...And you thought YOU could make a difference?

How would you feel if you found out that President Obama's daughters were not only unaware of the meaning of the word "leadership," but had never even seen the word? What if Frederick Douglass' five children had never heard the word "sacrifice?" What if Booker T. Washington's three children had never understood the meaning of the word "labor?" What if Malcolm X's six children weren't aware of the word "pride?"

Hard to imagine, isn't it? That's exactly why I scoffed when my white, New England-raised Teach for America English advisor told our group to be prepared to define and explain the word "prejudice" during an initial reading with our 99% all-black summer school students from across inner-city Atlanta. How dare she suggest that these students, raised in the heart of the South, could be ignorant to the word "prejudice?" As the one of the only black educators in the room, I merely shook my head and kept my comments to myself, chalking up her words to naivete.


That was until I met *Ashton. At 4-foot-7 with a voice squeakier than a Chipette, she was the first person I sat down to read with when I met my class of forty; forty tenth through twelfth-graders from across Atlanta who had failed to pass ninth-grade English. Forty students that included some with criminal records and an expecting mother. Ashton seemed to provide a stark contrast from the group because of her sweet, child-like innocence. A student at Coretta Scott King High School, an all-girls leadership academy in Atlanta, Ashton was like a breath of fresh air.


But, it wasn't until she began to read me the selected passage that I realized reading and writing were just the  tip of the iceberg in terms of the issues I would face while teaching summer school. Hunched over the paper in deep concentration, Ashton read each word carefully while following along with her index finger. It wasn't until we got to the word I was waiting for that she began to stutter.


"Prrr - pree - preeej..." I was watching incredulously as Ashton began to sink deeper and deeper, like she was being swallowed by quicksand. Let her sound it out, I thought. Just wait, she'll get it.


After what felt like a long, laborious 35 seconds, Ashton finally glanced up at me, her eyes pleading with me to give her my hand to pull her out. "Prejudice," I said finally, searching her big, brown eyes for a hint of recognition. My heart sank to the soles of my feet as she crinkled her brows in confusion.


"Preh-juh-diss?" she sounded out cautiously, looking back at the page.


"Prejudice," I repeated. "You know what prejudice is..." I paused. "Right?"


She looked back up at me and smiled sheepishly, shaking her head.


"But you've heard the word," I nodded encouragingly. She shook her head and shrugged.


My heart pounded as she waited for me to explain. She's got to be kidding me, I thought. But as I looked back at Ashton, I knew that there was nothing funny happening right now. Finally, I cleared my throat. "Prejudice is when someone forms a negative opinion about someone else without a logical reason." She nodded slowly. I continued, "For example, someone could be prejudiced against you because you're black," I said.


She nodded and continued reading. And though I, too, was staring down at the words on the page, all I could see was a mountain I was no longer sure I was prepared or equipped to climb.


I wish I could say that Ashton was the only student to whom I had to teach the word "prejudice" that day; but there were several others - all carrying the names of Coretta Scott King, Frederick Douglass, Dorothy Height, Booker T. Washington and George Washington Carver High School on their backs. The irony left me dazed and discouraged by the time I left school that day; where had the disconnect occurred? As I stood in front of my class that first day, I sadly watched as students cursed each other out, fixed the bandannas in their sagging back pockets and threw reading and writing assignments on the floor as a sign of defiance.


All of a sudden, I was Hilary Swank standing in a classroom to which I couldn't relate. I was Sandra Bullock watching a black boy with so much potential throw it away because he couldn't see past his immediate circle of influence. I was Emma Stone trying to save a group of disenfranchised black females through an overly-simplified solution to an overly-complex issue. With the exception of my skin tone and my educational background (having gone to both an HBHS and an HBCU), I was now the women I had scoffed at, resented and rebuked: the white savior who had thought that "making a difference" could happen in an hour and thirty minutes of reel time.


On my second day of teaching, one of my pregnant girls asked me why I cared so much about them raising their hands. After giving an impassioned speech about the importance of being respectful, college-ready and blah, blah, blah; she interrupted me. Just that quick, I was suddenly Whoopi Goldberg from Sister Act II, standing for the first time in front of a class of rowdy inner-city high school students who couldn't give a damn about me, respect or college.


"Let me tell you something, right quick," she interrupted, popping her gum and putting her hands on her eight-months large stomach.


Looking around at her classmates with a smirk, she finally met my surprised eyes. "Welcome to the A, Baby Girl, because we don't follow directions here; so, you might as well quit now."


In the midst of all the cat-calling, jeers and cheers; something in me snapped. No longer sure if I was the newest guest on the television show What Would You Do, a sudden star in the latest 'save the poor black children' movie or simply unprepared to deal with something I naively thought would be easy; I was now hysterical. I laughed...laughed...then laughed some more, until the entire class was looking at me with a mix of fear and confusion. Standing up slowly from the edge of the teacher's desk, I walked to the front of the room, shoulders still shaking with silent laughter. Turning around, I looked my baby mama right in the eye and said, "Now, let me tell all of you something."


All forty eyes were trained on me as I held eye contact with my very own 'Rita Louise Watson.' "If you think I came all the way to 'the A' to babysit you, watch you disrespect me, each other and fail this class again; it's gonna be a longgggg summer...baby girl." I laughed again and began writing on the board. "Listen up," I said loudly, smiling to myself.


"If you wanna be somebody, if you wanna go somewhere, you better wake up and pay attention," I turned around to face the class. "Because this is your moment."


And, with the pressure of Coretta, Martin, Malcolm, Dorothy, Frederick, George, Booker and Barack watching, it's my moment too.


"No you won't be name'n no buildings after me / to go down dilapidated / No you won't be name'n no buildings after me / My name will be mistated, surely." - E. Badu (A.D. 2000)

Smile because she lived...

