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The Swirl World

Celebrating and Elevating Black Women - mind, body, soul and spirit!


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I Took A Sexy Hip Hop Class!

July 20, 2016 By Michelle Matthews-Calloway 1 Comment

Sexy Hip Hop

Hip hop class, and a sexy one at that??!!

Um, not me – Tobi-Velicia Johnson!

We often say this, yet it bears repeating: The overarching mission of The Swirl World is to see Black Women living their best life.

To facilitate this, we encourage BW to get out of their comfort zones and try new things.

We’re pleased and happy to report many BW are doing just that. They’re living the life they love and loving the life they live.

One such BW is Tobi-Velicia Johnson, our Single of the Week and a member of our private Facebook group.

In today’s post, Tobi-Velicia shares a recent escapade: taking a MadHaus sexy hip hop class at Flirty Girl.

Here’s her report:

That’s What Friends Are For

Tobi-Velicia & LaTonya

Tobi-Velicia & LaTonya

“Ballet is my dance style of choice, but as promised, I went to the MadHaus class with a friend who braved her fears recently to take a ballet class with me. She had never taken a ballet class before, so the least I could do was attend a hip hop class with her.

Looking The Part

In preparation for the class, I decided that I needed to “look the part.” I couldn’t very well wear just a leotard and tights to a sexy hip hop class, could I? — or at least, not pink tights.

I selected a cute black leo with a pink bodice, some fabulous sheer patterned black tights, cropped black hoodie, short leg warmers, and hi-top Converse gym shoes. Hey, I may have been setting myself up to feel ridiculous attempting hip hop moves, but I was going to look fabulous while doing so! 🙂

Flirty Girl On Point

I arrived early at Flirty Girl. The decor was pink, black, and white. So far, so good–my favorite colors. I told the nice girl at the front desk that I would be a guest of a member, and she set me up with an account. While I waited, I surveyed the lobby. I glanced to my right and immediately noticed that there was a fully-stocked Flirty Girl WINE BAR!!! Very elegant, cool, and girly.

I turned left and saw that there was a Flirty Girl nail and hair spa. Another amazing concept for a girl’s gym. Once my account was set up, I proceeded to go to the dressing room.

The workout rooms, including the pole-dancing room, were spacious and gorgeous–everything in pink, black, and white. The locker room and bath facilities were beautiful and there were pretty pink towels available to use while working out.

Let’s Get This Hip Hop Started

Sexy Hip HopMy friend LaTonya arrived and we walked into the class together. She introduced me to the MadHaus instructor, Monique, who was friendly, welcoming, and fit. Monique explained basics of the class and told everyone to have fun.

The class started promptly at 9 am. Dance moves were slow at first and then the pace picked up. I was able to do most of the dance moves but I have to admit, I had a hard time doing simple jumping jacks during the warm-up. My body wanted to do sautés à la seconde with port de bras. The instructor told me to just “do what you feel.”

Hmm, Not Bad!

I worked up a good sweat during the cool and sexy dance combinations…and then glanced at the clock. OMG it was only 9:12 am!!! More than 45 minutes to go!

At 9:35 am, we had a break. My friend LaTonya did a “FB direct” video which I video-bombed by dancing in the background. I knew that anyone viewing the video would only see my face and not the booty-shaking I was doing.

Break was over and we continued the combination, a bit faster and a few more moves added. Toward the end of class, we did nice, slow stretches.

Even though MadHaus is not my style of dance, I thoroughly enjoyed it. I may even go back and try other classes.

Back That Thang Up!

Sexy Hip HopWhen I arrived home from class, I was proud and content that I had tried something new. Smiling to myself, I logged onto FB to view LaTonya’s FB direct video.

OMG!!! I didn’t know that she didn’t immediately start back with the rest of the class after the break–she RECORDED some of it! There I was, in view of the whole entire world, “backing it up” for the camera!

All’s Well That Ends Well

All in all, I had a good time at Flirty Girl and I plan to go back sometime. :-)”

To connect with Tobi-Velecia on Facebook, click here.

Join in the Fray: What will you do this week to get out of your comfort zone?


Copyright ©2016 Michelle Matthews Calloway, The Swirl World™ LLC, ASwirlGirl™, The Swirl World™, The Swirl World Podcast™, The Swirl World Inspiration Daily™, Swirl Nation™, All rights reserved. Text and photos used with permission.

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Filed Under: 2016, 2016 Posts, Black Women Living Well, Fantastic Fans, Fun & Games, Guest Blog, Swirling Singles Tagged With: ballet, Black women, challenge, dance, dance lessons, goals, hip hop, life, living well, love

A Teacher’s Teachable Moments

May 22, 2016 By Michelle Matthews-Calloway Leave a Comment

A Teacher's Teachable Moments

“Just one more hour,” Joe Stone thought to himself, as he heard the bells of the UC Berkeley Campanile Tower ring twice. His tutorial session in beginning stats with Edgar, a young enthusiastic Latino student, was at an end. He had one more hour-long session left in the day, a Wednesday in mid-October 1974 before his work day was to end.

He noticed from looking at his schedule that he’d be seeing a new student named Donna Roberts. Having a few minutes to himself, he started thinking about the upcoming Grateful Dead shows in San Francisco, reportedly the group’s last, but then drifted off into thinking about how he got here.

—

It was in January 1970, just under five years earlier, that he had graduated college in New York as a mechanical engineer, a milestone he had reached after a long, hard struggle. Eleven years had passed after landing in the US with his family as an 11-year-old immigrant from Israel who knew very little English, bearing different first and last names than he now had.

Joe’s very domineering father had died but months before graduation, so there was no stopping him from joining his brother, likewise a mechanical engineer and an army Vietnam vet. His brother had moved to San Francisco in May ’69, returning briefly to marry his longtime girlfriend back in New York and take her away. Joe, of course, had no idea back then that within just a few months of graduating, he’d become totally disenchanted with his employer, a large corporate firm with a very perverse company culture, face near-induction into the armed forces while the Vietnam War was still raging, and be radicalized by that experience.

He also had no way of knowing he would also meet a woman named Mary Hale on a beach in Marin County, north of San Francisco, who seemed in her late 20s but would later turn out to be 39. She would introduce him to free love, the wonders of inhaling fresh air, and, indirectly, the Grateful Dead. Later on, she also introduced him to the pleasure of long hikes in open spaces.

Even less could he have guessed that he would be let go by his employer during a mass layoff (he was actually seriously ready to quit anyway), go on a 10 week cross-country drive, come back, become involved in voter registration and the McGovern presidential campaign of ’72, start going to Dead shows and get very immersed in the counter-culture, and enter the UC Berkeley law school intending to become an environmental lawyer who would fight the likes of his former employer.

Within months of starting law school, he was beset by financial problems and got a job as a tutor in statistics in a unit on campus which provided tutorial help in all sorts of fields. The unit was in a temporary structure left over from WWII, close to the Campanile. By then, his perspectives had gone beyond electoral politics, feeling as he did that society needed a more radical change than such tactics could provide. After a short time of exploring, and thanks to new friends, he came upon the anarchist and anti-authoritarian socialist strands of thought which he quickly realized were what he was striving towards. He also became a vegetarian.

The previous May, he astonished his fellow students and walked out of law school, feeling certain he did not want to be a lawyer. He had come to see the legal system as part of the problem, as a pillar of the status quo, even in the case of lawyers with progressive and radical pretenses.

By then, he had come to sort of like his tutoring job. He’d found out via his job that he liked explaining material to other students who were having problems by bringing up daily life examples to which the material could be applied, that he enjoyed breaking down what seemed like complicated concepts into ideas that could be comprehended by those who often lacked nothing more than self-confidence when it came to even the sight of numbers.

By building their self-confidence, students could go on and tackle all their problems, and do well in a course they often perceived as an impassable barrier standing in the way of getting any further in college. Whatever his job title, he was now a teacher, something he never imagined being while growing up or in college.

—

Suddenly, Donna walked into the room he was sharing with 3 other tutors, each with a desk. She was a fairly attractive black woman, definitely older than most students. At 27, he was also older than most of the students, yet she was probably a couple of years older than him. She was dressed in a fairly mainstream way, a fashionably short skirt (though not a mini), heels, nylons and styled hair. She seemed a touch shy and very polite.

