I take the same bus every day to my 8 a.m. class. I like getting there early, so I’m used to the bus being nearly empty. However, another quiet, well-dressed gentleman is always on it with me as well. We’ve never introduced ourselves, but I can always depend on this familiar stranger to accompany me on my early morning ride.  

On this particular day, we were joined by a third man- a man clearly beaten down, dirty, and anxious by the way he was fidgeting with his hands. He had cloth wrapped around his hands, mouth, and feet, and he was toting around a small plastic bag that evidently held all of his possessions. He avoided eye contact by staring at the ground.

I immediately felt the burning need to pray for this man. I did so silently, asking that the Lord would bring this man the right opportunities and would bless him in ways that would show him how much He loved him. But that wasn’t enough. I felt as if I needed to get up, go sit next to him, and pray for him personally. It seemed like such an easy thing to do to show this man that he was loved.

But I was scared. I sat quietly, internally struggling between this consuming fear and the Lord’s undeniable, steady push.

But then, amidst all of this, as if to show me what He is capable of, God allowed me to witness something so simple but so extraordinary. The same quiet man that’s always on the bus with me, leaned over to the third man and spoke softly to him. He offered him his shoes.   “Hey I know this isn’t much, but if you want my shoes, they are all yours.”

In 30-degree weather, this man leaned down, removed his own shoes, and handed them over to someone who had nothing but dirty cloth wrapped around his feet. The recipient was speechless. I could see the shock in his eyes and hear him mumbling thank you over and over as he laced the nice leather shoes onto his own feet.

While I struggled to muster up the simple courage to pray for a stranger, this man gave away his own belongings without hesitation. God revealed to me that He is constantly working in different people’s lives, all at the same time. He reminded me that He loves His children unconditionally, and will always take care of each of us. With one simple event, I was able to witness a fraction of His incredible power.

And that was it. We all three got off at the bus stop and walked away in different directions. But to my right went a man in just socks, and to my left went a man with a new pair of shoes.

“PLEASE READ.” Simple, straightforward, and sharp, these words seem so insignificant. Yet, they completely changed MY outlook on life and my hope is that they can change YOURS.

When I was 16 I attended a leadership conference where I was told to write down a goal and mine was that I wanted to be a journalist. But then they threw me a loop by telling me to plan out all of the things I would be doing THAT VERY MONTH to get closer to achieving that goal. I was baffled.

When you’re an adult, I thought, that is when you chase your dreams.

When you’re an adult, that is when you do big things. Most importantly, when you’re an adult, that is when you can become a journalist. But after that workshop, I was INSPIRED. I went online and found the e-mail addresses of newspaper editors throughout the nation and sent them all a desperate e-mail labeled “PLEASE READ’’ in capital letters, begging for any opportunity available. Yet, many replied only to tell me how it was “oh so cute” that I had reached out and to contact them again when I was older.

Others did not reply at all. As you can imagine, I was beginning to feel deflated. I was a popped balloon, all of my hope leaking from my body, floating away into an abyss that we call space. I thought I had no chance. I could feel my dream slipping from my grasp, and I didn’t know what I could possibly do to keep my hold on it. But just as I was reaching the ultimate despair, I received an e-mail from an editor at the Philadelphia Inquirer.

Her response was simple. “I like your sass,” she said. “Send me your stuff.”

So I did. And to summarize, I began writing for the newspaper in my home city, with some of my articles even appearing on the front page of their respective sections. But that’s enough about me. That is not the point of this conversation. The real point of this conversation is that we need to begin taking control of our lives and destinies every single day, and this is so important now as college students.

If there’s a class you want to take but don’t have the prerequisites, e-mail the teacher, meet with the department, and do your best to secure your spot. If there’s a guy or girl that you’re into, talk to them, get their number, and ask them out.

Stop waiting for something to happen and go MAKE it happen. The example I always give to my friend is to imagine that you are in line at Starbucks. People might be able to assume that you’re waiting for coffee, but until you actually get the courage to go up that counter and ASK for some, there won’t be ANY coffee in YOUR hands. So take a chance and be bold, because sometime’s that’s as simple as merely sending an e-mail labeled “PLEASE READ.”

Jessica is also part of a phenomenal organization all AIESEC. In conjunction with our partnership with their organization, please see their blog here!

There’s a huge misconception these days with us millennials. The problem is that all of us seem to think that our generation has such a strong entrepreneurial movement. In reality, what I believe, is that every generation has always had that same drive to change the world, it is just our human nature to want to make a difference.

But, our generation stands out more because we talk about it more. What I mean is that everyone always TALKS about the big things they want to do, but they don’t have the corresponding actions that are as big as their words.

There seems to be a gap between the people who talk all the time about it, and the people who end up doing what they said they did. In saying this I am not writing to discourage any of the readers from pursuing whatever dreams they may have, but rather encourage you to DO what you freaking want to do.

Here is what discourages a lot of people and stops them from making it. ITS NOT AS EASY AS IT SOUNDS. It is just so common to say that someone wants to start their own business and “fire their boss.”

