Today the World Ended

According to the Mayan calendar, the world is set to end next Friday.  I have heard quite a few jokes regarding the same.  Well, for those who lost loved ones in the tragic shooting spree at Sandy Hook elementary school today, it must seem like the world ended a week sooner.

This morning I started my day in the usual way.  I woke my son up for school, kissed him on the forehead, and gave him ten minutes to lay in our bed with us—smack dab in the middle; that’s his favorite spot.  After ten minutes of cuddling, I got him out of bed and assumed my new role as drill sergeant.  As part of the routine I gave him instructions to help ensure that he would be ready to catch the bus.  These instructions also included tasks that should have been completed the night before, but as usual, they were not completed in a satisfactory manner.  As the morning proceeded, I checked to see where he was in the process and pointed out tasks that were yet to be completed.  I provided updates on the time about every ten minutes or so.  After each time update, it was apparent that once again he was not on schedule to make the bus.  The verbal prompts became more urgent and my frustration more apparent.  My son does not know how to move faster; he operates at the same pace despite the time crunch we are in.  It. Is. Extremely. Annoying.  At this point, I begin to do the necessary things to get him out on time.  “Get your lunch box!”  “Take the lotion in the car…the back of your leg is still dry!”  “Let’s go…we have to leave right now!”  “If you miss this bus you are not playing that game this weekend!”  “Where’s your sweater?  Yes, you need it!  Go back and get it!”  “Hurry up!  What’s taking you so long to get in the car!?”  “You are nine years old…this is ridiculous!”  “You have got to do better than this.  I am tired of telling you the same things over and over again!”  “There’s the bus.  Hurry up.  OK, have a nice day…I love you.” “Hey!!  You forgot your sweater…here.”  I watched him get on the bus, waited until I saw his silhouette as he took his seat on the bus, then I pulled off…mentally exhausted.   

I cannot imagine what it must be like to receive a telephone call or message advising of a shooting your child’s school.  It is completely unfathomable to understand how it must feel to learn that your child has been murdered while at school.  The thought of the sheer terror that those children experienced is heart wrenching.  When I put myself in the position of the parent’s of those innocent children, I can’t help but to become emotional.  How do you reconcile such a loss?  How do you make it through the day?  How do you breathe?  How do you identify your deceased child who you sent to school earlier?  How do you go home and see all of the things that made your house their home?  How do you make sense of something so senseless?  I wish that I had the answers, but I don’t. 
Today the world ended for those who lost their lives in this tragedy.  Many of their loved ones must feel as though a part of them died too.  Many of us feel helpless and only wish there were something that we could do to help ease their pain.  Would tougher gun laws, or locked school campuses have prevented this act of unspeakable violence?  Perhaps, but we can't be sure.  

What we can do is realize that so many things that we think are important, really aren’t. We can stop taking things for granted. Tomorrow may not come for some of us or for those we love, so we have to make every second of every day count. We can stop postponing living by waiting until next week, or next month, or next year to do the things that we can do for, and with those we love, today. We can ask ourselves the question "If I knew that a loved one would no longer be here next week, what would I do differently?"  I know I plan to be a little bit more patient on Monday morning. One more hug and one less demand.

The Mayans were a week off in their prediction, because today, the world ended.