She was a bit panicky about the class. At first, she seemed a bit unsure about him, staring at his mane of light reddish-brown hair hanging down to well below his shoulders. Her uncertainty passed as she realized he had a firm grasp of the material. Her dark brown eyes began making direct contact with his deep blue headlights. By the end of the hour, she seemed calmer about the material, yet he also noticed that she had a tendency to suddenly appear spooked, assuming a facial expression as if some vague presence was scaring her. She wanted to make the hour into a regular weekly appointment, and he was game.

—

Donna kept showing up every week as the semester progressed, and Joe’s life kept going through big changes. He got burned out of his home in September due to a stupid accident caused by a friend who’d been staying with him and his housemates. He subsequently had to sleep on couches in friends’ places for a couple of months, until landing a place in November with a woman who had advertised for a roommate.

He had gone without a relationship since breaking up with his girlfriend Wendy Finkelstein in February. It had been his first serious relationship and lasted 15 months. He subsequently had no luck hooking up with anyone, in spite of seriously pursuing several leads which turned out to be empty of content or existed entirely in his imagination.

He did go to the shows and enjoyed them immensely. He was sad that the Dead would never play again, of course not knowing he’d be still seeing them more than 20 years later. One constant through all this was Donna’s weekly appointment. She was doing OK in the class, was managing to do her homework assignments, but often expressed the feeling that she was just memorizing stuff and didn’t really understand the fundamentals.

She also continued to show her tendency toward being easily spooked. One time when they walked outside together after the tutorial session, she was weirded out by the dog belonging to the girlfriend of a fellow stat tutor, a somewhat scrawny but totally harmless friendly female which had been tied up to the nearby fence.

Another time, this skittishness surfaced because another student in the stat class whom Joe had helped was hanging out by the steps, a young, light-complexioned black guy, clean-shaven, with glasses. She acted like he was checking her out. Joe had to suppress a chuckle, as he was pretty convinced that guy actually had a crush on him, something he totally did not welcome, though he had come to accept gay people and the like (this was before the coinage of the LGBT acronym) as simply being who they naturally were.

—

Early that December, Joe had found himself suddenly connecting very quickly with one of his students, a woman of Jewish background from Florida named Millie Steinberg, a grad student in the social welfare school. Soon afterward came the last tutorial session of the quarter with Donna. For the first time, she showed up wearing something different; casual neat pants and a tight sweater which accentuated her ample bosom.

The discussion topic was hypothesis testing, the point at which one applies all they learned in the class to solve some real-life applications, such as telling whether a new education method really leads to higher reading scores, whether a new production process leads to a longer-lasting product, whether two groups within the population have differences regarding a particular social issue, or whether all these differences are simply due to chance error.

They were also to look at a sample final. Joe had Donna tell him exactly how the process of testing differences worked and watched her do some problems. This time, she totally got it. She became excited, expressing her relief, even moved her body around while seated as if freeform dancing. Joe found himself enjoying this display of joy but also noticed he was aroused by the act. She was quite attractive, he decided. She also had no problems figuring out what to do on every problem which was in the sample final.

When they finished and walked out, as usual, she asked if she could walk along with him across campus. He was totally game. She talked about being from Minneapolis, dropping out of college after getting married, and going back to college after she got divorced from her husband, who was a doctor. The conversation was enjoyable, though at that point Joe wasn’t interested in pursuing anything. After all, he had just started seeing Millie.

—

He had never dated a black woman. His parents were adamantly against “race mixing.”  When the family moved to a new building in 1964, it turned out that about half the residents were black and relatively well-off, many of them professionals such as teachers. Joe thought that many of the black women were really attractive, but he was just 17, and if age wasn’t enough of a barrier, his parents’ “good neighbor policy” (not) ensured he could not even become friends with them. Whereas his male friends in college drooled over photos of white Playmates and entertainment celebrities, Joe fantasized about the likes of Diana Ross and Tina Turner.

He, of course, did not share this attraction to black women with his parents, who did not even approve of his brother Murray getting married to a Puerto Rican woman named Lorena. Never mind she was a green-eyed blonde from a family better off than they were. It was a visceral reaction to the very label “Puerto Rican,” plus a resentment of the fact that they didn’t get to pick her.

At this point, Joe was no longer even remotely opposed to the idea of interracial dating, no surprise, given what huge changes he had gone through regarding his perspectives about everything. Yet, for one thing, he didn’t even think black women were very interested in dating white guys, unlike black men and white women. He had also heard plenty of what amounted to myths and stereotypes concerning black women – fallacious beliefs and stories that did nothing to bring people together. He wished her luck and happy holidays when they parted, and figured that was that.

—

Things were to get crazy soon after. Joe’s new roommate, who turned out to be quite flakey, quite suddenly moved out a couple of days before New Year’s, forcing him to take on new roommates; two guys who turned out even worse than her. Millie came back from the holidays break after New Year’s and informed him she didn’t wish to pursue their relationship further because she wasn’t ready.

Soon things got so bad at home he moved out to live in the back of a house in west Berkeley rented by a couple he had met through Bill, one of his close political friends. In December Bill had become involved with Sherry. They’d all been friends on the East Coast before Bill had moved to the Bay Area in the middle of high school and reconnected, and the previous relationship reignited. Soon after Joe moved in, Sherry announced she was pregnant.

Things got increasingly strange with Bill and Sherry, who started isolating themselves from everyone else. Bill moved in, Sherry’s husband Tom moved out and relocated back to New Jersey. Life at home became like walking on eggshells. Work was OK, but personal matters did not improve. Joe had been functioning per an unstated notion common within his tight political and social circle, that one should only date those he has total political agreement with. Otherwise, one’s politics would be separate from one’s daily life; a complete no-no.

Joe was starting to wonder if this restricted his dating options. He totally did not like the fact that the group was becoming incestuous due to such notions, as it seemed the dynamics were becoming very much soap-opera-like. Besides, he wasn’t even attracted to any of the women in that circle. He became friends with one of his students, Ronnie, a tall, foxy black woman (who taught him the word “foxy” and some other slang), even got the feeling she was trying to encourage him to reach out to her, but he was still too uptight and ambivalent about dating black women. Besides, should a tutor date his students? There were no rules yet about such matters, but he figured things could get messy were he to do that. So he didn’t, and instead he went on to more frustrating encounters with women he knew through political circles.

—

Soon came summer. Joe was laid off from his tutoring position, with a clear understanding that he’d be rehired for Fall Quarter. No longer being a student, he filed for unemployment but found his case being held up by some unknown procedural problems. His meager savings started shrinking. In July, they took a big hit, as Bill and Sherry told him he had to move because they wanted the place to themselves and their soon-anticipated child.

In a stroke of luck, he found a cheap studio not too far from there, near the North Berkeley BART station. In September, after being encouraged by a friend to raise a stink at the unemployment office next time he was to go there, he found out there was an administrative hold on his case at the UC benefits office. He discovered that a clerk at the tutorial center had inadvertently marked his employment card as being both a non-student as well as a student, most likely had forgotten to erase his student designation.

With that cleared, all the checks which had been held up got cleared, he received a big payment. A chunk of that was to go to pay expenses so he could declare bankruptcy on his law school student loans of a couple of thousand dollars, something which was still possible at this point in history. He was told by Bill that he could borrow a typewriter so he could type out his forms.

Joe began walking to his old place to pick up the typewriter, passing by the local liquor store on San Pablo Avenue a block from his home. As he did so, he heard a woman say, “Hi, Joe.”

He looked up and saw a beautiful black woman dressed in hot pants and a tank top T-shirt that showed her cleavage. “Damn,” he said to himself, “why does it always happen to me? Gorgeous women say hi and I have no idea who they are.”

Seeing he was confused, the woman, who was carrying a bottle of wine and a carton of cigarettes and seemed ready to get into her car, said, “It’s Donna Roberts; you helped me in stat last fall.”

He would never have guessed that a woman who had been so consistently demure in her ways would ever dress like that, and hence, his mind could not process her face in such an unfamiliar frame of reference. Turned out she lived on the other side of the BART station, just a couple of blocks from him.

She told him “Hey, come by whenever you feel like.” She was getting her masters in social welfare at Cal State Hayward. He almost asked her if now was an OK time to drop in, but then remembered he had but a small time window to file for bankruptcy, and that he better get busy and finish that.  She was, after all, going to still be around later.

—

File he did and his case went through, greatly easing his financial burden. A couple of days later, he was to see the Grateful Dead do a free show in Golden Gate Park in San Francisco, playing much of the material on their newly released album Blues for Allah. It was a very jazz-oriented recording, and he realized that a return to a regular show schedule was just a matter of time.