People say that building your dream business is not an elevator, but it’s a staircase. I FULLY DISAGREE. Staircases are harder, but they are ALWAYS going upward. The journey to success is far from a straight path. So let me summarize what my journey has looked like so far and I hope it will give you the inspiration to push past whatever hardships you think you’re going through and understand that it is all worth it.

It all began 5 years ago, I was sitting with my father and we discussed what, at the time, I thought was a terrible idea. I thought this in the back of my head but at the same time, I was able to look past that and picture what this small idea COULD become. It was an idea to somehow change the world, from a driving perspective. We wanted to leave a dent in the world and reduce driving accidents everywhere.

Our family had someone close lose his life to a dangerous driver and my father was determined to stop this from happening to any other family if he could. If anyone has lost someone to a car accident, you will understand the value of saving even ONE MORE life a year can have to hundreds of people. It began with a town in Lebanon.

We constructed an outdoor city where we tried our best to introduce driving rules and safety to kids at a young age. I thought “Why would a child want to drive by the rules when they could just drive recklessly?”

It was great at first, business was booming and all we saw was a taste of the success we dreamed of it creating.

Then the next year came around, and we got a taste of what it is like to lose it all. Slow days became slow weeks and then became slow months. Business became the nightmare that everyone wants to quit on. Employee theft occurred, customer ratings dropped, and obviously the revenue took a bigger hit then even Ray Rice could dish out. Too soon? Yeah my bad.
The next 4 years looked something like this:

• Spend money
• Lose money
• Find investors
• Lose investors
• Spend more money
• Lose even more money
• Want to quit
• Still want to quit
• Don’t quit
• REPEAT

We attended every expo for the industry. Spend countless amounts of hours and money on trips to Dubai, Europe, California, the Middle East, China, and Cali. All these trips were not for fun, and not one dollar came out of them, but to say the least a lot went in. Banks accounts looked low and it all looked like a waste of time. We were trying to bring the idea to America, but we didn’t have the money, especially now, or the selling point.

JUST as it seemed like it was time to give up, my partner told me that it was too far to give up on this dream, so we pushed…another 6 months. And just as it looked like it was the end, it all fell through in a matter of a week.

Investors starting blowing up our email accounts asking to be the first and we suddenly went from not enough to too much. So the first location opened up in July 2014 in Norcross, Ga. The dream has been finally manifested into a tangible reality. After all this leading up to this point, we had JUST started.

It took all this to make the business just OPEN. Fortunately in the first 6 months we have been awarded the best business by the City of Norcross. Something I learned on this journey is that If you have 6 hours to chop a tree down, it’s a lot smarter to sharpen your axe for most the time then cut then just start cutting.

Many people have an “idea” of where they want to be, but they don’t have the goal in mind. Imagine you start a road trip in GA. And you have no idea where you want to go, it would take you forever to finally get where you want to. You would have no idea what turns to take. Then compare that to a road trip where you began in GA and you know you want to get to Las Vegas. This time, even without a map, you will know which turns to take.

Every time to roads change, you’ll know exactly where to turn because you have visualized the destination.

This is how success operates. If you do not know what you want, you WILL NEVER GET IT. The business world is the fairest playing field. If you do not make a goal, you will never score. So I encourage you to make that goal, although it may change along the way. Time will change and your goal will do so with it, but running stray and hoping to live financially free one day is like being blindfolded and trying to drive somewhere.

One last thing before I end this article. If you have an idea for a business that you want to make. GO MAKE IT. DO WHATEVER YOU CAN DO TO MAKE IT HAPPEN. Your mom, dad, friends, or you tell you its stupid then work twice as hard and prove them wrong.

If YOU think it is a good idea then I guarantee you there are plenty of people, out of the 7+ billion, that think its an amazing idea as well and are willing to be your customers. Just understand it isn’t a staircase, it isn’t an elevator, it isn’t a mountain climb. It is its own game.

And just when you think its not going to happen it does. So just like in sports or in the gym, when you want to give up, give yourself just as much time as you already have given to keep going. AND YOU MUST BE OBSESSED WITH IT. Because it will drive you crazy and if you don’t love it it will fail. IF YOU ARE OBSESSED, you will love the sleepless nights, you will love working 30 hours straight, and you will love every second of time spent.

So find what it is that makes you feel this way and create it, because you only have so many years to change this world. Start now and dent this planet in your own way. Who cares what others think, because once its done, everyone will be inspired by you and that in itself is enough to spark a change in this world.

I hated writing.  If you told me growing up that I’d be doing it for fun after college, I absolutely would have rolled my eyes!  Writing was a chore. 

But…in my third-year-writing class, I completed a 20-page research paper on looping and tracking in education (one of my nerdy passions), and I realized how much fun I had while researching and writing it!

I thought, “If I had this much fun writing in academia, there’s gotta be something for me in writing on an emotional and spiritual level,” whether it was public or private.

In elementary school, I had a diary that chronicled boys I liked and the dramas of gel pens; but since coming to college, journaling became a huge part of bible study, rants and raves, and personal exploration.

