Special shout out to up and coming filmmaker Dana Butler.

So as I went on and on and on again to my best friend about how nobody understands what I do and I consequently hate everybody in the world, she explained the real issue to me: People don’t understand what it is to be your own boss.

I didn’t think of myself as my own boss mainly because I still have editors to answer to. They can either give me the go ahead with an idea or shut me down altogether so I felt like they are the ones really in charge. But the truth is I’m a free agent. I control how much I make by how many hours I choose to put in, how good my ideas are, and how hard I grind to get my work published in multiple areas…and that basically makes me a boss.

What my best friend said about people not understanding the idea of being your own boss makes sense when I think about the full-time job I previously had. Whenever I said I was working from home people always assumed I was just chilling in my apartment watching Golden Girls and eating takeout. Yea, Dorothy, Rose, Blanche, and Sophia were on in the background but I was still working. When you work from home, you often end up working longer and harder than you do in the office. There’s no commute time, less distractions (if you turn off the TV), and I personally used to break my neck to make sure I answered emails immediately because you just had a feeling that if you took too long to respond someone would assume you were doing more relaxing than actually working.

I think that same attitude applies to freelancers, business owners, and any other person who is their own boss, especially when they start out. It’s no lie that in the beginning you put in way more hours than you did working a 9 to 5. Not only are you actually doing what you’ve been contracted to do, you’re also scouting out new opportunities, being your own accountant, probably updating a website for yourself, and wearing a million other hats. You enjoy doing it because you’re building your business or your brand but that doesn’t make it any less tiring. A little less stressful? Maybeut it’s still hard work. If I’m not physically writing, I’m looking for something to write about and that can be just as time consuming as writing itself. I’m also creating invoices, seeing what’s already been covered, checking the traffic on my articles, responding to last minute requests, etc. My days are more like 8 to 8s than 9 to 5s but when I look at all that I’ve accomplished in the day I don’t mind because I know it was effort well spent.

Of course no one knows all that you do in a day when they can’t physically see you but I felt it was necessary to shut down the assumptions about the lifestyle of a free agent. When all is said and done I know I’m working harder than most people punching a time clock, and that makes me a boss.

P.S. Check out my tips for how to go after the career you really want on Vibe Vixen.

In many ways things have changed dramatically for me in the past month and half, but I haven’t really stopped to grasp how life before November 18 differs from life today. November 18 was my last day of work as an editor of a medical trade publication. It was the day I said goodbye to hating my job, to not sleeping at night, to upset stomachs and dreading going to work. It was the day that symbolized my first real step out on faith.

Since then, so many opportunities have arisen that my life has just been in a steady state of go without my even realizing that I’m doing some amazing things—-things I’d dreamed of doing in high school and college, and believed I’d never really have the chance to do when I worked in medical publishing. In college essays I’d always written about how I wanted to be a journalist and write about issues concerning black women—-viewing Essence as the holy grail because at the time that was the only outlet for black women. Since then, online magazines and blogs have offered a multitude of venues for us to share our opinions. In October, I began working as a news writer for Madame Noire, but it wasn’t until a few weeks ago that I realized I was actually living my dream of writing for black women and I was overwhelmed with a sense of gratitude, and honestly amazement, at what had come to be in such a short period of time. Despite contributing to Clutch magazine and The Fresh Xpress prior to that, I felt that my writing for those sites was just a hobby  I had to find time to do on the side while spending most of my days doing something I didn’t have any passion for. Now I spend entire days writing about things I truly care about and I share news of interest with women I can identify with. The change has shown me that I absolutely made the right choice when I decided not to let fear of the unknown overshadow my true desires.

Even today, as I was going through old magazines, I found copies of Vibe Vixen that I’d kept since 2005. I had to take a moment to wallow in amazement that I now write for this online publication. Never in a million years did I think six years ago when I was flipping through these pages that I would be a contributor, but I am. And now I feel an obligation to not just write to get my name out there and have articles on as many sites as possible, but to create quality content that really serves a purpose for readers by making them think, helping them accomplish their goals, or just making them laugh at life’s little oddities.