Soon, school started again and so did his job. He experienced a change at work. He now was going to do some of his work at what was called “drop in” in the huge room at the center, where students could come in and ask short questions, rather than get help in the form of hour-long appointments. He was also going to start helping out in math.

The calculus he’d had a bunch of as a student started coming back as he helped out more and more students, and indeed, he found himself understanding the material better than he ever had as a student through explaining it to others. He also began interacting with a lot more people than ever before, meaning the potential for meeting new people increased exponentially.

He had a really good interaction with one woman he helped. That evening, he went to visit a couple he had casually been friends with earlier in the year, through some of his political friends, who were living in a different house. Turned out that the woman, Marie, was one of their roommates. His friends had to leave, but he stuck around and talked to Marie, and by the time he left, they were friends. They were to remain friends far past the time he lost contact with that couple, and he got to see her become a doctor and raise two daughters. They stayed in touch into the 21st Century.

—

He kept meeting new women, but any real connection with a potential for a relationship remained elusive. He started feeling like some women were deliberately acting like they were flirting with him in hopes of getting more attention to their questions than other students, only to not even say hi when they would see him outside the center. Nonetheless, he was becoming increasingly self-confident, as his mastery of both math and stat kept building up, and as he for the first time in his life started riding a bicycle. He found this made him more mobile and hence more self-sufficient, and with more options for activities.

The center had always been linked to programs involving students from historically underrepresented communities, meaning that many of the students he encountered were Latino and black. He befriended a whole circle of black students who were taking math and stat and found himself attracted to some of the women. He even promised a couple of the women that he’d come visit them at their summer workplaces.

—

Come summer of ’76, he was laid off again, but this time, there were no money problems due to red tape errors. In July, he went to Dead shows in San Francisco. The bus was back in town and was to stick around, albeit with a couple of personnel changes, for almost another 20 years.

Fall quarter ’76 started in late September. The very first week, Joe ran into the two black women he had told he’d visit at their jobs. One, Betty, introduced him to the meaning of the word “turkey,” unhappy that he never did show up. The other, Carol, was friendlier, but still seemed a bit aloof.  He, of course, didn’t tell them that he hadn’t thought they’d really be welcoming of an actual visit, and hadn’t thought they’d miss him in the least.

He also met a black woman named Julie Wilkins, a student in the first course of the “hard-core” first-year calculus sequence (for students who intend to major in engineering, physical sciences and math, versus the “soft core” for students in other majors such as conservation of resources). She was very attractive and seemed quite friendly and good-natured.

Later on in the week, he was doing his first session of a study group in stats, held in a partitioned area off the main drop in room, when he heard “There you are.” He looked over the partition and saw Donna. She was dressed up in her old demure style, though she had let her hair grow out quite a bit. Interestingly, it was lengthwise matching his hair, now trimmed to the shoulders. He thought she looked good like that, and he was viewing her in a different light given he’d seen a different side of her before.

She had one class left in grad school, stat, and needed to finish a paper involving a study she had done. It was a class requirement, and she was having problems figuring out how to apply statistical analysis. They arranged for him to come over to her place Friday evening and discuss things.

At noon on Friday, he finished his work shift, which involved helping Julie, the student he’d met in the hard-core program.  They walked across campus towards South Side/Telegraph Avenue, talking as they went. Out of the blue, she asked him, “Can you tell me where a woman could get a cup of coffee around here?”

He, of course, asked her if she wanted to go with him to his usual cafe a block down the “Avenue.” She was older than most of her fellow students, though three years younger than him. She had dropped out of school in Southern California, where she was from, and had come back. She seemed interesting. They parted after an hour, knowing they’d be seeing each other a bunch during the quarter. He felt that things were looking up.

—

Around 6, he walked the four blocks over to Donna’s place, which was easy to find, being on a corner. She was in her front yard, dressed in the hot pants get-up she had worn a year earlier. “Oh, oh,” he thought to himself, “this is gonna be strange.”

By this point, he had not had sex since Millie almost two years ago and was feeling like that was making him vulnerable to making bad decisions. He was determined to avoid these. Donna said a nice hello, told him she had just a couple of things to do in the yard, and bent down on the ground to attend to something. He couldn’t help noticing her butt sticking up towards him.

They talked a bit about the pleasant early autumn weather and about maintaining yards. After about five minutes which seemed like an eternity, she stood up and they walked into the house. He mentioned how she had invited him a year earlier to drop in, and she reaffirmed the offer. They sat in the kitchen where dinner was ready, and she offered him some of the chicken soup she had made and a glass of wine. She lit a cigarette and they started talking.

Quite suddenly, an older-looking black woman dropped in; a friend of hers. She stayed only a couple of minutes. After she left, Donna said, “I feel less and less in common with my contemporaries. I’m 43 but much prefer to hang out with younger people.”

He was quite astounded to find out her age, at the time 43 seemed so, well, old. He told her he had thought she was in her early ‘30s, that she looked great, and she seemed really pleased to hear that. He also related to her how the first woman he ever dated, Mary Hale back in 1970, was 39 when he was 23, and how it worked out quite well. “That’s really nice,” she cooed, making it clear she liked the idea.

This age thing rang a certain bell with him in that he was now finding himself less able to connect with most of the students, who were by now often 10 years younger than him.  He then mentioned how he often felt isolated because of his radical views. She asked him to explain. He talked of how he thought that the entire political structure was rigged, that a tiny rich elite controlled everything and that all social institutions were set up to benefit them at the expense of everyone else. “That’s not radical,” she responded. Everyone I know thinks that.”

After they finished eating, she poured herself another glass of wine and offered him some. “No thanks,” he replied, “I don’t drink a lot. I prefer…the other stuff.”

He was surprised to see her adverse reaction, as she responded, “Now there’s something I think is radical. I can’t get behind that.”

Since becoming acquainted with the other stuff, he had thought people were bizarre about that, especially people who drank alcohol, given how much more dangerous in terms of the physical and social effects of booze. He decided this wasn’t a good occasion to get into an argument about the topic, so he said nothing. Sometimes, he mused, silence is the best option.

They went into the living room and sat next to one another on her couch. She pulled out her paper and showed him her work. As they discussed her paper, she moved her bare leg against his pants leg, and then quickly moved it away.

He by now was feeling really confused as to what was going on. She started to rant about how she was just tired of having to jump through meaningless hoops, was sick of not only the problems with her paper but the entire master’s program.

“No, no,” he told her, “this will be easy to finish up.” In an instinctive reaction intended to convey sympathy and offer comfort, he touched her forearm with his fingers. She reacted as if administered a mild electric shock, but said nothing. At that point, he was determined to depart and told her he would come by Sunday afternoon. He got up and walked away.

On the walk home, he kept trying to make sense of all this. Had she been interested in him but changed her mind on a whim? Was she just trying to make him think she was attracted to him so he’d offer to help her for nothing?  Was she thinking she was doing that but with the twist that she was actually more attracted to him than she was willing to cop to? Had he misread signals, something he was wont to do, given his relative lack of experience in this realm, and given that perhaps in black culture there were social cues and signals he was just not familiar with?

Did he miss something because he was always inclined to conclude when interacting with women that there was no interest on their part, and anything he thought he was seeing was just his imagination at work? Was he so jacked up because of his lack of any sexual activity for such a long time that he was seeing things which weren’t there?

When he showed up on Sunday, Donna seemed different. She was wearing a pair of baggy jeans and an oversized sweatshirt. She seemed distinctly less friendly, though polite. She again offered a bit of food and drink which he turned down, and she acted as if she expected that out of him. The work was easy, she now had the paper all finished, her masters assured. She thanked him, they bid farewell to each other, and he walked home.

He never saw her again.

—

In coming weeks and months, he started dating Julie Wilkins. He determined by year’s end that the relationship wasn’t going to go anywhere, but the previous taboo had now been broken. He was to get involved with two other black women in 1977.

He met one named LaShaunda in the laundromat he went to, she initiated the interaction, all but invited herself to his place. That’s where the entirety of their relationship was to take place, inhaling and having sex which she initiated as well. She refused to talk to him on the phone the one time he called her, pretending she wasn’t home and that she was someone else living there when it was obvious who she was given her voice and mannerisms. The relationship didn’t last.

After LaShaunda, he dated two white women he met in a social sciences class taught by a friend whom he helped out. Neither situation led to anything. He experienced the same result with two Asian women he met via tutoring. He then met another black woman; Jennifer Jones, a grad student in public health. When she contacted him looking for stat help, they soon became friends. They developed a relationship and went out to see movies and music. This too did not last, just as with all his relationships, no matter what color or ethnicity the woman had been.