                                                                                                                        Written 12/14/12

There was no Calm Before the Storm

As news and personal accounts of the impact and aftermath of Hurricane Sandy continues to come in, I find myself feeling awkward. It’s a feeling that can best be explained with the example of a person who narrowly escapes injury or death and walks out of a situation that others were unable to avoid. Please understand, in no way are my feeling equivalent to such a plight, it is however, the best way I can describe it. You see, I am a product of Far Rockaway, Queens. I know the beauty of the beaches, I rode my bicycle up and down the boardwalk as a kid. I rode the A train, the Q 22, the dollar van, and used the Q footy footy to get around town and out of town (although, we didn’t leave Far Rockaway much back then…everything we needed was there—at least we thought so). I went to P.S. 105 back when it was known as “The Bay School”, traveled to the opposite end of the town to attend P.S. 114 in Belle Harbor and junior high school 180 in Rockaway Beach, and made a u-turn to attend Far Rockaway high school smack dab in the middle of Far Rockaway, NY. I lived in public housing in what some considered one of the worst housing projects in the New York City—Edgemere Houses. Some years back, the name was changed to Ocean Bay Houses, but it will always be Edgemere to me.
When I think of growing up there, I remember a sense of community. The tenant patrol was the watch group of concerned citizens who wanted to keep the neighborhood safe. As a teen ager, I thought they were a bunch of nosey old people. Now I know better. I recall having friends who lived on nearly every floor in my building. They were like family. There was no need to go out of the building to meet people, but we did. We walked up and down the blocks to see our friends from other buildings too. We all knew each other and could spot an outsider in a heartbeat. We played hop scotch with a piece of broken glass or a rock. We played skelly with candle wax or gum pressed into a milk top. We played hand ball on the wall underneath the buildings. We played “Red light, green light” and “Mother may I?” We played tag, red rover, kick the can, spin the bottle…oh I could go on forever!
There was however, an ugly side to life there. Gun violence claimed the lives of friends and acquaintances on a regular basis. People went to Rikers Island jail so often that it became a rites of passage for many young boys. It was not uncommon to answer the public telephone on the corner of 54th Street and talk with someone incarcerated who used the telephone number of the pay phone as a life line to the community. Poverty ran rampant in my old neighborhood. So much so, we didn’t even realize that we were poor. Making the most of what you had was normal. Sharing a cup of sugar, two eggs, or $5 until next week, was a regular thing. We looked out for each other. We knew how to handle adversity because it was an everyday thing.

For as long as I can remember, there was always talk of the bay and the ocean meeting and causing devastation. I’d heard it so often that it didn’t scare me at all. But then again, neither did the gun violence, robberies, drug dealing, or regular police activity. It was all a part of life in my neighborhood.
As the years passed, I was exposed to life outside of my neighborhood. The experiences opened my eyes to a brighter future and I stepped into the light. I got out before the storm. Lots of people did. However, there are those who didn’t see it coming. They were unprepared or under-prepared. They were blinded by the winds of reality. Some fell victim to low expectations and statistics. Some were overcome by a sense of hopelessness. Some made a conscious decision to stay. The awkward feeling comes in when I realize that many are in complete darkness trying to find their way, and struggling to survive the chaos, while I am doing just fine. You see, the trouble didn’t begin when the bay met the ocean; there has always been a black cloud over my old neighborhood. We just didn’t notice it, because it was always there. When you’ve lived in a tumultuous environment for your entire life, you’d never imagine that a little storm could be a problem.

I am certain that those remaining in my old neck of the woods will come out of this bruised and battered…but better. They’ve always had the skills to overcome adversity…we learned them through our lives filled with challenge and struggle. It is my hope that this experience has changed the definition of “normal”. The notion of the bay and ocean meeting is no longer just an old wives tale. It’s a reality. Hopefully, people will begin to rebuild not only their homes, but their lives. There is light just beyond the darkness, but leaving the familiar is a personal choice. Those who choose to stay must prepare for the storm while there is calm because one thing we know now is, it’s coming.

A Good Day for a Resolution

Psst. Psst. Hey…hey you. We are approaching the last quarter of the year and I just want to know how well you did with your resolutions. Did you make any at the start of the year? In an effort to avoid the commercialism, did you make your resolutions before the year began or a month or two into 2012? Did you abandon the term “resolution” and simply challenge yourself to do better? Did you decide that this would be the year that you wouldn’t broadcast your resolution, opting instead to wait for others to notice your achievement? Perhaps you didn’t even make any personal self improvement commitments at all, but somehow knew that you should have. Either way, I just wanted to point out the fact that even though it seems like we just celebrated the New Year, its September. Valentine’s Day and St. Patrick’s Day are in the history books, and that’s no April Fools prank. Mother’s Day and Father’s Day have come and gone, as have the 4th of July and Labor Day. Halloween is just around the corner and many of you have yet to accomplish the goal that you set. That’s pretty scary.