The joy I discovered in finding myself through writing became something difficult to put into words.  The deepest, introverted pieces of me can cause me to get way too caught up in my head, so writing became a safe place to reflect and respond to my self discoveries and struggles. Post diary days, I moved more toward quiet and sweet meditations from Rumi and reflections on Maya Angelou’s poetry and stories.  (*Highest recommendations for “Home” by M.A. and “The Essential Rumi” by Coleman Marks if you have yet to explore them!)

After being diagnosed with depression in November of 2014, my identity officially crumbled.  It felt like it had been falling apart, piece by piece for many months by then, but I was exhausting myself by forcing them to fall gracefully so I could pick them up by myself without anyone noticing.

I had been shoving them into my over-filled backpack of emotions and shame and guilt and sadness for so long that finally.  In the small, dimly lit room, I sat with my counselor as she said the word out loud, associating it with me.

Depression. And my backpack burst.

The seams ripped, making it impossible to zip it back up, and all my emotions and fears of being unworthy and unlovable were laid out in from of me. Damnit.  It hurt.  I had to deal with it now.  I had to deal with the pain my family caused me.  I had to deal with the fact that finding my identity in my job and academics wasn’t available to me anymore.  And worst of all, I had to deal with the parts of me that I didn’t like and redirect my attention on the things that were actually wonderful about me, things that made me ‘me.’ And I knew I had to love all of that; but I had to re-learn how to love all of that.

Writing has been a way for me to stay sane in my brain while also getting out all of my thoughts and without having others’ thoughts to worry about.  I no longer let others dictate what I think about myself and the decisions I make.  I can use the tools I have received from blogs and counseling and mentors and even helping others through their own pain…I use these tools to remind myself that there is hope on the other side.  That my struggle right now is the hardest one I will ever face.  And the next will be too. Writing is now a companion, allowing me to love myself again.  I can read something I wrote and look at it like I’m helping a friend.

I can come to my own conclusions with fresh eyes, a fresh spirit, and a fresh page. P.S. Hope is always singing, “Hello from the other siiiiiiide!”

It’s 4 am. The sinews

in my legs are on fire and

my chest feels like it’s caving

in,

Like I’m being

pressed

to

Death.

Like I’m being interrogated

as a witch, when I know full well

that the witchcraft

doing this to me is coming

from somewhere buried deep within

and I don’t want to afflict

anyone else

with It.

It.

It.

It.

Why does It even begin?

The walls twist and spin, my heart races,

and my mind is the only thing

that outpaces it.

And   I.   Can’t.   Seem.   To.   Fucking.   Breathe.

My sick, slobbering, staccato mind wrings the muscles

in my abdomen, in my thorax,

in my gastrocnemii, (to put it medically)

while my vision wavers

and blurs.

I force myself to move, to stretch, to push

out anything deeper than the shallow breath held

in my lungs with each passing second.

I scroll through my instagram feed

searching for an escape.

Pretty landscapes, Pretty people,

Pretty.

Something prettier than this,

prettier than me.

Something whole or

Something that at least has the visage

of wholeness,

of put-togetherness,

because right now I feel

Broken.

This is new.

This poem is about my experiences dealing with Anxiety and Panic Attacks. They’re very new to me. Up until last semester, I had never had a panic attack, never felt what it was like to have crippling doubt about if I was normal, if this was normal, if I could control something like this. With the help of my friends, family, and the love of my life—my sweet and supportive girlfriend—I’ve been able to keep myself in a good place. Some days, it still hits me for no discernible reason. Some nights I wake up with cramps and attacks out of nowhere, like I described in this poem. I hope that by sharing my story, other people dealing with anxiety, especially those who are just finding out what it entails, can find comfort in knowing that someone else knows what they are going through. Anxiety doesn’t define you. There is always a way to combat your anxiety and you should never stop searching for what it is that makes you feel grounded and safe!

Thank you so much to Emily Covais, Dana Sauro, and Kyle Marchuk for your efforts in partnership with Active Minds Loyola, Maryland Chapter.

The tradition of weekly Wednesday night dinners in Athens evolved from my family. It all started in Calvary, Georgia. For as long as I can remember,  Family Night has been a weekly tradition of putting all work aside, relaxing, cooking amazing food, and gathering family together around the table.

My older cousins Bradley Jones, Chaz, and Emily Oliver originally got Family Night started in Athens when they first came to the University of Georgia. They began hosting weekly dinners and inviting their closest friends.

Eventually, the group grew to include boyfriends, girlfriends, roommates, neighbors, and friends of friends. It was also a great way of meeting new people because everyone was so welcoming. When I came up to Athens to attend UGA, I also joined and gained a whole new group of lifelong friends.

Although most of us weren’t related, we still considered ourselves a family. Food can do that to people.

Eventually, it became a much larger group of friends that came from the University of Georgia, North Georgia College, Athens Technical College, and even graduates that were still living around the Athens area.

Most of us have known each other for years, but meeting new people wasn’t uncommon and they usually returned and were welcomed back with open arms. On average, we had about 15-20 members attending Family Night every week.

We would take turns hosting and cooking dinners. It wasn’t a pizza take out kind of thing. We’re talking about home-cooked meals y’all. It was definitely a challenge cooking for such a large group of people, but time spent with “family” was well worth it and so was the food!