To him, the minimal requirements for a relationship were that he found the woman physically attractive, that she be smart, kind, and sensitive enough to be reasonably easy to get along with. But that wasn’t enough — the two people needed to be compatible. He found Jennifer too irksome, and strangely uptight, politically, sexually and otherwise, surface pretensions notwithstanding.

Years later, in hindsight, he concluded that this was much less a matter of her being black than of being an academic brat, the child of academic parents growing up in a community next to a large campus in the Midwest. At this point, given his experiences, he started feeling that while he was attracted to black women more than to any other ones, the cultural barriers involved were just too big to surmount.

—

In early ’78, he met a woman named Paula Hart by way of tutoring, attractive though not a conventional way. She not only looked somewhat similar to him in hair and eye color, but also turned out to have a background in the counterculture, both in LA in 1966-7 as well as Berkeley since ’68, and was still holding on to those values. They liked doing many of the same things, such as long hikes. The attraction was irresistible on both their parts and not even the fact which emerged that she was married could get in the way, though it made the first year and half of their relationship rather tricky and impossible to fully get into.

It was not until two years into the relationship that Joe discovered that Paula had a tendency to go berserk every couple of months during the low part of her cycle. She often had long bouts of depression, no doubt enhanced by having problems relating to her separated parents, especially her mother, and could easily go ballistic at the drop of a hat. By that point, he was too much in love, and additionally carried a feeling of guilt over getting her to leave her ex-husband. He felt he had a responsibility to see things through no matter what.

Their relationship had further solidified by her becoming politically active, joining his many endeavors in this realm, and by her embracing the Grateful Dead. She, in fact, demonstrated a high level of enthusiasm for the band’s persistence and continued evolution while other bands of the ‘60s bit the dust or turned into nostalgia acts. He and Paula even got married in May ’84. Both together pursued physical and spiritual activities such as yoga and for a while aikido and they went beyond being vegetarian to eating only organic food.

—

Though the rocky passages started becoming ever longer in late ’87, he still remained fully committed to the relationship, as this coincided with and could have been explained by a long period during which their housing situation turned insecure. Besides, she kept reassuring him in between these passages that they were still tight and “forever.”

Yet his unease increased as conditions persisted even after that problem was dealt with. Things got to the point that instead of just psychological abuse, Paula began physically abusing him.

In summer ’91, with his assistance, Paula reconnected with her high school boyfriend Rob, after 25 years of not hearing a word. She traveled to Southern California for a visit, came back, and in September told Joe she wanted to leave. By November, she had relocated to Southern California and was dating Rob, whom she married the following May right after her divorce with Joe was official.

Her political involvement was mostly gone even before she left. Her fondness for the Dead and similar music vanished soon after she moved. Her apparent deep feelings proved to be as easily washable as shampoo out of her hair.

This was a blow Joe did not recover from. The level of betrayal, after what he went through and went along with for the sake of love after they seemed to establish deep connections and a common set of favorite activities, was too much. It was hard to trust someone with your emotions after something like that, and quite impossible to create an intimate relationship without such trust. Besides, by that point, he was a white guy in his mid-40s, not down and out but not a wealthy yuppie either, and a Deadhead with radical politics who was also somewhat of a science nerd. He was not exactly a hot item on the dating circuit.

—

This experience, as expected, made him examine his history and attitudes regarding relationships. Amongst other things, he couldn’t help notice how often in his dreams he was involved with black women. He had acquired the attitude from friends and acquaintances, as well as the general social ambiance, that it was somehow wrong for him to feel particularly attracted to black women. After all, many people he knew via political practice even thought that having any standards of physical attractiveness was simply socially constructed conditioning, and indeed that even being strictly heterosexual was somehow reactionary and “politically incorrect.”

But these feelings of special attraction persisted. He simply was not attracted to men. He did not find all women attractive, and while he found the proportion of women he thought attractive was about the same in all ethnicities, the black women he found attractive seemed to affect him in a distinctly stronger manner than other women.

He remembered early dreams about black women from even before the time he knew any, back when he still lived in Israel as a young child. Furthermore, he really liked the independence and self-confident manner of presence displayed by many black women. Yet there were very few such women who seemed to share his cultural and political likes and dislikes. There seemed to be very few black women Deadheads; heck even the jazz shows he attended seemed to have few blacks in the audience. He knew of very few black women eco-anarchists. Indeed, there seemed to be few women of any ethnicity who even tolerated such proclivities. So he went on being without a relationship, not even dating anyone.

—

It took Joe till 2015 before he befriended a black woman at a store he went to a couple of times a week. He became curious and found via the web that he wasn’t alone, that in fact there were many white men who were primarily attracted to black women, and likewise black women to white men. He started interacting with people who discussed this in a healthy, helpful way and realized that even if he were to never have another relationship again, he could assist others by sharing his experiences.

Quite naturally, one of the things he started wondering about was what exactly happened with Donna back in October ’76. He raised this topic with a woman he had met through a website devoted to the topic of such relationships, and she provided him with what he thought was an excellent analysis. Donna, she told him, had engaged in what is popularly known as “code switching,” hence the different forms of dress in different environments.

She was probably also somewhat ambivalent about him, and somewhat curious, but not willing to put herself way out there. And she was also likely annoyed that he didn’t pick up readily enough on her cues, which can make a woman lose interest or be turned off. Annoyance could cause her to decide to nix any romantic ideas that may have seemed good at the time, but could also cause her to go from 60 to 0 and back in no time. To this, Joe added that he also felt ambivalent about Donna, and was also put off by her tendency to be skittish.

—

He concluded he’d probably done the right thing by doing nothing. But if he could do it all again, a la “Ground Hog Day,” he would have been more communicative, asking Donna at some point whether she was feeling uncomfortable because of anything he was doing.

No matter the outcome, maximized communication is always a good idea. One should never do what feels very uncomfortable, even while questioning what that something is and why. He also would not have tried to suppress his own feelings of attraction. Instead, he would have been totally “there” instead of trying to be present as some sort of desexualized being, which only served to make him less sensitive to the immediate situation.

Maybe, in another time or another place, he would have his chance.

 

 

Jeffrey StahlJeff Strahl was born in the British Mandate of Palestine, which was to become Israel within a few months. At the age of 11, in 1958, he along with his family immigrated to the United States and settled in New York, where he grew up. He graduated the City University of New York with a degree in mechanical engineering in 1970 and moved to the San Francisco Bay Area. He is now retired, enjoys hiking, bicycling, gardening and music (whether playing it, listening, or dancing to it), social activism, and life in general.  To connect with Jeff on Facebook, click here. 

Copyright © 2016 Michelle Matthews Calloway, ASwirlGirl™, The Swirl World™, LLC,  All rights reserved. Feature photo property of The Swirl World™, LLC. 

“A Teacher’s Teachable Moments” Copyright © 2016 Jeffrey Strahl.

 

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Filed Under: 2016, 2016 Posts, BW/WM, Guest Blog Tagged With: academics, BART, Berkley, calculus, California, college, Jeff Strahl, math, statistics, teachable, teacher, tutor, tutoring, university

Blind Date – A Short Story By Jon Bradbury

May 1, 2016 By Michelle Matthews-Calloway Leave a Comment

Blind Date - A Short Story by Jon Bradbury

In the middle of a humdrum ordinary day, my phone rang. “Admin, this is Jordan.”

 A female voice said, “Hey, Jordan!”

 I said, “Hi, Faith.”

 “You hard at work, or can you talk for a second?”

 Dryly, I said, “I think I can talk for a second. What’s cooking?”

 “Well. I know you’re not exactly a big fan of blind dates, but, I also know you’ve been wanting to go to that big spoken word thing this Friday.”

 “Yes, to both. So?”

 “So, I happen to know a very nice man, about your age, who has two tickets and wants to take someone.”

 Damn.

 I hated blind dates, and for a good reason. Someday I’ll tell you about some of them. My reasons, not the dates. Although I suppose my reasons have a lot to do with the dates.

 But my desire to go to the spoken word event won out. “Okay. What’s this “nice man’s” name?”

 I grinned as I made air quotes with my fingers.

 “His name is Robby Jackson. And he’s white, believe it or not. I hope that doesn’t bother you.”

 All the things my family would say and have said about interracial dating flicked through my mind.

 But I said, “No. That doesn’t bother me.”

 “Are you sure? Cause the reason I ask is, I know your family is Blacker than Black.”

 I laughed, despite myself. “No, it doesn’t bother me! So give me his digits.”

