A Picture is Worth One Word-The Tumbleweave

“Girl, your Snapchat stories are like Sex and the City! You’re out here enjoying life!”
The statement took me by surprise. I agree, some days my life does feel fun, lively, and full of random adventures-those days are Saturday and Sunday. Throughout the week, I am beat after work and if I’m not going to the gym, I’m going straight home. Although I’d like to, I do not make it out of my apartment every single weekend. Some days the energy is there, other days it isn’t.

Previously, I hadn’t given any thought to my social media presence or how other people perceive my life. I post what I find interesting. Sometimes it’s a book, other days it’s a park bench, or maybe it’s a Boomerang taking shots. My intention has never been to portray a life that is picturesque of all things single and fabulous. My life is a healthy balance of light and darkness. Although part of the comment was flattering, it bothered me because it wasn’t the first time I’d heard it. The thought that I’m potentially painting a portrait of a life that doesn’t exist unsettled me. After giving it some thought, my life is very much Sex and the City-just not in the way that she meant it. She romanticized the idea of being young, corporate, single, and a having a bit of change to spare on the weekends. The truth is, my life IS like Sex and the City. A few moments of fabulous that are mostly buried under the typical woes every woman endures. I have great friends, great (cheap) wine, and greater troubles that tend to make pretty good stories. After that day, I wanted to show transparency in my posts, while making an effort to maintain the intimate details of my life. You know, gotta keep it Beyoncé.

I shared this story on Facebook that is pretty reminiscent of how most of my life’s events turnout: The Tumbleweave

Chilling on the beach the day before tragedy struck.

I keep seeing videos of women and their wigs flying off. Let me tell you something…it happens a lot easier than one would think.

Gather around, kids. It’s time for a story. Last year, I vacationed in Freeport and if any portion of my life has whispered, “Carrie Bradshaw,” it was this trip. My days were soaked with rum-filled coconuts and random dates near the sea, drooling over English accents one day and smooth Bahamian tones the next(another story for another day).

In preparation for my trip, I decided I wanted to be Beyoncé on the beach. I needed big hair that would whip and blow through the wind. One minor issue, I have locs and at the time they weren’t very long. Which was fine, but it wasn’t the look I was going for. Have you ever seen Beyoncé with locs? NO! I bought a beautiful caramel colored unit with blonde highlights. It was fabulous, I was bad, I was fine, I came to slay. Anyway. Tiffany and I spent our day in the Atlantic, we were having a blast! Soaking up sun and finding out the hard way that black girls sunburn, too. #allskinburns I didn’t even know it was sunburn until I returned to work and all of my white coworkers told me. I was like, “Whet? If there were any moment where I thought black privilege existed, this was it. Melanin, how could you…betray me?” They also let me in on all of the secret treatments, I was thankful.

Here’s where things go left. Tiffany can’t swim, I can. I thought this was the perfect opportunity to showcase my backstroke I’d been working on since age 6. Granddaddy worked hard to make sure I could survive in water. This was my moment to demonstrate my survival skills. I took a breath and let the sea consume me. Little did I know, the ocean had bigger plans, embarrassing plans! When I came up for a breath, my head felt light, empty. I felt like Cailou. I brushed the saltwater from my eyes and looked over to my right at Tiffany as she screamed, “GIRL, YOUR WIG!” I lifted my hands and patted my head, it was bare. To the left, my Beyoncé Tresses were being kidnapped by the waves! Up and down my wig floated as the ocean carried it further away. Much like a tumbleweed, every time I blinked, it drifted further. I wanted to die! The waves crashed against me as I tread them with my Cleo “Set it Off” braids.

Finally, I captured the tumbleweave, dove underwater, and adjusted my wig in private.

Once I returned to my hotel room, I packed Beyoncé in my suit case and decided Lauryn Hill would be the best choice for the rest of my trip. In the words of the great George Dubya, “There’s an old saying in Tennessee — I know it’s in Texas, probably in Tennessee — that says, fool me once, shame on — shame on you. Fool me — you can’t get fooled again!”

I’ve been humble ever since.

THIS is why you can’t trust people and their photos.