When these sorts of events happened, we went all out. All the family members prepared and brought their best home cooked meal for the feast. We even got really competitive on who could cook the best meals and celebrated special occasions such as Thanksgiving and Christmas.

Around Christmas, we would dress up in our tackiest attire and take a picture to send to our own families to put on the refrigerator.

Family night was a great way to drop everything and come together to keep in touch with friends and family when times got busy. It was the one-day of the week where we could just relax and catch up. If we didn’t have this once a week, I probably wouldn’t have even seen my family or closest friends as much as I did and that’s something I truly treasure.

If someone couldn’t attend, we made sure they were sent a take-home plate. Because let’s face it, everyone has to eat during a stressful test or project and there’s no better meal than a home-cooked one prepared with love from their “family.”

“Is it okay if I bring my dog?” The answer was always yes! After all, dogs are family too. They were brought over to enjoy company from the humans as well as other furry friends. Our pets weren’t left out of the scrumptious meals either. They were also served part of our feast or as my granddad, Big Daddy, used to say, “the crumbs under the table.”

Because most of us were college kids, we typically didn’t eat the best food. Eating out was our go-to because it was a quick and easy fix.

Family night was a way to have a good home-cooked meal at least once a week and reunite with our friends. It is one of my best college memories.

Now that I’ve graduated, I plan to continue to carry on this tradition in Atlanta and wherever life takes me. Cooking is more than just about eating: it is something that ties people together.

It doesn’t get much better than gathering with friends and family, meeting new people, cooking great meals, making new memories, and passing on our beloved family tradition! Cheers!

I was born in Baton Rouge, Louisiana, during the turbulent Civil Rights Movement in 1968, the year which epitomized the era with the assassinations of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. and Bobby Kennedy. The Red Stick has always been a catalyst for change, even if she was often times an unintentional participate.

Peaceful protesters overshadowed by armed militants.

The Baton Rouge I grew up in is not the same that I see today. My childhood in Baton Rouge was idyllic in that it was filled with all the treasures that children hold dear.

We existed in a microcosm that afforded exposure to the arts, sports, culture, and a rich heritage because we grew up in the shadows of a historic black college.

So, when I think of Baton Rouge, I think of Southern University, Dixie cups, Tabby’s Blues Box, the Ann Theater, Tony’s Seafood, debutante balls, Mardi Gras, Park Vista, the Scotlandville Branch of the East Baton Rouge Public Library, Ethel’s Snack Shack, teacakes, football, Ryan Elementary, family, and home.

To others it conjures up visions of Mike the Tiger, Highland Road, the LSU lakes, and all things south Baton Rouge.

Yet, I have always known that Baton Rouge, despite her greatness and location at the mouth of the mighty Mississippi, has been a mistress of sorts because of NOLA.

My Baton Rouge has always been in the thick of things, even if unwittingly.

On June 19, 1953, the African-American residents of Baton Rouge launched a historic bus boycott because black people were forced to sit in the back of the bus, even when the front of the bus was empty. It became known as the 1953 Baton Rouge Bus Boycott.

The demands for black riders to ride in the front of the bus, but still refrain from sitting next to whites, was supported by the City Council initially and it led to the passing of Ordinance 222.

However, the all-white fleet of bus drivers refused to enforce the ordinance and it was later overturned after the drivers went on strike. The bus drivers’ strike lasted four days. The drivers returned to work after the ordinance was overturned and declared victory.

1953 Baton Rouge Bus Boycott

However, a local minister, Rev. T. J. Jemison, had a call to conscious and he helped organize the United Defense League and a boycott in a response to the decision to overturn the ordinance by the Louisiana Attorney General.

Residents met in four mass meetings and raised $6,000 in just two days. About 14,000 of residents refused to board the city’s buses and instead received rides in free taxis and in private cars. About 125 private cars were used in the boycott.

The boycott ended six days after it began with Ordinance 251.

Black riders filled the bus from the rear forward and whites filled the bus from the front to the back. Blacks and whites were still prohibited from sitting next to each other.

Two front seats were off-limits to black riders and only black riders could occupy the wide rear seat in the back of the bus. Blacks made up about 80 percent of the ridership, so the boycott had an economic impact on the city’s transportation system and on the broader Civil Rights Movement.

The fight for social justice in sleepy Baton Rouge in 1953, including the free car ride system that was implemented during bus boycott, served as a model for the internationally known 1955 Montgomery Bus Boycott.

This resulted in Browder v. Gayle, the U.S. District Court case on Montgomery and Alabama state bus segregation laws, which ultimately resulted in a U.S. Supreme Court decision declaring Alabama and Montgomery laws require segregated buses be unconstitutional.

The 1953 Baton Rouge Bus boycott also inspired residents to mobilize around other issues, such as securing the right to vote.

So, Baton Rouge is no novice to civil rights movements or protests. She has long shined the light on disturbing inequities by forcing others to explore racial disparities.

Victims, Leonard Brown and Denver Smith

As a college student at Southern University, Baton Rouge, in the ’80s, I was all too familiar with protesting and its often heartbreaking cost.

I still remember when – nearly 46 years ago – Denver Smith and Leonard Brown, two African-American students from my alma mater, were killed on campus by white sheriff deputies during a peaceful protest on November 16, 1972.