 “Oh, no, I don’t work like that. Just say the word, and I’ll give him your digits. Come on, Jordan, the clock is ticking. I gotta get back to him.”

 “Faith, come on. Really?”

 “Jordan, sweetheart, you’re my girl, but I know for a fact that if I give you this poor man’s digits, you will never call him. This phone number will sit and sit on your desk, and by the time you remember, it will be too late.”

 This was why Faith was my girl. She knew me better than I did.

 So I said, “Alright, fine, give him my digits, but just my office number. I’ll decide whether or not to give him my personal number.”

 “Office number only. You have my word, as a woman of God.”

 “Okay. Hey, I gotta go. Work is calling. I got a meeting.”

“Ok! Bye, boo.”

* * * * * *

 I had been back at my desk from the meeting for maybe five minutes when my phone rang.

“Admin, Jordan speaking.”

 A male voice said, “Hi, can I speak to Jordan Webb?”

 Oh, damn, I just got weak in the knees. I took a deep breath. “Yes, this is Jordan Webb. Is this Robby?”

 “Yes, this is Robby. Faith gave me your office number.”

 “Yes, Faith told me about you. She said you have an extra ticket for the spoken word show?”

 “Yes, indeed, I do. I was kind of hoping not to go by myself. This kind of thing is best experienced with someone to come with you.”

 “I know, right! Have you asked anyone else?”

 “No, actually, I haven’t. Not yet.”

 “What do you mean, ‘not yet?’”

 “Faith said she could fix me up with someone.”

 “What? You didn’t believe her?”

 “Well, I’ll admit I had some reservations. I’ve been fixed up before, just not by Faith.”

 I wanted to melt. But instead, I said, “Well then, I hope you don’t mind if we meet down at the bookstore. I’ve been fixed up before, too. And let’s just say it didn’t go too well.”

 “And you want to be able to get away, in case I’m an asshole or if I’m disrespectful, or you just don’t like me. Stop me anytime.”

 I felt sympathy for him. “I promise, I won’t just bail on you. Okay?”

 “Okay. Sounds good. So do you want to exchange cell phone numbers? I would like to be able to see what you look like.”

 I giggled. “Sure. Let’s do that. When does this show start, anyway?”

 “Eight o’clock, Friday night. And don’t be late. Once the show starts, they don’t let anyone in.”

 “They call me Miss Punctual for a reason.”

 “See you then?”

 “Yes, I’ll see you then. I’m at work right now, so it might be a while before I send you a picture. Okay?”

 “Yeah, that’s fine. I’m at work, too. Talk to you later?”

 “Yes. I’ll talk to you later. Work is calling.”

 “Try not to work too hard.”

 “I won’t. You, either.”

 “Me neither. Bye.”

 “Bye…”

 * * * * * *

 It wasn’t every day that the bookstore looked like a concert hall. But, as I got out of my car, that’s what the bookstore looked like, with a huge sign in front and everything.

 The night promised to be an exciting one.

 I stood up and turned around to make sure my car was locked. As I did so, I caught a look at myself in the glass. I was 5 feet and 4 inches of sexy chocolate. My eyes were a shade or two darker than my skin, and the curls in my jet black natural hair were popping.

 As soon as I had gotten out of my car and closed the door, my phone rang. I looked at the screen, and, with a sinking feeling, tapped the green button. “Hello?”

 A male voice said, “Hey.”

 I also said, “Hey. Robby?”

 “Yeah.”

 “Where are you?”

 “Turn around.”

 I did. Robby stood nearby his own car, holding his phone, and waving to me. I waved back. “You had me scared for a minute.”

 “Sorry. I was having trouble spotting you, so I figured I’d just call you.”

 I grinned. “Good idea.”

 “Thanks.”

 “Get yourself over here.”

 I heard a chuckle. “Coming.”

 A minute later, he came over to me. I gave him a hug.

 He said, “How was your day?”

 “Considering it’s Friday, not too bad. What about yours?”

 “About the same. You ready to go inside?”

 “Yeah, just about. What about you? Got the tickets?”

 “Yep. Got’em right here. By the way, you look nice.”

 “Thanks!” I said, pleased.

Since it was Friday, and a work day, I’d had to dress both for work and for my date. I couldn’t wear anything too sexy. That meant no plunging necklines. No hemlines more than four inches above the knee. And no bare backs. At least according to the guidelines issued by Human Resources. Besides, when I agreed to Faith’s request, it was only for a first date – and a blind one at that. No sense in wasting full-on glam on someone I’d never met.

So, I wore a very simple sleeveless, knee-length white dress, with a waist-cinching black leather belt, and matching black suede stiletto pumps. Red lipstick. Red nails. Black clutch purse. Not full-on glam, but still very nice.

Robby chuckled. “How do I look?”

 My date for the evening had decided to wear a navy blazer with a white shirt, tucked into khaki trousers, which were just the right length, covering his black shoes.

 “Very handsome, of course.”

He extended his arm to me. “Shall we go inside?”

 “Yes, let’s get inside. The show should be just about to start.”

 * * * * *

 We had a good time. A very good time. All the poetry was stirring, the poets themselves passionate in their delivery.

 The only wrinkle in the entire evening was this couple, sitting nearby where we were, who would stare at us a lot, in a highly disapproving manner. I couldn’t tell who it was staring at us, the man or the woman, but I could feel their disapproval. I didn’t care, and wouldn’t care, except that it was another interracial couple – a white woman with a black man.

 The black man was quite dark-skinned, darker than I was, tall and thin as a reed, with short curly black hair on his head. The woman was very pale, her hair a pale blonde like spun gold, wearing classic red lipstick, a very short black dress so tight it was a wonder she could even breathe in it, and sky-high black leather peep toe pumps. I guess she needed them to be able to reach him. My suede pumps were high, sure, but not that high.

 Ooooh, I wanted to call them out on their hypocrisy so bad, neither of them would show their faces around here for ten years. But I was also on a date, the first date I’d gone on in several months, if we’re being honest here, and I wanted it to be as drama-free as possible, for Robby’s sake as much as mine.

 So I decided to be a good girl and not do what I so badly wanted to do. For now, anyway. If either of them said so much as syllable to Robby or I, all bets were off.

 I’m sorry, but double standards do not make the least amount of sense to me, and this one worst of all. I do not get why it’s okay for black men to date a white woman, but put the shoe on the other foot, have a black woman go out with a white man, and you might as well call 9-1-1.

 Seriously! This friend of mine was dating a white man one time, and I remember seeing grown-ass black men practically have a heart attack at the very sight of them together.

 I could honestly say, however, that I had no idea how the white girl felt. I’ve never bothered to find out how white women felt about the whole interracial dating thing. Although, I remembered reading some nonsense about how black men felt less threatened by white women. That to me, meant that white girls were more inclined to go with their BS and not call them on it, like a black woman would.

 I did not get it at all. At the time, I promised myself I would not date outside my race, if only to avoid all the unnecessary drama. But now, I’m starting to change my outlook. Being on a date with a nice man was probably the reason.

 I certainly wasn’t falling in love, but the man deserved not to be the target of hate, when his only “crime” was stepping out with a black woman on his arm. And I will date whoever I want, dammit.

Fortunately, the evening was almost over, and the couple had not said a word.

As we left the bookstore, Robby and I were both talking and laughing, as I sipped from an iced coffee drink. It was enough caffeine to keep me up till midnight, but I didn’t care.

I said, “Well, thank you for taking me to the show.”

“You’re welcome. I guess you need to be going?”

“Yeah, I need to be going.”

Robby said, “Let me walk you out to your car. Mine’s nearby, anyway.”

“You don’t have to do that!”

“I just want to make sure you get to your car. Please, indulge me.”

Blushing, I slipped my arm through his, and we started walking.

Then a catty female voice said, “Don’t you look pretty on the white man’s arm.”

We turned around. There was that couple – a black man, with his date, girlfriend, whoever or whatever she was.

I said, “What’s up, girlfriend?”

“You finally decided to catch flies with honey?”

I said, “What are you talking about?”

“Well, you go around emasculating your men, so it’s not hard to guess why black men like white women.”

I thought it was because white women were easy, according to that article I read. That they would spread their legs for anyone.

But instead, I said, “Hey, my bad. You should have said something earlier. Then we could have swapped dates and we both wouldn’t be swirling. So next time let me know and we can make it all better, okay?”

Robby and the black man both laughed at that.

Then the black man said, “Come on, babe, let it go. Besides, we have reservations, remember?”

