For the last few years, I’ve taken an annual “tech-cation.” The tech-cation is a vacation from technology, an unplugging, if you will. During this tech-cation, I unplug from technology that isn’t specifically related to work. I cut out TV, internet,…
General
The Tech-Cation
For the last few years, I’ve taken an annual “tech-cation.” The tech-cation is a vacation from technology, an unplugging, if you will. During this tech-cation, I unplug from technology that isn’t specifically related to work. I cut out TV, internet, email, texts, computer . . . everything. The only exceptions are music (which I only have on an iPod these days) and phone calls. I will allow myself 15 minutes of “news” (TV or Internet) although many days I skip it because news tends to lean toward the TMZ-friendly story than anything Peter Jennings would’ve reported.
I use the tech-cation as a time to detach myself from a screen and try to get back to a simpler life. A life where I wasn’t required to respond to everything RIGHT NOW. I miss being unavailable. I miss not finding out non-news until days later. Even when I avoid social media, I am still bombarded with celebrity news. It’s almost as if journalists have been replaced by bloggers. Photo journalists have been replaced by paparazzi. And actual news, things that matter, end up at the bottom of the news feed while some Hollywood toss up’s baby is front and center. (Yes, I said “toss up” and I’m not deleting i!). My tech-cations are used catching up on my reading, practicing the guitar, making jewelry, writing, all of the things that I really enjoy but never really have time to do.
This year’s tech-cation will be a bit more difficult. Most of my books are now on an electronic device. I don’t enjoy buying books anymore because 80% of the things I read, I don’t ever need to read again. I don’t need to keep them for reference, and I don’t want them cluttering my shelves. I guess I’ll buy a few books and donate them when I’m done.
Normally the tech-cation lasts a week, or so. This year I may extend it for a bit. Maybe I’ll just stay unplugged until I feel like coming back online. My hope is always that when the tech-cation is over, that I’ll no longer feel the need to be so connected. But it’s addictive! Two days after the tech-cation is over, I’m right back at like I never left. My hope is that by extending the tech-cation, I won’t feel the need re-connect in the same way. I am adding a new exception to the tech-cation. I will allow myself to post blogs. I can use my laptop to type my blogs, while disconnected from the internet, and upload to my site. I won’t be reading or responding to comments. I will be only be posting. I may post daily to share details of the tech-cation, but I may not. We’ll just see how it goes.
The tech-cation usually starts in October. But I’m feeling the need to disconnect sooner than that. I may start after the holiday . . . provided I can wait that long.
When Men Were MEN!
Today I was reminded of a conversation I had with a dear friend of mine several years ago. He told me of a time when he was embarrassed about ‘needing’ to work a second job. He had a professional job, a career, but at the time he had some personal,…
When Men Were MEN!
Today I was reminded of a conversation I had with a dear friend of mine several years ago. He told me of a time when he was embarrassed about ‘needing’ to work a second job. He had a professional job, a career, but at the time he had some personal, financial goals that his professional job didn’t allow him to meet. So being the responsible adult that he was, he decided to get a second job stocking shelves at night. It wasn’t illegal or immoral, but it also wasn’t what was expected of a professional man of his caliber and career potential, so he kept it a closely guarded secret. He didn’t tell his friends or family because he didn’t want them to think less of him. He finally told a close friend after having to miss her birthday party to work. She ridiculed him for taking a job doing menial labor. After that he didn’t tell anyone else. But he continued to, quietly, work toward achieving his financial goals.
I was reminded of that conversation today while reading a story about former American Idol Justin Guarini. In one of his blogs he mentioned that he’s gone without meals to feed his children. The comment made me cringe. It’s reminiscent of the men who ‘brag’ about taking care of their kids. Um, THAT’S WHAT YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO DO!!! If you create a child, man or woman, you’re SUPPOSED to take care of that child at all costs. If you’re raising a family and times are tough and someone has to miss a meal, it SHOULD be the dad/the head of the household. It’s not like we live in the agricultural age where the men went out and toiled away in the fields all day and needed the extra nourishment. Guarini sings for a living. He’s perfectly capable of singing on an empty stomach. I guarantee it – I’ve done a lot more with nothing in my belly.