I’m more excited about 2012 than for any other year in the past because I know my leap of faith has put me on the right path to achieve more things I never would have imagined, and I look forward to everything these next 365 days will bring.

Jennifer’s comment on Jay Leno about David adjusting to her weight loss and not liking the change seemed innocent enough — except questions like “Why do you have to get all dressed up to go out” and “why can’t you just go out like you used to?” had jealous, ego-threatened boyfriend written all over them. Now that after three years together (plus a 2-year-old son, a set wedding date, a dress chosen, and ring) the two are allegedly calling it quits, you have to ask how much of a role did her weight loss play? (Because even if there is not an actual break-up, there is clearly some tension.)

I believe the saying that men get in relationships hoping the woman never changes, while women get in relationships hoping to change the man. But when the change is for the better, i.e. improved health, and the man can’t adjust, you have to wonder does he, or did he ever, have her best interest at heart?

Read more @MadameNoire

Aside from the obvious reason that single black women’s problems have now become big business (books! TV specials! magazine spreads! depressing films!), why are even more men jumping in to try to solve our relationship problems otherwise? The market is totally saturated. Don’t they have enough to do, or someone else to save? Every time I go to a panel or click on someone’s website, there is a man claiming to have written the “foreal foreal” book on men that women need to read and that other men are too scared to write. Instead of a book on men for women, how about a book on manhood for men? I’m looking at you, Hill Harper.

It is beyond annoying to be constantly bombarded with messages from men who:

(a) Are not experts in relationships,

(b) Are saying the same thing we’ve already heard,

(c) Have no genuine desire to really help women get the man they want, and

(d) Say expand your horizons and date outside your race — even if a woman says she wants a black husband.

Read more @MadameNoire

Then today, as I casually searched for news on black women, I just happened to come across a couple of articles about two black girls who are missing. The pieces were small, ran on local news sites, black websites, or blogs. There has been no national attention, nothing that would make you stop and pay attention to these stories, or more importantly to one of these girls if you happened to come across them, because in all likelihood you probably wouldn’t even know they are missing.

Jhessye Shockley is a 5-year-old girl from Glendale, Arizona, has been missing for nearly a week. An Amber Alert for the girl was issued last Wednesday morning and canceled Friday, in accordance with standard Amber Alert procedures. So far the biggest break in the case seems to be a tip that came into police of a black female between 25 and 30 years old, about 120 pounds, with black hair in a bun and brown eyes, putting a child that matched Jhessye’s description in a vehicle. The woman was wearing a white tank top and blue jeans rolled up to mid-calf. The vehicle was a black 1998 to 2000 4-door Chevy Malibu.

And then there is 15-year-old Pittsburgh teen Michiko Hamilton who hasn’t been seen since visiting a friend Friday. Police say she was last contacted near the intersection of Frankstown Avenue and Overbrook Road in Penn Hills — no one has heard from her since.

Read the rest @MadameNoire

One server seemed confused by my presence. She leaned over me with a concerned look on her face and asked, “Who are you here with,” seeing that I wasn’t mingling with other guests and my table was empty. I assured her that I was in the right place and that I simply wanted to sit in the back because I was reporting on the event and didn’t know anyone there particularly well.

She walked away, unsatisfied with my answer, and came back a few minutes later to say that she thought I would’ve been sitting up front, but not to worry, she would take good care of me anyway. In her next run by my table, she proceeded to share her work history with me, noting how she’d waited on President Obama for an event in that very room and how much he said he had enjoyed her, along with other public figures and celebrities who’d paid her similar compliments but neglected to repay her for her excellent service: “If I was so great, they should’ve taken me with them when they moved on up, OK.” (Insert stereotypical black woman high five.)

A male server, sensing that the woman had outworn her welcome, or was speaking at a level that was too loud for what she was saying in that setting, lightheartedly scolded her and told her to leave me alone, while yet another waiter came by to add her two cents. And still one more woman came by with a bread basket, asking,”Hey, you want some.”