They walked off. I could tell an argument was in store for later, judging by the stony look on that man’s face.

Robby turned to me and said, “I’m impressed. That took skills.”

I laughed. “Thanks. Nobody’s ever said that before.”

“I’m glad to be the first.”

We kept walking across the parking lot until we were back at my car. I turned to him and said, “Well, thank you again, Robby. It’s been a nice evening.”

“You’re welcome. I’m hoping we can do this again.”

“You mean go out? Together?”

He grinned a lopsided grin. “Well, yeah. I think that’s how dating works.”

I laughed out loud. “I’d like that! Give me a call, but wait till next week, cause this weekend is going to be a busy one.”

“Okay. So I guess this is goodnight.”

“Yes. I’m afraid so.”

“Nah, don’t sweat it. It’s been a long day for me.”

Under the cone of light from a nearby street lamp, we kissed goodnight.

Giving him a look, the look, the one that said I did want to see him again, he saw me to my car and made sure I was inside and my door was locked. Then I returned the favor and watched him get into his car.

As I turned the key in the ignition, my phone rang. Faith. “Hello, Faith.”

With a sly tone, she said, “So, how did your date go? I hope I’m not interrupting anything…”

I laughed. “No, you’re not. But it did go very well…”


 

Jon writes erotic interracial romance! If you liked this story, please visit Jon’s personal website by clicking here (safe for work).

Jon BradburyTo find Jon’s Fan Page on Facebook, click here.

On Twitter he’s @JonB1969

You can also find some of Jon’s books on iTunes. Just go to the iTunes store, select the “Books” tab and plug-in Jon Bradbury.

Jon has been featured on our podcast! To listen to his episodes, click here and here.

If you’d like to submit a story or book excerpt for consideration, email us at InspirationDaily@TheSwirlWorld.com.

Copyright ©2016 Michelle Matthews Calloway, The Swirl World LLC , ASwirlGirl™, The Swirl World™, The Swirl World Podcast™, The Swirl World Inspiration Daily™, Swirl Nation™, All rights reserved. Photo property of The Swirl World™. 

Blind Date Copyright ©2016 Jon Bradbury. Used with permission of the author.

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Filed Under: 2016, 2016 Posts, Guest Blog, Special, Special Guests Tagged With: blind date, erotic interracial romance, Jon Bradbury

Remembering Emmanuel

December 24, 2015 By Michelle Matthews-Calloway 2 Comments

Embed from Getty Images

 

Given that this is the season of holiday parties, uplifting religious services and jammed stores, I may be in danger of coming off like the Grinch-or worse. But there’s a counterpoint to the holidays I’d like to talk about.

Thinking Of The “Emmanuel Nine”

In an era where mass shootings have become almost commonplace, I’ve found myself thinking particularly of the “Emmanuel Nine,” the Charleston pastor and congregants of the Emmanuel African Methodist Episcopal Church shot dead in June by a twisted white-power racist.

I’m disturbed by any deranged gunman with an agenda who opens fire, but this one feels much more personal and thought-provoking. Let me explain.

Time Magazine did an excellent cover story last month on the months-later aftermath of the shooting. In addition to recounting how the survivors and families have struggled to go on, the article explored some very fundamental questions related to forgiveness, such as: who has the power to forgive, who benefits more from the act; the one who forgives or the forgiven and whether it’s truly possible to “forgive and forget.”

Struggling With Forgiveness

I’ve struggled with forgiveness myself and it’s been much on my mind as of late. A lot of us have, I know. It’s easy to mull over old slights and such.

I think the best approach in the case of a truly heinous wrong is to forgive the act while telling the malefactor of the pain they’ve caused and to then top that off with an admonition to change. And frankly, I flunk that test a good percentage of the time. What’s your approach? Feedback would be welcome.

We saw that play out in a Charleston courtroom less than 48 hours after the last gunshots reverberated. It was truly wrenching and amazing at the same time.

True And Admirable Qualities

The second touchstone is that the victims and their families remind me of the people of color in my life. They are and were southerners in the finest sense of the word.

I’m referring to a sense of pride in place, a closeness of family and knowledge of its roots, an open, welcoming heart and the desire to serve. They’re not saints of course, but I’ve seen wonderful blessings that have flown from those values during my 15 years in Atlanta.

I’m lucky to have such friends and the world is a better place because of them and the Emmanuel souls, who graciously welcomed a disturbed youngster with a desire for racial war into a bible study and paid for it with their lives.

I can’t imagine the pain the survivors and families are going through, this first Christmas without their loved ones.

The third is I’ve spent time in Charleston. What a lovely, gracious city it is. And that makes what happened there all the more, well, surrealistic.

Sending Good Thoughts And Prayers

Yeah, I know we‘re focused on the Jolly Old Elf, the birth of Christ and Chanukah (not to mention finding that PERFECT gift), but if you would, take a moment and send good thoughts and prayers toward Charleston.

And think about forgiveness. True forgiveness washes away many of the toxins and bitter angers of life. And we all need a good cleansing of the soul now and then.

The best to you and yours this holiday season.

 

Mark Woolsey2Mark Woolsey is a veteran broadcaster, freelance writer and aspiring blogger. This is Mark’s third piece for The Swirl World. Expect regular contributions in 2016!

 Essay Copyright ©2015 Mark Woolsey.  Photo courtesy of Getty Images. Photo of Mark Woolsey used with permission.

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Filed Under: Guest Blog, Holiday Observances, Special Tagged With: Bible Study, Charleston, Emmanuel, forgiveness, life, living well, love, mass shooting, SC, terrorism

#320| The Definition Of True Success

November 16, 2015 By Michelle Matthews-Calloway 1 Comment

shareasimageDelana Prudhomme1

The definition of true success, per Maya Angelou:

“Success is liking yourself, liking what you do, and liking how you do it.”

Based on this definition, I’m batting 1000 – how about you?

 

Join in the Fray: Based on Maya Angelou’s definition, have you achieved success? Why or why not?

 

The Swirl World Team is committed to sharing 365 days of inspiration in 2015. Our goal is to help you stay motivated and inspired by bringing you positive, uplifting images and corresponding thoughts.

We’d love to FEATURE YOU in one of our Inspiration Daily posts! If you’d like to be featured, please send a nice, clear photo to InspirationDaily@TheSwirlWorld.com.

Copyright ©2015 Michelle Matthews Calloway, ASwirlGirl™, The Swirl World™, The Swirl World Podcast™, The Swirl World Inspiration Daily™, Swirl Nation™, All rights reserved. Photo used with permission.

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Filed Under: Black Women Living Well, Fantastic Fans, Guest Blog, Inspiration Daily 2015 Tagged With: Black women, goal setting, goals, life, living well, self esteem, success

Guest Post: I Dream Of Traveling

October 8, 2015 By Michelle Matthews-Calloway Leave a Comment

I Had A Dream

For as long as I can remember I’ve also wanted to know what the world looked like outside my Chicago neighborhood. I recall thumbing through the set of encyclopedias (that I had begged my mother to buy) and collecting old National Geographic magazines that the librarian had trashed. To me these items were priceless. They provided me an escape, a glimpse into places that until then I had only heard mentioned on TV or in school. Places that I wanted to visit and experience.

It never dawned on me that the people who were sharing their stories of traveling to these foreign lands didn’t look like me I was too wrapped in the words they used to describe their experiences to notice. I just wanted to be there, somewhere, anywhere besides where I was.

The Dream Resurfaces . . . And Is Deferred

As the years went by my childhood dream of traveling to see the world never faded but they dropped down on my bucket list until 1997, when my then-husband who was serving in the United States Air Force was assigned to Izmir, Turkey. It was then that the opportunity to fulfill that childhood dream had presented itself. While living in Turkey for three years I traveled to the following countries; Germany, Switzerland, Greece, France, UK and Belgium.

After leaving Turkey and returning to the U.S., I hadn’t completely satisfied my appetite for traveling and living abroad. Once again I had to let they dream slide down the priority list while adjusting to life as a single parent and raising my daughters.

Living The Dream

 Flash forward 15 years to 2013 and I’m 40 years old, an empty nester, both daughters in college and living on their own, and I’m climbing the corporate ladder in a career that I love. I had been with my current employer for 11 months when I was promoted to a management position in Athens, Greece. After discussing the opportunity with my daughters I graciously accepted and packed my bags for my new home in Athens, Greece.

And what a beautiful home it was!

Inside Rachel Robinson's Grecian penthouse

I rented a penthouse apartment in a beach community called Porto Rafti, just steps away from the beach and about a 20-minute drive outside of Athens where I worked.