Guarini’s story reminded me of that conversation years ago because I realized, once again, that men come in two different forms: Actual MEN and boys pretending to be men. MEN WORK. Period. A man does what he needs to do to meet his responsibilities. And they do it without seeking or needing praise. I remember telling my friend that all the men I knew had a ‘hustle.’ When I say hustle, I don’t mean anything illegal. By ‘hustle’ I mean that they used whatever skills they had to earn extra money to take care of their families. I knew men who had jobs, some white collar jobs, but could also fix cars, do carpentry work, do taxes, mow lawns, shovel snow, help people move . . . anything they could do to make sure the bills were paid and the kids had all the nice extras. It’s all I knew growing up in the working class cities of Detroit & Inkster, Michigan. I wasn’t used to a man saying he didn’t have enough money and then doing absolutely nothing about it. In fact, when I moved to Chicago in the early 2000’s I was shocked by the number of “men” I encountered who said, “I don’t make enough money on my 9 to 5.” I immediately wondered, “Well, what are you doing from 5 to 9??” It seemed to me that they had a lot of spare time that they weren’t using effectively. My motto has always been, “I don’t want to hear you complain if you’re not doing anything to fix the problem!!”
I shared my story with my friend and let him know that he hadn’t had anything to be ashamed about. Today, he’s older, more mature and is no longer ashamed of having been a responsible adult in his younger years. I told him that if more ‘men’ were like him, that our society would be in much better shape.
It’s GREAT to be a Michigan Wolverine!
I was listening to one of my favorite podcasts today, “His & Hers” on ESPN Pod Center and the hosts were discussing how they chose their respective colleges. It got me to thinking about my journey to college. While most students had a list of schools they were interested in, I really only had had one – The University of Michigan.
I’ve been a Michigan fan ever since I can remember. Despite the fact that both my parents graduated from Eastern Michigan University, I was always a Michigan fan. I mean, let’s face it, when you grow up in the state of Michigan, you have to choose your team early on. And there are really only two teams to choose from – The University of Michigan and that school in East Lansing. I’ve always been a winner, so I went with the winning team.
During the application process, I briefly entertained the idea of attending Duke University. Their brochure quickly extinguished that idea. My parents didn’t have anywhere near $80K to send me to school. Also, I wasn’t quite as adventurous then as I am now. I wasn’t sure I wanted to be that far away from home all alone. So I saved the $45 application fee and moved right along. I applied to three schools: University of Michigan, Wayne State University (I knew my grades and test scores would guarantee me a Presidential Scholarship) and one HBCU (Historically Black Colleges & Universities). During my sophomore & junior years in high school, I attended the annual HBCU College Tour. Despite my high GPA and standardized test scores, I received extremely negative feedback from the only two HBCUs I might have considered attending. Meanwhile, I had a private school in Illinois, which I’d never heard of, recruit me because of the same. But I digress. The one HBCU I actually applied to was one I’d never considered attending. The only reason I applied was because I was attending an HBCU fair with some friends and one of my friends stopped at their booth to apply. All evening, I’d been standing idly by as my friends completed applications. I completed this application because the admissions counselor was very friendly. He also waived our application fees because we were completing the applications on-site. The school requested our transcripts from our high school, after we’d signed agreeing to the release, and the admissions process was underway. I’d actually forgotten that I applied until the day I received a letter from them in the mail. It was a rejection letter. My feelings were hurt. Here I was an almost straight A student, salutatorian of my class and college student at the University of Michigan – Dearborn (yes, I attended high school and college simultaneously) and this school had rejected me. To add insult to injury, the school had struggled with accreditation and was certainly no academic powerhouse. To make matters even worse, the friend who applied with me was accepted. This student’s GPA was almost a full 2 points lower than mine. My mother tried to console me by telling me, “They know you have other options. They can’t risk allowing you to block a space, when you’re most likely not going to attend, when there are students who can’t get in anyplace else, who need that spot.” Nice try, Mom!
