Lately I’ve been busy and unable to blog as much as I’d preferred. Actually, that’s not true. I just fibbed. I’ve not been any more busy than I normally am, and in fact some truly amazing, mind-boggling, (frightfully) wonderful, socially relevant, blog-worthy things have been happening in my life, the world and the lives of those around me. I’m certain I’ll be inspired to write about those things soon, but of late, I haven’t been moved to write, or at least write something new.
I realized today that I’m experiencing a bit of self-inflicted bloggers block. As thoughtful, inspiring and up-with-the-times as I try to be, often letting my personal commentary speak about my life personally and shedding light on public matters, I looked around the world, this country, my state of Alabama, even my own life and decided I didn’t want to talk about any of the things going on. Sometimes I just don’t feel like keeping up with the times in a way possibly expected. As a blogger, I’ve got to convince myself that that’s okay. Sometimes it’s okay to simply share what’s on my heart, whether it’s in line with things going on socially, legally, personally, politically or not. It’s okay not to be deep, inspiring, encouraging, transparent, practical or even sensible. Sometimes it’s good just to write. So I am.
What does that have to do with Whitney Houston? Glad you asked. I miss the music and inspiration of Whitney Houston. As a soon-to-be 43-year-old I now get how the droves of Elvis Presley fans fondly remember Elvis and all his imperfect glory through life and death. I get now, how my mother took it so extremely hard the day Marvin Gaye died as we were preparing to head off to school, and how the sweet scent of her White Diamond perfume lingered in my nose all day as I remembered her crying up against the chest of drawers at the sound of WATV’s Shelley the Playboy saying Marvin had been murdered. I get how the loyal allegiance of fans of Pac or Biggie remember where they were and what they were doing when they heard of the untimely and tragic passings of their musical icons. I get how some humans (healthily) affix their affections to those they’ve never known, but whose star power helped shine light on their lives, even in the midst of their utter humanity, and how, during the time leading to the anniversary of their passing that rollercoaster of emotions is revived again. I’m not speaking of the wacky, fanatical men and women who take their appreciation for a another’s gifts far too far. I speak of those who simply appreciate the impact a person’s life has had on their own life through a television, a movie screen, a booming system, on a field, from a ball court, a stage or in an upstairs room shared by a younger sister in Birmingham’s West End Manor as the sounds of I Wanna Dance With Somebody blast from a mini-boom box set to WENN-FM and being recorded simultaneously by a blossoming teen with a love for love, lipgloss, Member’s Only and neon. For me, Whitney Houston is that one.
This year, making the anniversary of Whitney Houston’s February 11th death even more poignant is the tragedy recently occurred in the life of her only daughter Bobbi Kristina. It feels like this year, similar to years I’ve lost personal loved ones, I’ve been made even more aware of the beauty of life, the often overbearing pressures of life and the fact that life makes no promises. I’ve been contemplating things like the importance of family (blood or otherwise), understanding the struggles of others, truly living, getting my business in order, celebrating people while they’re present, knowing when to operate in respect of the lives and privacy of others, and simply not being mean. No, those things don’t have anything to do with what might appear to be more newsworthy and pressing matters in the world around us, but they matter, at least to me. #RIPWhitney
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