No, no, no…don’t start feeling down though; it’s not the end of the world. Now is the perfect time for evaluation. It’s important to evaluate your goals periodically. When you recognize what is working it encourages you to continue. When you identify what isn’t working, it doesn’t mean you’ve failed, it simply means that you need to make some adjustments to your strategy—and sometimes, it means you have to revise your goal. Finding the courage to try again is just as noteworthy as finding the courage to begin. So whether you fell off the wagon or never even got on, I challenge you to make a commitment to improve some aspect of your life today. Don’t wait for the perfect time, because there isn’t one. You’ve just got to decide that you are worth the commitment and do it! I can’t think of a better day than today. Happy Monday! Cheers!

You Can Have It (if you really want it)

Have you ever wanted something so badly, but couldn't have it? Ahh, I see the wheels turning...you're thinking about it. I'm guessing that you may be a little hesitant to fully commit to answering, because of the fear that it might be a "trick question". Go ahead...answer it. No one will know except you. OK, if you answered "NO", start over from the beginning, and this time, be honest. If you answered "Yes", welcome to the club. You are not alone. If we're honest, we've all had something that we felt was beyond our reach and decided that we couldn't have it. Once the decision is made and we have accepted it as fact, we move in another direction. Sometimes the whole idea is dismissed. We let it die because it's just easier that way. Some of us return to the burial site of that thing we wanted so badly and lament. All the while convincing ourselves that there was no way for us to have what we wanted.
I know, I know—there really was no way that you could have had that thing. No one understands just how hard you tried. No one has walked in your shoes. It just doesn't happen that way. It's beyond your control. The timing just wasn't right. If you knew then, what you know now... yada, yada, yada. Yeah, been there, done that—sucked on that pacifier, but it only keeps you going for a little while. In most cases, these are phrases that make up the elaborate smoke screen that hides our truths. Some of us are afraid of failure, afraid of losing, afraid of rejection, or afraid of being vulnerable. Some of us are deterred by the obstacles, overwhelmed by the enormous amount of work, effort, or time required and still others are held captive by negative thoughts and self-doubt. Sadly, the smokescreen gives us permission to quit before we even start.

Motivational speaker Tony Robbins said “The only thing keeping you from what you want is your story about why you can’t have it”. What’s your story?
If you were granted a reasonable amount of time to acquire that thing, and also given the caveat that if you did not acquire it by that time, you would die, what would you do differently? If it were a matter of life and death, how would you alter your approach? Would your sense of urgency increase? Would you ask for help? Would you ask a second time even if the person who could help you didn’t respond the first time? How would you manage your time differently? Would finding the time in a day to work on accomplishing the goal become a priority? Would you try harder? Would you keep working even though you couldn’t see results? Would you hope? Would you believe? Would you be worth it then?

You’re worth it now. Stop making excuses and start making a way. Work as if your life depends on it, for it is then that success will be inevitable.

The Future Awaits You

1962.  The inaugural season of the New York Mets.  1979.  The year Johan Santana was born.  As you may know, Johan Santana is currently a starting pitcher for the New York Mets.  Last month, he pitched a no-hitter.  Now, a no-hitter by any pitcher, in any ball club is a cause for celebration—but for the Mets, it was historical.  Why? Because it was the first time that any New York Mets pitcher had pitched a no-hitter in the history of the franchise.  Since 1962, no one had ever pitched a no-hitter.  If you’re trying to do the math, let me help…50 years.
Johan Santana was born in Venezuela, right before the start of the 18^th regular Major League Baseball season.  Throughout his childhood, the Mets started some notable pitchers.  None of them pitched a no-hitter for the Mets.  Growing up, Santana played center field.  After being discovered and entering the training academy in 1994, he was told he would be a pitcher.  He wasn’t happy about that decision, because he considered himself a center fielder.  That’s what he was good at.  That’s where he’d always played.  Reluctantly, he accepted the role.  Six years later, he pitched his first game, for the Minnesota Twins in April of 2000.  He didn’t make his way over to Shea Stadium to play for the Mets until 2008.  Still, a no-hitter had not been pitched there.  Santana sat out of the 2011 season due to surgery, and came back hoping that he would be able to make an impact during the 2012 season.  That he did.  On June 1, 2012, he went down as the first, and only, New York Mets pitcher to pitch a no-hitter.

