and my life here, and really enjoy myself. Yesterday was a sunny day in San Francisco, and I spent it outdoors. I went downtown early in the morning and got to see the gay pride parade, which was huge, colorful, and at times hilarious, then headed to the outskirts of the city to watch a free Les Nubians concert in the park with Halima and a couple of her friends. And in the midst of all the fun, I found myself having wonderful conversations that kept me connected to purpose and spirit. One of my old friends called me early in the day (he's also friends with most of my other girlfriends), and we briefly spoke about what had gone down a few weeks ago between everyone. He said to me very simply, "Everyone knows your background and where you come from, and real friends are going to respect you for who you are, even if your views are different from theirs. You never pretended to be anyone else." He went on to say that he'd witnessed a lot of what I'd been through with the group over the years, and fully understood my decision to remove myself from the situation. Even though he shares my other friends' point of view, he has always been my friend and accepted me exactly as I am. He reminded me to never stop being myself, or to worry about one anyone else thought. He has been like a big brother to me for many years, and in that moment I was reminded of why.
Later in the evening after the concert, Halima and I met up for tea and strawberry shisha at a little hookah lounge. We talked about our plans for New York, the kind of women we wanted to be, and the nature of friendship. We discussed how friendship ebbs and flows over a lifetime, and how we must learn to be accepting of that process. We are both going through a major transition of our inner circle, which can be lonely at times. I told her what helps me is to appreciate the friends and family I have now, no matter how seemingly distant, and to keep in mind that wherever I go, there is someone who loves me, whether we are incredibly close or not. Right now I'm just grateful for love.
This morning I got up feeling rather strange. There was some energy floating around that I couldn't quite put my finger on. I decided to take a walk over the hill to the beach to clear my head. As I walked, I kept feeling as though I wanted to cry, but I wasn't quite sure why. Some of it was worry about about the journey ahead of me, but there was something else looming large as well. In the midst of my heartache, a phrase from an Osun poem I often recite came to mind, specifically the words "Osun's good knife." It's a poem that speaks of Osun's strong warrior spirit. I realized that as much as I needed to reflect on Osun's sweetness and grace, now was a time to reflect on her incredible strength as well. The thought of Osun's warrior aspect lifted my spirits immensely.
I arrived at the ocean and waded into the water. I looked out at the waves and expanse of it all, and thanked Yemaya for calling me to her side, and for all of her blessings. I felt alone, but in a good way. Lately I've felt myself transitioning into a new phase of womanhood and independence, one that others don't always understand, but one that has made me feel more rooted within my true spirit. As the water rushed around my ankles, tears began to flow, and a song I've always loved began to play in my head, one I never fully understood until now:

As I contemplated the song, I also began to think of my grandmother, the life she lead, and how similar we are. The linear course of her life is still a mystery to me, but her essence and spirit is not. She was a struggling single mother of 5 who, as she came into her own, opened herself up to so many more possibilities. She traveled to places that fascinated her, such as China and Russia. She was a journalist in Philadelphia at one time, and also acted in plays. When I was little, I remember being captivated by the art that filled her apartment in Oakland, from paintings of Black women to bright red and black Japanese fans that decorate a main wall of her house. In our style, we shared the same flair for print, color, and large pieces of jewelry. She inspired me to think outside the box in so many ways. My mother often shakes her head and says, "you truly are your grandmother's child."
And now, at this juncture in my life, she inspires me even more. She was often misunderstood, but was never afraid to be herself, follow her dreams, and express who she was. I've begun to wonder what went through her mind, and what was the moment like when she realized who she was? What was the moment like when she no longer worried what others thought about the woman she had become? At this moment her life has become a testament and a source of comfort for me.
Today my grandmother has lost most of her memory to dementia, and is in a nursing home with both legs amputated. She is near the end of her life, but one thing can be said about her: This woman has LIVED. She has seen and done so many things, and touched so many people. When we go to visit her, that lively spirit still shines through. She still has her sassy sense of humor, and takes joy in the little things, like the color of a flower, or a formation of clouds in the sky. She reminds us all to savor each moment. And when I think of her, I feel comforted knowing that so much of her essence has been passed down to me. She makes me feel like I can do anything.