The two victims were taking part in a peaceful, unarmed protest by African-American students who gathered at the university’s administration building to protest against the administration officials and their policies. Protests were ongoing as students fought for a greater voice in school affairs and the resignation of certain administrators.

Several student protesters had been arrested the previous night, and the students who entered the administration building on November 16 sought their release.

State police and sheriff’s deputies entered the administration building with firearms and tear gas. When they left, two students, Denver Smith and Leonard Brown, lay dead.

Louisiana’s governor, Edwin Edwards, ordered the campus closed and declared a state of emergency for Baton Rouge, claiming that these “militant” students posed a threat.

National Guard troops and police wearing riot gear patrolled Southern University. The deputies denied shooting the young men.

Governor Edwards said the fatal shots might have accidentally come from the deputies’ guns, or might have come from any of several other sources: “It is obvious there are discrepancies and questions…In the heat of that kind of situation, even if someone accidentally took a buckshot shell out of his pocket, loaded it, and shot it, he would not be able to tell himself afterwards whether he had done it.”

Edwards ordered an investigation, but the shooter or shooters were never identified. The official report by State Attorney General William Guste determined that the shots came from a sheriff’s deputy but it could not prove which deputy fired the shot. Guste recommended that the District Attorney consider criminal prosecution after the investigating committee concluded no students had firearms, tear gas, grenades, or other weapons.

After over four decades, no one has been tried or convicted for the murder. The victims’ families tried to file several lawsuits, but they were unsuccessful. Lawyers in town would not talk to the families and those that did were run out of town.

Nevertheless, over 40 years later, the legacy of Smith and Brown continues to live on.

When the old Administration Building was destroyed in a fire in 1991, a memorial stone was placed on campus near the spot where the students were shot.

I can remember being terribly disappointed as a third grader to learn that former Governor Edwards had not done more for these victims.

It was especially troubling because as a St. Anthony Elementary School first grader, Edwards had selected me to read a book with him in the rotunda of the state capital and so I always had deep admiration and respect for him.

There was no justice for these students, but the Smith-Brown Memorial Union honors them. During my matriculation at the university, it’s now the gathering place for many students to challenge the administration and to speak out against injustice on campus and in our community.

So, civil unrest and protest is nothing new in Baton Rouge. Nor is she new to being a catalyst for change.

Baton Rouge offers a considerable number of economic strengths and assets. Baton Rouge is a major center for higher education. Southern University, Louisiana State University, Baton Rouge Community College, and multiple trade schools are all located in the City-Parish, graduating 5,000 to 7,000 students every year and providing a wider platform for research, innovation, and workforce development.

However, there is great socioeconomic disparity in Baton Rouge despite there not being much divide on the educational level.

These socioeconomic challenges include broader quality-of-life factors, such as concerns about public safety; the quality of the public K-12 school system; low air and water quality; a continuing population shift to the outlying parts of the Parish and other parishes; and acute economic and racial disparity within the City-Parish.

These factors have broader effects, both direct and indirect, on the economy of the City-Parish. For instance, local university graduates continue to seek employment opportunities and a better quality of life in other southern cities, such as Houston, Charlotte, and Atlanta.

Employers report difficulty in recruiting and retaining a qualified workforce, which affects the city’s ability to keep existing businesses and recruit new employers. In recent years, traffic congestion has moved toward the top of the list of challenges facing businesses and employees in Baton Rouge.

There is great economic disparity between the haves and have-nots in Baton Rouge that is not distinguished by color. There is poverty and affluence, educated and uneducated, and none of it has anything to do with color.

Poverty is real for many in Baton Rouge. Teachers, firefighters, and law enforcement are tremendously underpaid.

However, the problem in Baton Rouge is that the socioeconomically challenged have the same hard luck stories, whether white or black, and they cannot appreciate that their lives mirror each other.

Since I know the true story of Baton Rouge’s underbelly I cannot help but cringe and weep when I see recent images from my hometown. They are cringe-worthy images because what is at the root of Baton Rouge’s ailments is economics, not what is being told.

Even after discovering through life experiences that we are all more alike than not, some are reared to believe they are very different. That harsh reality for some is too raw, too real.

All of Baton Rouge, all of Louisiana, was hoodwinked by former Governor Bobby Jindal, but where was her protest then? Her shock, her anger, her commentary? It is also particularly frustrating that Mayor Holden has remained silent and opted to lobby in Washington for a project that offers little, if no, benefit to the community at large. Where is the leadership? How are they all absent in the wake of this?

I hope my final thoughts and prayers bring encouragement to Baton Rouge.

Early in my legal career, when I was General Counsel of the East Baton Rouge Parish Housing Authority, I worked closely with the Baton Rouge Police Department (BRPD) and my community-policing program was a success in controlling criminal activity, building trust, and rapport with tenants.

Properly training law enforcement officers to build ties with and work closely with members of their communities is critical if we want officers and citizens have a greater respect for each other.

July 9, 2016, a protester is grabbed by police officers after she refused to leave the motorway in front of the the Baton Rouge Police Department Headquarters.