Today, I want you to believe in yourself—your potential for greatness.  I want you to wrap your thoughts around the fact that on the day you were born, you began a journey towards your destiny.  You have skills, talents and abilities that many others have, but the future is waiting for YOU to make history.  Your destiny could be tied to something or someone in another city, state, or country.  Your destiny could be tied to an unrecognized talent, skill or ability.  The key is preparation.  Vince Lombardi once said, “The only place sucess comes before work is in the dictionary.”  Don’t expect for success to come knocking on your door…go out and find it.  Surround yourself with people who are experts at doing the very thing that you want to do.  Seek out advice and constructive feedback from them.  Be open to their suggestions about the direction of your career.  Work on your weaknesses—real and perceived and when opportunity presents itself, give it everything you’ve got.

No one can do it alone.  Johan Santana is the one who will be remembered for the no-hitter, but there were others who helped make it possible.  One teammate caught a fly ball, an umpire made a questionable call in favor of Santana, and the team manager kept him in the game when he seemed to be struggling.  Don’t worry, if you’re prepared and working your hardest, your help will come in various forms.  It’s not going to happen overnight.  There will be many highs and lows on your journey, don’t spend too much time lamenting the lows, and spend even less time celebrating the highs.  View all of these as rest stops en route to your destination.  Keep moving forward.  

Always believe that you have a greater purpose than the one you see or have imagined.  You do.  In fact, it is my belief that the future is waiting on YOU to make history.

An Attitude of Gratitude

Each day that we live, we choose how we will respond to situations that arise. From the trivial, to the grand, consciously and subconsciously, we send these responses into the universe—affecting our lives, and the lives of others both directly and indirectly. Often, unaware of our tendency to take things for granted, we fail to see the wonder around us.

From the time the alarm clock sounds, many of us begin complaining. “Uh, it’s too early to be up”. “I hate mornings.” “I’m not a morning person”. “It’s too hot/cold outside” “I don’t feel like going to work today”. “I hate my hair”. “I don’t like the way I look in this outfit”. “I hate this job”. “The people I work with get on my last nerve”. “I’ve got too much on my plate”. “I can’t wait for this day to be over”. “They don’t pay me enough for this”. “I hate my commute”. “These kids get on my nerves”. “There aren’t enough hours in a day”. “I don’t feel like cooking”. “I’m tired of eating the same things”. “I’m not happy”. “There’s nothing on cable”. …and then we go to bed, wake up, and do it all again.

I challenge you to start your day with an attitude of gratitude. When your alarm clock rings, and you wake up, I want you to be cognizant of the fact that there are some who won’t wake up. Every time we open our eyes, we are fortunate. When you’re fed up with your job, think about the many unemployed people desperately seeking the opportunity that you are taking for granted. Better yet, think about how happy you were to get the job in the first place. When you’re praying for a day or a week to be over, remember, tomorrow is not promised. Live in the moment. When you’re stuck in traffic, think about the people who will be involved in a car accident, and won’t make it home. When you can’t find anything to watch on television, remember, there are many people who don’t own a television. Consider yourself privileged. When you find yourself annoyed with the kids, think about the many people who want to start a family but have been unable to conceive. The next time you open your refrigerator, or reach into your cupboard/pantry for something to cook or eat, reflect for a moment, on the families that will go to bed hungry.

It’s very easy to lose site of our blessings—especially when we are faced with challenges. However, it is important to be grateful for the things that make up our individual life experience. Begin your day with intentional gratitude because there’s so much to be thankful for. There’s always someone who would prefer to deal with your “problems” than to face their own.

Two Kinds of Smart People...