I would sit out on my patio with a glass of wine and take in the most amazing views of the Aegean Sea and breathtaking sunrises.

RachelRobinson_Apt2

I shopped at the local farmers market and grocery store that was just a 10-minute drive from my apartment. Next door to the market was a flower shop owned by an older gentleman. Every time he saw me at the market he would bring me a bouquet of flowers and talk to me in Greek (which I hadn’t yet mastered).

Immersed In Greek Culture

The locals were very welcoming. My neighbors living in the apartment downstairs were both retired educators who spoke 11 languages between the two of them. When the wife (Mina) would hear me come home from work in the evenings, she would call out to me as I was getting off the elevator to let me know that she had cooked dinner and that there was plenty for me.

When they insisted I joined them they made me feel like I was a member of their family. We would talk for hours – and just let me say that the Greeks know how to entertain!

What would start as a quiet dinner for 3 at 8 o’clock would easily turn into a neighborhood gathering by 10 o’clock. I can still hear the joyous conversations with music and laughter in the background.

Interactive History Lessons

Touring the city was more than just taking in the sights, it was an interactive history lesson that I couldn’t get enough of. Events in history that up until then I had only read about, became real, and I found myself standing at the Temple of Olympian Zeus, at Syntagma Square or the temple of Parthenon and so much more.

Greece1_RachelRobinson

I’m Not Done!

I have what I call two tours under my belt and I’m not even close to being done. Living abroad has presented me with so many life experiences that I will never forget. I’ve met some of the kindest people, forged some amazing lifelong friendships and learned some of life’s most valuable lessons.

I recommend stepping outside of your corner of the world – you just might like it!

 

Rachel RobinsonRachel Robinson is a Human Resources executive whose job requires extensive travel.

She will be featured in an upcoming podcast.

This is Rachel’s first travel blog for The Swirl World – stay tuned for more!

 

Copyright ©2015 Michelle Matthews Calloway, ASwirlGirl™, The Swirl World™, The Swirl World Podcast™, The Swirl World Inspiration Daily™, Swirl Nation™, All rights reserved. Photos used with permission.

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Filed Under: Black Women Living Well, Fantastic Fans, Goal Setting, Guest Blog, Interracial Families, Military Couples, Swirling Singles, Travel, Uncategorized, We Love Our Military Tagged With: Black women, challenge, interracial, interracial marriage, life, living well, military, swirling, travel, Writing

The One List Everyone Needs To Make

October 5, 2015 By Michelle Matthews-Calloway 6 Comments

shareasimageWRITING_MW

I couldn’t find the quote online, but I thought I read somewhere, at some point, the notion that “gratitude is just disguised envy.”

Say What??

If indeed that statement was ever made (and I didn’t just manufacture it in my brain), nothing could be further from the truth.

The Gratitude List

Michelle’s recent post on gratitude led to be a bit of online research, some mulling over of things and an urge to talk about what’s come to be a valuable tool for me-The Gratitude List (capitalization intended).

I saw one online post that referred to enumerating things to be grateful for as a “gratitude adjustment” and that’s a term that really resonates with me. Each time I do it, I feel at least a tiny bit better about life.

Full disclosure here: I struggle with depression.

It’s chronic and I think it’s chemical in nature. I’ve had periods of feeling low since before I could put a name to what I am feeling. As I have progressed through adulthood, I’ve developed a toolbox of techniques that have helped me beat back the demons, including meditation, cognitive behavior exercises, working out, maintaining and growing my support system, being spiritual and yes, taking meds.

One of the weapons in the arsenal that has come along relatively recently is the gratitude list. The concept turned up in some self-help literature I was reading, and it was reinforced in a discussion with a buddy of mine over pizza. He has struggled with his own issues, by the way.

Making The List

So here’s what I do, and here’s my suggestion for the one list everyone needs to make. (Full disclosure: I don’t make my list nearly as much I should, or want to. Some days are insanely busy).

(1) Whenever time allows, I hand-write my list. It seems to engrave the message more firmly onto my brain

(2) I begin each point with: “I am so happy and grateful for”…as opposed to stating it once and then listing a bunch of bullet points. Mentioning happiness and gratitude anew each time I list a point links the concept of happiness/gratitude and what I am specifying more firmly.

(3) I really try hard for specifics, so that I’m not stating the same generalities over and over. Instead of “I am so happy and grateful for a loving and supportive partner,” how about “I am happy and grateful for a partner so loving that she made me stuffed green peppers (one of my favorites) for dinner after hearing that I had a lousy day at work.”

(4). Have a little fun with it, be silly. “I am so happy and grateful that for once, the guy in the next cubicle who smacks his lips while eating went to the break room instead of eating lunch at his desk. Peace and quiet and no feeling like I am next door to a pig feeding at a trough! (Hint: don’t show this to your co-worker).

It Works!

And it works. Last week I had one of those “worst days ever.” Hellish commute, forgot my lunch, mini-confrontation with a supervisor (no punches were thrown) and didn’t have time to make it to the gym. Time to make a gratitude list! And it really helped, along with a mini-meditation as I sat in my car before pulling out of the parking garage.

Join in the Fray: How do you express your gratitude? I’d love to hear some feedback.

 

Mark Woolsey is a veteran broadcaster, freelance writer and aspiring blogger. This is his second piece for The Swirl World – stay tuned for more!

 

Copyright ©2015 Michelle Matthews Calloway, ASwirlGirl™, The Swirl World™, The Swirl World Podcast™, The Swirl World Inspiration Daily™, Swirl Nation™, All rights reserved. Photo property of The Swirl World™.

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Filed Under: Fantastic Fans, Guest Blog, Mental Health, Special, Uncategorized Tagged With: depression, gratitude, Gratitude List, life, lists, living well, Mark Woolsey, Mental Health, Writing

Julian Bond, Barney Fife and Gomer Pyle, USMC

August 28, 2015 By Michelle Matthews-Calloway 5 Comments

shareasimageJulianBond

How’s that for an unlikely juxtaposition? An iconic civil rights leader, a bumpkin and a blow hard.

Let me explain.

Midwestern Mindset

I was raised in the Midwest, in a small town near St. Louis. Our community was insular and lily-white. Outsiders weren’t especially welcome, particularly people of color, I am sorry to say. My family and a lot of kids in my school also bought into the whole notion that southerners were backward hayseeds who plowed with mules, walked around barefoot and didn’t have indoor plumbing. I remember Ed Wilson, the new kid in fifth grade, from someplace in Tennessee. Boy, did we ride him hard about his molasses-like drawl.

Our Opinion Of The South

And further re-enforcing that notion was Jim Nabors, AKA Gomer, a wide-eyed slack-jawed simpleton who eventually turned into a good Marine, but was a constant source of irritation to his hard-nosed drill instructor. The show was spun off from the Andy Griffith Show, which of course featured Don Knotts as Barney Fife, a clueless blowhard with delusions of grandeur. I watched both programs every week and bought into the stereotypes.

And yes, although I was not particularly politically aware up to that point, there were the George Wallaces and Lester Maddoxes of the world, with their mantras of hate. All that contributed to what I now realize was a prejudiced, skewed view of southerners as a whole.

Then along came Julian Bond.

A “New South”

I’m pretty sure the first time I became aware of him was when he was nominated for Vice President at the 1968 Democratic National Convention. He was smart, urbane and magnetic. Okay, and handsome, too. Watching him speak on the black-and-white TV in my bedroom made me realize that there was indeed a “new South” (a term just starting to come into vogue) and that people of color were to have a place at the table. Somewhat revolutionary notions for a sheltered kid barely into his teens.

Bond’s Impact

That look-see on TV – and all the other events of that momentous convention – spurred me to start reading about the civil rights movement, which hadn’t been on my radar much up to that point. The King and Kennedy assassinations earlier that year had already started the process, but from that point on, I became a political and current-events junkie.

And that helped start me down the road toward becoming a radio, TV and print journalist, a vocation that I still pursue today.

The Power Of A Lasting Legacy

I never got to meet or interview Mr. Bond, although I have been lucky enough to talk with other civil rights luminaries along the way. As an Atlanta reporter, I have interviewed his son Michael Julian Bond (an Atlanta city council member) several times, and worked with the younger Bond’s wife in a radio newsroom. Good people, both of them.

The memorial tributes for Bond have certainly made the main points of his life clear, from his days with the Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee to serving in the Georgia House and Senate, his failed Congressional bid, his co-founding of the Southern Poverty Law Center and his longtime presidency of the NAACP. That track record makes clear his work ethic, commitment to the movement and ability to get things done.