I love Baton Rouge – she is home – so I am always hopeful. I know that it has always been a catalyst of change. Baton Rouge has encouraged change all around her.

However, just because some things are different does not mean anything has changed. Baton Rouge has largely remained the city of her troubled past and that saddens me.

Yet I know positive change is always possible where truth exists. Change is a necessary element of growth. If we change, we grow. If we do not change, we begin to stagnate and decay. That is the simple truth about change.

And we should all be reminded of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.’s 1963 “Letter from a Birmingham Jail” where he said, “Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.”

Therefore, my prayer for my hometown and communities everywhere is that they are bold, brave, courageous, and humble. I pray that they always remember to have empathy in your hearts. 

Cut cocaine with my cheekbones;

they’re too sharp for kissing,

And I’ll lay here in bed,

While drunken giggles chime on

Clawing the air apart with their caws,

Yes I’ll lay on.

Or I’ll float away,

Drifting and catching air,

Like a single strand

Of golden thread

Plucked from my head.

Fly on, netted by the arms

Of ozoned sky.

Do you remember

That time I found my sublime?

Tie dye faded with holes gnawed through,

Like worm bitten silk.

Light woke me,

Though the shades were tucked.

Jackhammers pounding on,

Yet my concrete-cratered slab of body

Just lay, rolled out,

Ready to trip.

Sheets shackled to ankles,

I touch my blistered fingers to the sky,

And the petals unpeel.

Uncorked (a sonnet)

Mystic makes me mourn,

Gut a clementine whole

And tear through its skin,

Juicy leather drilling

Into my canines, just to

Forget your glazy eyes.

At the station we say our last goodbyes

No second glance, for that, infinite scorn.

I never did turn my head enough for you,

You ran around, corralling me, net on a pole;

Cork hangs on wall, you’re primed for killing,

I was a speckled butterfly, pricked by your pin.

Bruises drip down left shin,

I hide amongst the waist-high ryes,

Peer through fuzzy heads, eyes filling

With rows of soldiers, neatly lined corn.

I pull an ear, shuck with teeth, spit in hole,

Yellow, green, brown, all coming up blue.

A leaf, a scratch, handfuls of soil, stir and brew

Rub the paste into your face, the butt of your chin.

The leaves of palm, shade of trees, comprise your stole,

Feet tanned as buck hide, goddess you lay out as clay dries

As earth cracks around you, you goddess, are reborn,

Naked and earthen, stallion mane unbraided and spilling.

At the water hole we hover over libations, milling,

Flipping hands, veiny as leaves, starting over, it’s true.

Avoiding eyes, fear of Medusa within, we sneak glances, forlorn,

I can’t help but think, this is the end of our story, finito, fin.

Metal scrapes tile, dental at best, and goddess, she cries,

She yips and hollers, dancing across my bed of coal.

She nays and whinnies, finally free in my soul,

Pulling the pins, she lets the insects fall or fly, if willing,

She savors the fruit’s juices drop by drop, a lip-smacking prize,

With violet eyes, she stares into mine, and I finally view

Myself, cut like glass, no donut glaze; no longer tin,

Frail and scraping, to be crumpled in the wind; I am born.

Because of you

I realized within

I will never be shorn.

Social media has been a great way to shine a light on the best Nashville, Tennessee has to offer…but it’s only #halfthestory.

Our Instagram account might make it seem like we are living the dream of eating, drinking, and exploring our way through Nashville everyday. And we certainly do plenty of that.

Yes, we do get invited to some pretty fabulous events and get hooked up with some great local products that we are so incredibly grateful for.

But what our account doesn’t show is us running around town getting pictures before work and during our lunch breaks, planning out posts at night, and answering daily emails everyday after work.

Our account does not show the countless hours of hard work (and tears) we’ve put into working on a very special project (announcement coming soon!) that will benefit local businesses and local non-profits.

Our future goals and dreams for @thenashvilleguide are so much more than the Instagram account we have today.

We dream big, so we get big results. And while we’ve come a long way, there’s always more room for improvement.

We hope our hard work will benefit the Nashville community in ways we never imagined.

All the work maintaining the account is so worth it. We are so grateful for you. Our account wouldn’t be what it is today and where it’s going in the future without each and every one of you. Thank you so much for being part of the community.

And we would like to give a big thank you to @halfthestory for letting us be a part of your campaign. We don’t often get to share the behind-the-scenes story people don’t see on social media. We support everything you are doing and the push for people to be more raw and authentic through social media. Please give @halfthestory (founded in Nashville!) a follow and be part of the journey.

I hear their voices.

Voices of the people who want the world to stay as it is—the people who have too much to lose

if things change.

They say to stay quiet.

They say to keep my mouth shut.

They say to silence my voice.

They say to push down my emotions so I can stay level-headed.

They say not to rock the boat.

They say not to say anything that will cause disagreement.

They want me to conform.

They want us to conform.

I hear other voices.

Voices of the people who are losing their lives.

They say they are terrified to make one wrong movement.

They say that “freedom” doesn’t feel so free.

They say they are trapped in a system that isn’t fair.

They say they just want equality.

They say they want the same opportunities I have.

They say people are scared of them.

They say they are misunderstood.