Have you ever talked with someone who used every word in the dictionary to form a simple sentence—the kind of person who regurgitates his intellect and rolls around on the floor in it? You know the type...they look for every opportunity to broadcast their brilliance. The effort is deliberate and overbearing--even obnoxious. Quite frankly, it's disgusting. However, this person doesn't seem to have any idea of that. They are so caught up in making sure you see them in the way that they want to be seen, and don't even realize that they've rammed their genius down your throat. I've watched this type of person change the mood in a room. Most of the time I’m able to fight off the urge to call the person out on it (I've got quite the reputation for being brutally honest...matter-of-fact...direct), but, more than a few times, I've been the person who said what everyone else was thinking. You don't have to wear a "Brainpower" t-shirt or shout your I.Q. score through a megaphone in order to let people know that you're smart. In fact, you don't have to tell people anything, they can always figure out more about you by what you do than by what you say.


When Christine Romans of CNN asked Van Jones to share the best advice he had ever gotten, he told her what his dad had advised him just before he went off to law school:

"Listen, when you get there, you're going to see, there are two kinds of smart people. There are smart people that take very simple things and make them sound very complicated so they can enrich themselves, and there are people who take very complicated things and make them sound simple to empower other people. I want you to be that kind of smart kid when you come back home."

I absolutely love and live by that advice!

...and I'll admit, I get a real kick out of seeing the "smart" guys light bulb dim as he begins to realize that the "cut-ups" in the room are brighter than he could ever dream of being, but have chosen to leave their megaphones at home.

Learning to Forgive...the Hard Way

When you think about “forgiving” you probably immediately think of a person who has wronged you.  The idea of forgiving the person (or persons) may bring on feelings of guilt too—especially when the person wants your forgiveness, but you can’t seem to move beyond your indignation.  Sometimes trying to explain why you can’t forgive to someone else is even more difficult…because you actually have to hear how petty or illogical your rationale sounds.  In some cases, forgiveness is a challenge because of painful memories or scars (physical or mental).  These can be tough to overcome. 

We all struggle with the notion of forgiving, sometimes choosing to embrace it, other times deciding to dismiss it.  The decision is always personal—no one can make you forgive.  I am not writing to try and change that either.  However, I will share that I learned the importance of forgiving the hard way.  When I was a teenager, I lost my dearest friend in a car accident.  At the time I was not speaking to her because of something that was so irrelevant but seemed reason enough at the time.  When I received the news that she had been in a car accident, I pleaded with God to spare her life.  I begged for one more opportunity to tell her that I loved her.  I never got that opportunity.  I was devastated.  You see, it had never occurred to me that we wouldn’t have the chance to make amends.  We were 18…we had so many years ahead of us.  That’s what I thought, but I was wrong. 

As a result of that experience, I have always asked myself an important question whenever the issue of forgiveness is on the table.  I reflect on the person who I am upset with and I ask myself this:  If something were to happen that resulted in the death of this person, would it matter to me?  Would I wish that I had handled the situation differently?  If I can’t say “No” then I have to let it go.  Whatever you decide to do, make sure that you can live with the decision because pleading, begging, and bargaining with God will not turn back the hands of time.

