And I’m STILL en-route? ?!!!! I’ll never make it. I’m going to bomb if I do make it. This. Is. The. Worst. EVER!
That is just a sample of what was going thru my head, although I was verbally speaking little to nothing. I was too flustered. Things had gotten complicated in my head on a serious note. I went from excited and ready to kill it, to nervous, excited and ready to stand up to the pressure of setting a bar for myself in a new city, to nervous about getting there on time, to feeling like I wasn’t going to make it, to just overall, damn near throwing in the towel. At some point, a winner wins and a loser loses. I didn’t know which I was anymore. I left Indy feeling like I was TeamFirstPlacing, but suddenly, it was as if I had fallen and people were stampeding over me. To say I was worried was an understatement. The wimpy side of me that is still working on her toughening up skills, wanted to cry some more, but I had only shed a few tears in hopes that it would relieve some of the negative pressure that had formed around my poetic grace. And it did. But tearing up now didn’t seem like the thing to do. We were passing “Convention Center” signs that we used to guide us the rest of the way, but I still had no idea were it was and with this additional pressure of being NEXT and still having to make it out the car, up to the third floor and backstage all in time, AND WE STILL WEREN’T THERE, I didn’t have the time to unnecessarily cry. I needed what time I had left to clear my head of all the noise that was now occupying it.
Five minutes was all I could hear. It was as if all around me had been muted and I was forced to listen to the replaying of “five minutes, you’re next” over and over again. But somewhere, somehow, I mustered up just enough faith to whisper back into my head, God would not have brought you all this way to drop you from the sky with no wings. Well it was something like that, I just added to it now. It went more like God would not have brought me all this way for nothing. Same thing. Afer boldly running a few red lights, we made a turn and found it sitting on the corner. Shout out to Anitra Malone for being my driver, dealing with the insanity that came over me while lost and doing all she could to pass uplifting and encouraging thoughts until we made it. At one point she had to take some hits from her inhaler from us walking so much and so fast. And running the red lights. Boldy running the red lights I might add. That’s love. She put me out at the door and I hopped out, ran in as fast as I could in my 6 inch wedged Michael Antonio’s that were brand new and putting a brutal hurting on my foot life. There were no elevators, or at least no time to search for them. The cascading escalators it was. And they were full of people, older people mind you, dressed to the nines and moving slowly. I brushed past them all as I ran up the escalator and tried to do time in my head, pray AND clear my head all at the same time. I got to the table on third floor and told them who I was, then went in to the back. Everyone knew I was late. It was on there faces. The young lady that escorted me to the back was really nice. We had to walk thru the auditorium, and even though it was dark, I just felt like I reeked of unprofessionalism. How nice. As I attempt to make this grand return to the stage and the mic and the life of a poet, here I am, and hour+ late and everyone knew it. I got to the back and was greeted with enthusiasm to say the least. Shihan was standing back there and it just added to my embarrassment. It was like “look at the amateur walking in late” …..yeah I know…I created a thousand scenarios about what people were thinking of me, even though what happened was totally out of my control. I couldn’t even remember what my contact Sierra looked like. My mind was in between space and distance. There was nothing moving in it but erratic thoughts, letters that used to be poems and sweat. I was SO hot. Mouth was ridiculously dry. There was no water. My heart was beating so fast, I didn’t know how I would perform. Honestly. All these factors worked together against me. What if I got onstage w/o having the chance to calm down. That meant I would run out of breath too much or have to swallow the nothingness that my saliva had turned into, too often. I was offered a prayer and accepted. We went to the back, hand in hand, and did breathing exercises that turned into a call unto the most high for help and ease. I had made it. The hard part was over now. Or was it?
There was no water and no time to run find a fountain. I was about to perform as is. I was dressed comfortably chic in a plain white thermal with a vintage dress jacket, some ripped jeans and my 6 inch heels that were giving my feet the blues just because. I felt played down and chic. I felt beautiful. I also wore my gray hat to the side and of course some dope earrings that probably didn’t match but in my NEW IMPROVED non-matching way. All in all, I got back stage with approximately 3 minutes, mayyyybe an extra 30 seconds, before my name was called. It seems long in word form, but trust me when I say it was three minutes before showtime when I got backstage. The guy asked me what I wanted him to say and I really didn’t know. Although I prayed, I was still worked up….u know how they say “He may not come when you want Him to, but He’s always on time?” Well such was the case. I believe in the power of prayer so I knew He was there with me and wouldn’t let me fall, but I was still worked up. My heartbeat was still out of calm sync. So I grabbed a seat for about 20 seconds and next thing I knew, he said “Give it up for januarieYork” …..it was showtime.
Nothing left to do but walk out now.
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