They say they are tired of people walking on the other side of the street at night because of their

skin color.

They say they are tired of not getting a fair trial in court.

They say they are tired of dying.

They say they are tired of crying themselves to sleep at night when they mourn for their brothers

and sisters.

They say they are tired of being punished for doing the only thing they know how to do in order

to put food on the table for their family.

They say they can’t help it.

So they say they want me to help.

They want us to help.

I hear another voice.

It’s the voice coming from deep within my soul.

He says to love people.

He says to care about other people before I care about myself.

He says to encourage my black brothers and sisters.

He says I should make sure they know I love them.

He says I should do what I can to help.

He says I should mourn with them.

He says I should comfort them.

He says I should listen to them.

He says I should pray for them.

He says I should pray with them.

He says I have a lot to learn from them.

He says to see the world in through their eyes before making any judgments.

He says to make friends with people who have different situations than I do.

He says that I should do more than rock the boat—he says I should sink it.

He wants me to move. He wants us to move.

There’s one voice I haven’t heard, though.

It’s my voice.

I haven’t said anything at all.

But that changes today.

In the past, I didn’t understand all the hype around the Black Lives Matter movement. So, I chose to stay silent on it. I would think things like: Yes, I want everyone to be equal, but we have equality already. They need to realize that none of these things would be happening if they would just obey the laws (the list could go on and on).

As I became friends with some incredible people who are affected daily by fear, hatred, and stereotyping, however, my eyes were opened to the inequality we are still battling today.

These people led me to understand that things are not equal just because we supposedly play by the same rules.

They led me to believe that something has to be changed so people don’t have to break the law just to get by.

One time, I was driving through Atlanta with my friend a few weeks back. We were on the way to our church to play basketball. My friend has a heart of gold, but he is a teenaged, black male with an athletic build. The clothes he wears represent the culture he grew up in. Honestly, people look at his neighborhood—which he didn’t get to choose to live in—he doesn’t get a chance to show his heart before he is judged.

Anyways, he told me that he had recently spent a night in jail because he was having an altercation with his brother outside of their house. I listened to him tell me about this altercation and I couldn’t help but notice that it didn’t sound any different than fights I had with my brother when I was in high school. Nevertheless, somebody driving by saw the brotherly wrestling match taking place and called the police. When the police arrived, my friend and his brother were done fighting.

Now, I don’t want to say that the police had ill-intentions or are intentionally racist.

I don’t think there any many officers who do have ill-intentions. This is not an attack on them. However, there is a deeper problem in our society: We have a scale that measures how violent, harmful, or dangerous someone is…and we use skin color as the main variable. So, they assumed that my friend was dangerous. When they approached him to talk about the altercation, he tried to explain the story and say that it was resolved. But, the police took his explanation as some sort of resistance. They then violently threw him on the ground as they arrested him. He was arrested on the charges of domestic violence and resisting arrest.

Then, he had to get bail bonds to be able to get out of jail. Basically, he was thrown, arrested, charged, and forced into debt for something I would have got a slap on the wrist for. That dude looked at me that day with tears in his eyes and said, “Man, I swear it felt like they were trying to bring back slavery or something.” At that moment I realized that I couldn’t possibly understand what that was like. If I had a tussle with my brother like that, my parents would have handled the situation after things died down. I speak up now. Something has to change.

I work with a black girl who has become one of the most influential voices in my life lately. In a few short months, she has taught me more about loving people and praying for them than I could have ever known. As we were sitting in the office last week, she read an article about the KKK being allowed to adopt a highway in south Georgia. The article goes on to talk about the organization’s plans to make a comeback after 150 years from the time it was founded.

When I read that, I get angry.

I want to know what in the world those people are thinking; and then I put it down and don’t think about it anymore. That is not the case for people who are directly affected by that, though. I will never be able to forget the moment when my heart fell to the floor as I watched my friend cry.

I will never be able to forget the loss of words I had as I attempted to pray over her. I will never be able to forget the realization I had in that moment—the realization that I would never be able to understand the pain and the heartache that the inequality we still have today brings into the lives of my black brothers and sisters.

So I speak up now: something has to change.

I could provide story after story and example after example. I could tell you about the kids I work with who are absolutely incredible, but will never have the same experience and opportunities as white kids unless something changes. I could tell you about the high school students I work with who are affected every single day by all of the stuff going on.

They feel like they are trying to be seen, but are invisible because people who don’t understand are too busy looking at themselves.

They feel like they are trying to be heard, but their voices are being dismissed because of the very thing they are speaking up against. People tell them that their opinions are irrelevant. It’s like a soccer player who knows nothing about baseball trying to tell a baseball player that his opinions about the unfair umpire are irrelevant or stupid—it just doesn’t make sense.

So I speak up now: something has to change.

If you have ever played monopoly, you know that it can be fun for some people. For others, monopoly

can be one of the longest and most frustrating games ever. One time, I decided to join my

friends in a monopoly game they had already started. Places were already bought and occupied,

and there was only a little bit of money the bank could afford to dish out to me. So, I started playing

without much of a chance. I could basically land on someone else’s spot and have to pay or

the “Go to Jail” spot. Now, nobody would say that I ever had a fair shot.