Trayvon Martin was My Son

I am saddened by the death of Trayvon Martin and sickened by the circumstances that led to his death, and the handling of the case. At this point, I don’t find it necessary to write all of the details because his name alone has become a household word. Although his death was clearly racially motivated in the very least, it seems to me that it was a calculated and sinister execution. The coward that killed him should have been arrested that very night, or maybe I’m confused because my experience with law enforcement has always been viewed through the eyes of a black woman. In my experience, black men have always been arrested first, and then the details are sorted out. In my experience, young black boys are harassed, frisked, and questioned without parental consent. In my experience, young black men are killed and authorities try and find evidence that the deceased was a problem child with poor character, and a history of some form of delinquency. In my experience, many young black boys have been arrested, beaten, and charged with misdemeanor offenses like disorderly conduct, for denying an officer the opportunity to search them without probable cause.
As a result of these personal experiences, I grew more concerned about my son as he entered his teenage years. Of course, all parents worry about their children, but for minority parents, teaching our sons—and daughters about racial profiling by people and law enforcement is a rite of passage. I’m raising my sons in a suburban neighborhood—a gated community. They are intelligent, articulate, respectful, and personable. However, my oldest son is seventeen and stands nearly 6’4 inches tall. Unfortunately, because of the color of his skin, in a hoodie, he fits the description of a criminal. He cannot congregate in front of the movie theatre with a group of black boys and laugh and crack jokes the way he can if he is out with his white friends. The behavior is viewed as obnoxious in the least and even menacing by some.
As a pre-teen, the neighborhood boys would play a game called “Manhunt”. This is a game that has to be played outdoors and in the dark. I don’t remember all of the details of the game, but from his description, it sounds like “Hide and Go Seek”. When he ran anxiously into the house for a flashlight to look for his friends and explained the game, I told him he could not play. He couldn’t understand why and thought that I was overreacting. I recall him being very upset. It didn’t matter. The rule still applied. I knew that we were new to the neighborhood, and one of only three black families living here. I was not willing to take the chance that people would see my son hiding in the bushes and have an initial thought of him being an innocent kid playing a game. He didn’t understand it then, but he does now.
Prior to him getting his car, we described what he should do if he was stopped by a police officer. Part of this dialogue that nearly every minority parent has with their kids—no matter their social or economic status, included: Keep both hands on the steering wheel, answer every question politely, don’t make any sudden movements, if asked to get out of the car or for permission to search the car, ask if you can contact your parents because you are a minor and may need an attorney. However, if all of this is disregarded and you are taken out of the car, do not resist. If they ask you to sit on the curb, sit on the curb. If they ask you to lie face down on the pavement without probable cause, lie face down on the pavement. It’s better to be arrested than to be killed. My son knows those rules like he knows his name. Sadly, for the rest of his life, those rules could be the difference between life and death for him.
Trayvon Martin was my son. Trayvon Martin was your son. What can we do differently to ensure that young black boys have a fair chance at living? That is certainly not too much to ask. No one should die because of the color of their skin. Regardless of the color of your skin, it is my hope that you can either relate to, or understand this plight. I hope that it sickens and outrages you to the point of action. I hope it moves you to do something. It really is up to us. Lady Justice is supposed to be blind, but I hate to say it, she’s cheating. She has managed to slip that blindfold just below her eyelid and we have got to put it back in place and tie it tighter. Would you join me in signing the petition for justice on behalf of Trayvon Martin? We are the change, and together we can make a difference. Go to www.change.org and sign the petition.

Black History Month...Big Deal. (Reposted from last year by request)

Twenty-eight days. I guess the fact that I’m not impressed makes me ungrateful. Well, I’m still not impressed. Each year during the month of February, kids in schools across America get to hear about Martin Luther King Jr., George Washington Carver, Harriet Tubman, Garrett Morgan and Jackie Robinson. Bulletin boards in schools across the nation are adorned with pictures, artwork, and biographical data in tribute to these and other black historical figures. African American communities host events to celebrate and corporate giants buy radio and television ads to show that they are culturally aware and committed to diversity. There are 365 days in a year and Black History gets 28 of them. Big deal. I sincerely believe that there was a time—many years ago, when acknowledging Black History for one month really meant something. I’m sure that when Carter G. Woodson started Negro History Week in 1926, he never envisioned that fifty years later, an entire month would be designated to commemorate the history of African Americans. I’m guessing that in 1976, African American parents were elated when their young children came home with a picture of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. or were assigned to write a book report on a famous African American person. In 1976, the recognition of Black History month was a sign that our country had taken a huge step in the right direction. The country as a whole had moved from blatant discrimination to tolerance. I’d like to think that in 1976, the parents of school aged children felt the same kind of pride that I felt when my kindergartener wore his Barack Obama t-shirt to school the day after the 2008 elections. For on that day, we were celebrating something unprecedented. We were celebrating the day that our nation—as a whole moved from mere tolerance to acceptance. Although “acceptance” still implies inferiority (since the person who accepts someone or something is bestowing approval or favor), it still felt like a major hurdle had been crossed. I think it’s time for our nation to embrace the notion of equality. I subscribe to that notion. If one is an American, he or she should be afforded the same opportunities and privileges as any other American. Carter G. Woodson started Negro History with the dual purpose of getting African Americans to take pride in their worth as a people and getting others to embrace African Americans history as an important part of American History. To achieve the latter, our history must be infused into the history of our country—making every day black history day. As a nation, we have to go beyond the mere shout outs and mentions. We have to shift from the ideal of pacifying a people with trivial acts of tolerance and acceptance and instead, employ the universal ideology that tolerance and acceptance are patronizing at best, and at worst, insulting to the intelligence of the rational man. I’m not suggesting that we do away with Black History Month, I’m suggesting we work harder at being inclusive and treating every American equally. When that happens, there would no longer be a need for the twenty-eight day garbage time, where second string citizens get to have their moment in the spotlight. Until then, Happy Black History Month. I’m still not impressed.