It had begun to look like a black family reunion with me at the center of a host of servers, and I quickly found myself annoyed each time they made their rounds. Although I was appreciative of the friendliness, I was keenly aware of how others in the room must have perceived not only me, but also them.

Just a month prior, I was attending a luncheon with colleagues from my office and heard a man yelling “Hello” a million times from a distance. Who is yelling, why is he so loud, and why won’t anybody answer him, I thought, as I tried to figure out where the sound was coming from. I finally realized the greeting was directed at me as I saw a man waving his arms from the security desk several feet away. “How you doing,” he asked when I looked in his direction.

I thought the look on my face as I tightly mouthed, “Fine” would have been enough to tell him that this was not the place and certainly not the time; however on the way out, he yelled “Bye” about as many times as he had when he had greeted me on the way in, and just as loudly. “When you coming back to see us,” he shouted once I finally acknowledged him. I then turned to be confronted with confused, please-explain-what-just-happened/do-you-know-him looks on my coworkers’ faces. I shrugged and shook my head. I had no explanation. Read more @ Clutch.

When I got the text from my colleague who was attending the same meeting as I, I thought nothing of it, as we had recently parted ways after innocently having a few drinks in the hotel lobby with mutual associates. I did acknowledge what I saw as irony at the time—that if this was a black man I would’ve known he was up to something, but because he was white, I thought nothing of it.

Innocently, I opened the door to my room, let him in, and offered him what I thought he came for. Quickly I found him seated on the foot of the bed. Small talk on his agenda, I conceded, happy to have finally befriended someone in my age range at these conferences which I typically found boring.

Casual talk about post-college years turned to questions about whether I was dating, how my last relationship ended, and when I would get married because I’m “so great,” as he put it. I sat flattered in my unsuspecting naivety.

It wasn’t until a few compliments later, a stretch out on my pillows, and an invitation to join him that I became aware of other intentions. I declined, noting that I had an early meeting, although it was suggested that I wake him in the morning.

It was a struggle for me to conceal my laughter—not at his game, but at the fact that as a grown woman, I’d found myself in a situation more befitting of a high school girl. Read more @ Clutch.

It wasn’t a shocker to me when University of Texas sociology professor Mark Regnerus said in a Washington Times article last week that the price of sex today is pretty low. Whereas men (allegedly) used to have to promise women marriage in exchange for sex, birth control allowed women to enter the sexual market with the same indiscretion as men. Now both genders bask freely in the sexual market before walking down the aisle.

So what’s the problem? If you ask men on college campuses and in urban cities, there isn’t one. Because these sexual markets are dominated by women, men can decide how much (or how little) they will exchange for sex because for every woman who decides that she wants to hold out, there are plenty more who are willing to put out. It’s the rule of supply and demand.

But while women have power when they are the minority in the sex market, allowing them to decide just how high the “cost” of sex will be for a man, women lose power as they enter their 30s—the marriage market—where women also outnumber men. Hence, Regnerus says that women “underestimate the long-term risk of sex-market behavior.”

While the underlying notion here is not to put the cart before the horse (or why buy the cow when you’ve already got the milk, et cetera, et cetera), saving oneself for marriage is seen as a high-risk strategy. Using an interesting analogy, Regnerus says, “You can’t just decide that your house is worth $500,000 if everyone else is getting $200,000. … You can try for that price, but it’s unlikely you will get it.” Well then. Read more @ Clutch.

Not too long ago I attended a panel on Monogamy, Cheating, and Dealing with the Side Piece (by now you can probably gather that I’m somewhat of a Together Apart groupie). On the panel was a couple, Carl and Kenya Stevens, who have had an open relationship for five of their 16 years of marriage.

As I listened to the couple describe having boyfriends and girlfriends and not stopping one another from experiencing new people as they come into one another’s lives, all I could think was, “Well then why get married?”

Read more @ Clutch