But on occasion, what is “history” to most of us becomes “personal” to one of us. And sometimes that helps to change thinking and perspective. And for that, Mr. Bond, I thank you.

 

Mark Woolsey is a veteran broadcaster, freelance writer and aspiring blogger. This is his first piece for The Swirl World – stay tuned for more!

 

Copyright ©2015 Michelle Matthews Calloway, ASwirlGirl™, The Swirl World™, The Swirl World Podcast™, The Swirl World Inspiration Daily™, Swirl Nation™, All rights reserved. Photo of Julian Bond licensed to The Swirl World™.

 

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Filed Under: Fantastic Fans, Guest Blog, Special, Special Guests, Uncategorized Tagged With: Barney Fife, Black. White, Gomer Pyle, guest blog, guest post, Julian Bond, Mark Woolsey

Guest Post: We’ve Come A Long Way

June 12, 2015 By Michelle Matthews-Calloway 2 Comments

shareasimageWillieshaWedding

One of the things I love about editing a blog promoting interracial relationships is the opportunity to read – and share – the stories, perspective and experiences of couples from all over the world.

In honor of Loving Day, I’m sharing and re-blogging this post by my cyber friend and fellow blogger, author and freelance writer Williesha Morris of Nerdy Thirty-Something Life.

Enjoy!

We’ve Come A Long Way

Despite what’s happening in our country now, I’m deeply grateful for how far we’ve come.

I’ve probably mentioned it before, but my parents spent their entire childhood in SC dealing with seemingly innocuous injustices: entering stores from the back, using separate everything and, when walking at night, always being sure to hide as soon as you saw car lights.

They’re not bitter, not once ever openly rejected my white friends and dates and, well, when they and J’s family are together like they were for Christmas I just want to cry. It’s just unbelievably awesome. Like something out of a cheesy Hallmark movie LOL. Sure our families are so very different in many ways other than race, but they still make sure to get comfortable with each other and feel like one family.

I may preach about what happens these days and use polarizing phrases like “white privilege” and “institutional racism” and that the phrase “post-racial society” is almost laughable it’s so false.

But I know how far we’ve come. I’ve studied and appreciated what happened during the Civil Rights movement and love talking about it.

On Gratitude

Even though there’s always awkwardness from the cold stares and general discomfort living here as an interracial couple I’m grateful. Every time I walk into the front of a store or step on a plane and an employee gives me a smile, every time I show affection for my husband in public and, shoot, simply every day I go to bed and snuggle up for the evening I’m grateful.

One of my favorite moments of the year was listening to activist Rep. John Lewis at Dragon Con talk about his motivation for the graphic novel March. He had met my husband while here and my husband thanked him for being an honest politician and what he’d done to make sure we could be married.

Lewis later referred to him as a “white brother” and handed out his cards to everyone. A couple of months later, he sent us signed copies of his books.

When it was time for audience comments, I knew I should thank him for the gifts and to say, to the audience’s enjoyment, that my husband couldn’t attend because he was in the board gaming area. (When I sat back down later, someone next to me whispered, “Your husband is REALLY a geek.”)

But like a few other audience members before and after me, I began to cry. His suffering and sacrifices while growing up, living and fighting for justice in Alabama had a direct effect on my life today.

He and his co-author, congressional aide Andrew Aydin, were signing books afterwards, so I anxiously waited in line to say hi close-up and get Aydin’s autograph. Lewis remembered speaking to my husband which floored me. Considering that meeting many people in and out of his constituency is a regular activity for him (and he’s 74 years young), I was so happy and stunned he remembered.

Aydin said “Aww” when he saw the books and the envelope they were shipped in. It appeared Lewis had packed and addressed the envelope himself. After affirming he met my husband, it was time to move on so I quickly thanked him, shook his hand and pressed my cheek against his. I was beaming the rest of the day and couldn’t wait to get back to the gaming room to let the hubs in on what happened.

Because of leaders like Lewis, we’ve grown dramatically, particularly here in the South compared to my parents’ youth. It’s amazing how much little time has passed but how far we’ve come. You can liken it to the advancement of technology in the last 30 years or so. It’s phenomenal.

To close 2014, I’m choosing to reflect on the greatness we experience on a daily basis and seem to take for granted. I’ll stumble and allow negativity to come back. But I know we’re almost there. Today I choose gratitude.

Copyright ©2015 Williesha Morris.

 

Williesha MorrisWilliesha Morris was named an “Agent of Change” by the Alabama Media Group for her work in hosting Loving Day Celebrations in her city. Alabama Media Group is a digitally-focused news and information company that combines the quality journalism from The Birmingham News, The Huntsville Times, Mobile’s Press-Register and The Mississippi Press with the up-to-the-minute access of AL.com and gulflive.com.

Be sure to visit Williesha’s blog, Nerdy Thirty-Something Life. Find tools and resources for “the writer’s life” at her website, My Freelance Life. Follow Williesha on Twitter @WillieshaMorris.

Copyright ©2015 Michelle Matthews Calloway, ASwirlGirl™, The Swirl World™, The Swirl World Podcast™, The Swirl World Inspiration Daily™, Swirl Nation™, All rights reserved. Photos used with permission.

 

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Filed Under: Black Women Living Well, BW/WM, Guest Blog, Holiday Observances, Interracial Families, Uncategorized

#122| Too Busy?

May 2, 2015 By Michelle Matthews-Calloway Leave a Comment

redcurrant, blueberries and raspberries

redcurrant, blueberries and raspberries

One of the things I’m working on is eating healthier. Thankfully, I do fairly well with this goal, yet there’s always room for improvement.

Weekdays are hectic, and if I fail to plan well and have healthy foods already on hand, eating healthy becomes that much more of a struggle.

For me, the weekend is a great time to shore my body up on salads and fruit. It’s also a good time to make a run to the grocery store to stock up on the things I’ll need for the upcoming week – which goes a long way toward ensuring I’ll be successful in eating right during the week.

Berries are in season now, and few things are more refreshing on a warm morning than a nice cold smoothie. Here’s a recipe I snagged from my friend Michelle over at ElleVeg.com. Michelle says,

“The following is my base recipe for a really good smoothie with several variations that I use for breakfast a few times a week.

  • 1/2 frozen banana
  • 3 frozen figs
  • 1 tablespoon natural honey
  • 1/2 teaspoon natural vanilla extract
  • one scoop PGX Vegan Protein, vanilla
  • 1 cup low fat soy milk (or substitute your favorite milk: almond, rice, etc.)
  • 2/3 cup ice
  • 1/8 teaspoon cinnamon
  • 2/3 cup fruit

Blend well on high and enjoy! I try to use seasonal fruits for breakfast or ones I’ve frozen during the summer. Cantaloupe makes a really refreshing smoothie as does kiwi. Need an antioxidant boost? Mix blueberries, blackberries, and raspberries. Need a bit more energy? Omit the fruit and add 2 tablespoons of natural peanut butter.”

This weekend, I challenge you to join me in making a conscious effort to eat healthier. Try Michelle’s delicious smoothie recipe, and make sure to have a salad for lunch or a light dinner sometime this weekend.

We don’t ever want to be too busy to eat healthy!

 

The Swirl World Team is committed to sharing 365 days of inspiration in 2015. Our goal is to help you stay motivated and inspired by bringing you positive, uplifting images and corresponding thoughts.

We’d love to FEATURE YOU in one of our Inspiration Daily posts! If you’d like to be featured, please send a nice, clear photo to InspirationDaily@TheSwirlWorld.com.

Copyright ©2015 Michelle Matthews Calloway, ASwirlGirl™, The Swirl World™, The Swirl World Podcast™, The Swirl World Inspiration Daily™, Swirl Nation™, All rights reserved. Photo property of The Swirl World™. Smoothie recipe courtesy of Michelle Minvielle at ElleVeg.com, Copyright ©2014. All rights reserved

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Filed Under: Black Women Living Well, Goal Setting, Guest Blog, Health & Exercise, Inspiration Daily 2015 Tagged With: berries, eating healthy, ElleVeg, healthy eating, Michelle Minvielle, smoothie, smoothie recipe

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I’m Michelle Matthews-Calloway, and I’m A Swirl Girl! Greetings to you from The Swirl World. We encourage Black women to expand their relationship options by dating and marrying interracially. Our overarching mission is to see Black Women live their best life. Come Swirl with us in The Swirl World™, where we celebrate Black women and the diverse men who love us!™

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