Change Can Be a Pain

A couple of weeks ago I went to my dentists’ office to pick up my “aligners”. Yep, I did it. After years of contemplating about whether or not to get my bottom teeth straightened out, I decided to get the invisible braces. It seemed like an easy fix—just wear the aligners for eight months to a year and voilà, a perfect smile. I sat in the chair and watched as he took the aligners out of the package that was customized for me. I opened my mouth as instructed so that the aligners could be fitted onto my teeth. I was not prepared for the “pressure” that I felt. My teeth and gums hurt so bad that I wanted to take the devices out immediately. He assured me that it would feel better in 48 hours. He explained that it would take about ten minutes to take the aligners out of my mouth by myself and encouraged me to be patient when I made my first attempt. He advised that I return to his office the following day if I was unable to remove the braces myself. I drove home trying to figure out what I had gotten myself into. That evening, I had to take the braces out in order to brush my teeth. The notion of “pressure” was no match for the pain that I felt. It felt as if I were pulling out my teeth without Novocain. I talked to myself throughout the process and finally they came out. I brushed my teeth gently and snapped the braces back into place. Again I felt a rush of pain. I took some ibuprofen and went straight to bed. Eating was not an option. The next day I was not interested in eating anything. To make matters worse, it was difficult to say certain words because of the braces. The only thing I could look forward to was the 48th hour. I developed a strategy of drinking Ensure for breakfast and lunch so that I only had to take the braces off to eat dinner. Two days later, still painful. Three days later, no better. It took about a week for me to finally get to the point where it was worth it to take the braces out to eat lunch, and about a week and a half for me to be able to make the “S” sound when I spoke. It’s been two weeks now, and I can take them out and put them in with little difficulty. I can eat and only experience mild soreness. Two weeks ago, I didn’t think that I’d ever eat again. Next week, it will be time for the new set of aligners—the next “phase” of my treatment plan. You see, every two to three weeks I will get a new set of “vice grips” and have to deal with the pressure of my teeth adjusting, shifting and correcting. I’m hearing from “survivors” that it gets easier to deal with over time. The lesson that I want to share with you is that change is never easy. In fact, change is uncomfortable. Change doesn’t feel good. Sometimes it’s even painful. Change can leave you feeling uncertain about your decision. You may even feel like retreating to your old method of operation—change has a way of making the old way seem easier. One of the most frustrating things about change is that it takes time. Real change doesn’t usually happen overnight. Progress is not easy to see either. It may happen so slowly that it doesn’t seem like it’s happening at all. It may not seem worth it. Change anyway. Ghandi said it best: “Become the change you want to see”. If there’s something that you want to fix, fix it. If there’s something you want to do, do it. If there’s something you need to stop, stop it. If there’s something you want to be, be it. If it’s important to you, commit to change even though it’s difficult. For after the rain comes the rainbow and after the pain comes the reward. I’m smiling through the pain and changing for the better all the while!