#ABetterYouIsABetterMe

  R ecently, I asked someone on an elevator, “How are you doing?” And one hour-ten minutes, and several people on and off the elevator later—I was standing outside the elevators listening to this stranger tell me, literally, how they were doing… from buying a new home, finishing a degree program, still enjoying the honeymoon season of their very new marriage—all while caring for ailing parents. And I remember thinking, “Next time be sure that you really want to know the answer in the event someone actually decides to answer you.” Especially on an elevator. Better yet…say, “hello” and keep it moving.  I asked—they answered. However, I ask the same question of the people that I know, love, support, fellowship, even break-bread with and I get responses ranging from, “Good, great, okay, no complaints, and the platitudinous ,  blessed and favored!” Which seemingly coincides with the visible realities of their lives. So no need to pry any further. But, lately, in various insta...

                 Image:  Brian Snelson/Flickr C an we normalize that lounging around in your pjs during the weekend, sitting at the local cafe drinking your favorite brew, reading a meaningful book, repotting your plants, enjoying being in the homes, on the decks, and patios that most of us work hard to afford as noteworthy? Can we normalize the response to what did you do the weekend not making us feel inadequate because we didn’t go bungie jumping, parasailing, jet setting —or exploring a new geographical location?   I usually ask one of my closest friends, “What are you up to today?” And she almost always says, “Nothing (much or significant).” Inevitably as the conversation progresses she tells me how she just finished cleaning the house—how good a new candle smells that’s burning, how she is finishing up her food prep before leaving out for the gym, how she just bought a new bed comforter (linens) that make her feel good, e...

  T here was a game called, “Cry Uncle.” The concept of “crying uncle” was meant to admit defeat, or begging for mercy. Personally, I loathe the game because I found it to be a form of bullying to force someone into submission. Hold that thought.  I recall a time, many years ago,  when my brother called out for our mom. He was in a certain location in close proximity to where our mother would be alive (lived) last. But she had long been deceased when this happened. So it felt a tad eerie; him beckoning for her. That said, because he was under the influence of substance at the time—his cry was relegated to him being in an induced state of mind. But it hit me differently—I “felt” it was something deeper—but it was just a “feeling.”  I had nothing to substantiate what it was—other than it warranting sadness for him—sadness for us.  Now fast forward many years later— tons of research papers and degrees later; I know something that I didn’t know or understand back th...

T his   Monday morning—the 22nd of June 2026, I am grateful. I awakened this morning, in my own bed, feeling as if I had dreamt the last 24-48 hours because surely there was no way all of the people I interacted, connected and talked with could have happened in real time. There is no way that I could have physically traveled from my home  in Maryland, to Georgia and back in the time that it takes me to drive from home to Dover, Delaware and experience the magnitude of magnificence that was my weekend. D uring this ”time-travel” I met, interacted, and had full blown conversations with once strangers who are now in my contacts. People that asked me about myself and I, in exchange, learned who they were. We talked about our experiences, aspirations, challenges, and things that made us happy and proud. I met aspiring, and actual authors, and exchanged ideas and resources. I stopped into a diner for a bite to eat where I had the good pleasure of meeting (sitting alongside) an airpl...