I think our environment is a lot like that.

White people, like myself, have been playing the game since the late 1700’s.

We played the game for over 150 years, then, people wanted to join. So, after

we tried to be the playground bully who won’t let anyone else into his clique, we reluctantly

allowed black people to play. We told them that they have the same rules as us and are allowed

to do the same things we are allowed to do and we called that equality. Unfortunately, the only

places they had left to land on were places where they had to pay, take the back seat, or go to

jail. That doesn’t sound very equal to me.

If you want another illustration as you wrestle through what it may feel like for someone else,

Here is a video that illustrates this point in a slightly different way. It is incredible.

So What Can I Do?

Listen. Learn. Love.  No matter what you do in life, if you can do these three things before anything

else, you are much more likely to understand, make rational judgement, and make a difference

with what you say.

Speak up.  If you are a silent supporter, know that we need your voice. We need the voice of people

who are not personally affected by these things. For example, I could physically go on living

comfortably no matter what happens with this issue in our world, but I speak up because I am

willing to give up my privilege if that is what it takes. I realize that there are people who wouldn’t

claim to be followers of Jesus reading this article, but I do want to point out that Jesus told us that

life is found when we consider others more highly than ourselves. So let’s do that! Instead of

fighting for what we personally want, let’s be willing to fight for the things others need—even if it

means we have something to lose.

Be willing to lose something for the sake of other people having the opportunity to be valued as they should be.

Speak up. The world needs to hear that you

care for justice and mercy. The people who are being hurt need to hear that you are with them

and see that you are willing to stand with them no matter what other people think.

Speak Up!

I would like to say that I would have spoken up in the 1800’s when slavery was being abolished.

I would like to say that I would have stood with my black brothers and sisters in the 1950’s during

the Civil Rights Movement.

I fail to realize that it wasn’t the popular thing to do as a white person.

People who had something to lose would have called me crazy for doing those things in that

time.

Nothing has changed.

History is being written as we speak, and I refuse to look back in 50

years and tell my children that I didn’t do something to help move the world forward.

I refuse to have to tell my children that I was silent while my friends were living in fear, grief, and pain. So I

speak up—and you should too.

Tell people who they are.

This one may seem a little weird, but people tend to become who they

hear they are. If someone hears constantly that they were born to lead, they will be leaders. If

someone is told they were a mistake, they will most likely live like they are a mistake.

Peoples’ identity often get bound up in the things others say to them or about them. Let’s stop telling people

that they are uneducated and ignorant so we can start telling people that they are smart,

loved, wonderful, beautiful, and Children of the Creator of the Universe.

Bring Peace.

All the people who have helped move our world forward have done something that

disrupts the status quo. All the people we celebrate as heroes today, were revolutionaries yesterday.

Think about it.

MLK was shot.

Lincoln was assassinated.

Jesus Christ was hung on

a roman death trap.

Each of these people were considered revolutionaries back then, but are heroes

today. So, let’s rebel. Let’s rebel peacefully and joyfully. Let’s speak up for justice, mercy,

equality, and love. Then, lets commit to loving the haters so much that they can hardly disagree

with us any longer.

Let’s commit to going out of our way to help the haters so they can’t bring any

real evidence against our case for justice, mercy, equality, and love.

So let’s rebel. Let’s speak up.

Let’s stand up. But, let’s remember why we are fighting and rebelling in the first place:

Love for

others.

Make one difference.  Just bring joy into someone’s life by investing in them and helping them out

of a possible situation. It is not our job to change it all, but it is our job to change what we can

and inspire others to do the same thing.

I hear their voices.

They say not to speak up.

It’s not that they are bad people.

They just don’t want life to change for them.

Change is scary.

So, they don’t try to understand.

They say to keep quiet.

I hear their voices.

They are longing for justice, equality, peace, and love.

They can’t help their situation.

They say they don’t have it like I have it.

They say that nobody understands.

They say to speak up

I hear the voice in my soul.

He is hurting for others.

He is causing me to weep when I watch a video of a real, human life being taken.

He is telling me to be willing to give up some of my privileges so that other people can have

them.

He is telling me that the only real love in the world happens when we are willing to lay down

our lives for our brothers and sisters.

And now…now I can finally hear my own voice.

I am shouting to the world that I am not going to be silent any more.

I am shouting to my black brothers and sisters that I am with them!

I am shouting that they are worth dying for.

I am shouting that I love them—that I am willing to lay down my pride, the opinions of my

friends and family, and even my life if it will make their lives better.

I am Silent No More.

My Recommended Resource:

Just Mercy: A Story of Justice and Redemption

Just Mercy all at once is a riveting personal narrative gifted young lawyer brimming with idealism, places you directly in the shoes of his defendants, and is an inspirational perspective on the fight and the pursuit of, not “justice”, but true justice

As a young lawyer, Bryan Stevenson founded the Equal Justice Initiative, which placed defending those most desperate in need its utmost priority, from the poor to the wrongly condemned.

It unfortunately shows how our current system ends up leading towards the impoverished people receiving the majority of punishment in our country, which passionately supports the argument on the need for change in our criminal justice system.

An argument so very fitting in our current societal state of affairs