Then there were two. Wayne State University accepted me pretty quickly and I received a Presidential Scholarship which provided for full tuition. Wayne State, while an excellent school, is no Michigan. But then again, no place is Michigan. I applied to Wayne State for four reasons: 1) I knew I’d get in, 2) I knew I’d get a full ride, or very close to it, 3) The University of Michigan is HIGHLY competitive and I wasn’t quite sure I’d make the cut, and 4) Michigan was #1 . . . as in at the time, they were the most expensive public school in the country. I said earlier that my parents didn’t have $80K to send me to school. Well, Michigan wasn’t much cheaper at around $60K and my parents didn’t have that either. They had, or came up with, about a third of that. Because I stayed in-state, I received a scholarship from the state, based on my standardized test scores, that earned me 10 semesters of (partial) tuition. I had several other smaller scholarships. I chipped in a third of my college costs through scholarships I’d earned. My parents had their third. And grants & loans made up the final third. I was all set. All I needed was an acceptance letter.
Although the acceptance letter came relatively quickly, it seemed like years between the time I mailed my application and the time I received the letter. As the holidays approached, I hadn’t heard back. I knew that once the holidays were in full swing, it would probably be February, or later, before I heard anything. I’ve never checked the mail so much in my life as I did during those couple of months. Finally, I received an envelope with the University of Michigan seal on it. It was a big envelope. I immediately knew what that meant.
I have absolutely no idea what I got for Christmas that year. I don’t remember who came to our annual Christmas dinner (although I can probably guess). I don’t even remember what I got for my birthday that year. All I remember is that I officially became a Wolverine on Friday, December 24, 1993.
GO BLUE!!!!!
The Dip Back
I was listening to the Tom Joyner Morning Show this morning and an interesting topic came up: “Have You Ever ‘Dipped Back’ to an Old Relationship for a New Fling?”
The topic reminded me of a blog I wrote some years ago – “The Ghosts of Chrissy’s Past.”…
WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE INANIMATE OBJECT?
My phone. It keeps me connected. Although sometimes I think I’m a little too connected. Time for another tech-cation.
You Talk Like a White Girl
[Throwback Piece]
I’m convinced that being black, and “successful,” in America means being at least a little schizophrenic. I consider myself to be black, and “successful,” in America. Yeah, I know. That probably means I’m a little schizophrenic.
My “mental condition” was first brought to my attention back in my early twenties. I was volunteering for an organization that helps under-employed and unemployed 18 to 24 year olds find gainful employment. Volunteers helped youth write resumes, practice interviews and conduct productive job searches. Did I mention that while I was doing this I was just 24 years old? I was teaching my peers.
I volunteered during my lunch hour so I was often dressed in a business suit when I met with the students. One day while conducting a seminar on “Interviewing and Networking” I was interrupted by a brash 22 year old who took pride in informing me that “[I] talk like a white girl!!” Without skipping a beat, and with a decidedly “urban flair,” I responded, “And I make money like a white girl too!” What followed was a short stare down. Chrissy is the champion of the stare down. My record remained intact that day.
The classroom that had been only half listening up to that point was now at full attention. Without me having to specifically address black schizophrenia, they got it. They got that while I was able to speak like them, I was also able to master “The King’s English” in a way that allowed me to maneuver through mainstream America in an attempt to obtain the American Dream. Here I was, the same age as them, dressed well, with an education and a “good job” in corporate America. The typical volunteer with this agency was middle-aged and white. Now they were receiving the message from someone who not only looked like them but was also the same age as them. One student later told me that hearing me deliver the message made it feel like the American Dream was something she could achieve. She even gave me props for being able to “switch it up” when I needed to.
I had just about forgotten about this “schizophrenic” episode until early this morning. I was on the phone, like a teenager, talking into the wee hours of the morning when the person on the other end said, “Damn, what did I do to deserve the ‘corporate voice?'” I hadn’t even realized that I’d slipped into “work speak.” At first I was a little embarrassed. I take pride in being able to switch it up at the drop of a dime. But this had been unintentional. Then I felt stupid for being embarrassed. Why should I be embarrassed that I have a firm grasp of the King’s English? That is after all what my parents taught me. That is after all what helped make me a “success,” right? So here’s to being black, successful and “schizophrenic” in America.
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