I didn't anticipate being as affected as I was by Dr. Davy's passing. I had known about her battle with leukemia for awhile now, and sometimes even heard her speak openly about death. But as I read the news on Twitter, I immediately felt a lump grow in my throat as my eyes welled up. I had just seen her two weeks earlier when she gently teased me for being one of the last seniors on-campus, days after graduation.

"I never thought you'd be the one," she smirked.

"What do you mean?" I asked, as I plopped down in the chair diagonal from her desk. It was Thursday, four days after we had crossed the stage at Commencement.

"The one that would have trouble letting go," she said. "There's one every year. But I never would've guessed it'd be you."

I never would've guessed it either; but the fact of the matter is that I wasn't quite ready to let go. I wasn't ready to turn the page on what has been one of the most life-changing chapters of my life. Wasn't ready to say goodbye to the characters that have had more of an impact on my life and who I am than I gave them credit for.

Dr. Freddye T. Davy was one of those people. In a word, Dr. Davy was a BOSS. An original gangsta. An O.G. - yeah, I said it. She kept her pimp hand strong and her words even stronger. She didn't waste her breath and definitely never wasted her time. Many didn't realize that Dr. Davy has been sick for awhile now; you never would've guessed it by looking at her. She rarely missed a day of work and refused to slow down no matter how much her health deteriorated. She often said she was working on borrowed time; time I'd like to think she borrowed to see my class off into the world. I think that's what caused the tears to fall. It wasn't sadness; it was more like overwhelming gratitude.

Throughout college I've lost so many mentors and leaders as they transitioned to new chapters in their lives. First, Dean Tony Brown, the journalism legend whose leadership at the Scripps Howard School is the very reason I chose Hampton University. Then, Professor Martha Wilson - the first teacher at Hampton who truly invested in me. Then it was Opel Jones, the director of the Leadership Institute. Dr. Taylor of the Honors College and Leadership Institute left soon after. Mr. Dillard, director of University choirs passed away unexpectedly last year. During my tenure at Hampton, I experienced three different school deans, two different Leadership Institute directors and two different mentors in the Honors College. Dr. Davy, however, made it known that she wasn't leaving until she was good and ready. After spending a few days in the hospital last week, she checked out after ignoring the concerns of her doctor. She allegedly told the hospital staff that she refused to lay in a hospital waiting to die. The next day she returned to work. Just days later, I was told that she bid the Honors College staff farewell for the day with one casual phrase that I'm sure the secretary will never forget: "See ya when I see ya."

Words can't describe what Dr. Davy meant to me. If you had talked to me just a year ago, I would've told you that Dr. Davy had a personal vendetta against me. She would barely let me get a word out before challenging my thinking, my word choice and even the way I carried myself. There were times when I would go weeks hiding from her to avoid her critical gaze (though it was difficult because I lived in the same building as her office). Now, I'm thankful that she cared enough to give me the tough love that she did. I'm grateful to be one of the few whose names she remembered. And while I'm glad I was able to thank her face-to-face for everything she taught me a few weeks ago, as well as see her celebrated when the Honors College was renamed in honor of her just months ago, I felt inclined to create a post sharing the invaluable wisdom that she bestowed upon me during my tenure at Hampton.

Dr. Davy has taught thousands of students during her lifetime, but here are some of the valuable words of wisdom that I gained from her. I like to call them...


The Davy-isms:

• Think before you speak. Forget "um" and "like," Dr. Davy would barely let me get a word out before calling me out for saying "basically" or "you know." She taught me to mean what I say and say what I mean. There's nothing wrong with pausing to collect your thoughts and, in most cases, it makes people pay more attention to what you're saying when you do take your time. There's nothing wrong with slowing down and paying attention to what you're saying and how you're saying it.

• Pay your dues, then get paid to pursue your passion. Dr. Davy used to say that my generation was too caught up on following our passions. The fact of the matter is, in her opinion, that dropping everything to follow your passion is not only misguided, but stupid as well. "At 22-years old, what are you sure about?" She asked me one day. Before I could answer, she cut in. "All you know is that you want to be able to feed yourself and be financially independent. Pursue something that will help you to do that and along the way, you'll find your passion and have the ability to pursue it without losing everything." According to Dr. Davy, she didn't find her passion until after years of school, teaching and random jobs here and there. It wasn't until later in life that she began doing what she was truly passionate about - on her own terms. Dr. Davy often didn't come in to work until after 11 a.m. She had earned that privilege because her dues were paid.

• Love what you do and you'll never work a day in your life. Dr. Davy was passionate about the Honors College. She lived and breathed it, investing everything she had in each student she had. It was often that I would see the light on in her office as late as 11 p.m. She loved the work she was doing and I truly believe that that's why she was able to stay with us as long as she did.

• It's not who you know, it's who knows you. 

• Don't ask people what they can do for you; tell people what you need from them. [WARNING: The power of this technique is semi-dangerous if used correctly. Not for the ill-willed or weak at heart]. I like to call this one "The Davy." I often witnessed it when she would call students and faculty into her office, or even when she would reach out to alumni. It's a technique that I marveled at and, to this day, have practiced using it for my own purposes. The results have been surreal. Dr. Davy had a way of getting what she needed from you by phrasing a question in the form of a statement. For example, instead of asking someone, "Can you help me build an ark later? There going to be a flood;" Dr. Davy would say: "I'm going to have you get started on this ark I'm building. There's going to be a flood and there's no time to waste." If you practice this technique enough, you'll never have to worry about rallying support or getting things done.

• Common sense ain't that common. Too often we question what we already know to be true. It's often about what we should or shouldn't do in a situation. We try to safeguard our actions by seeking validation from others instead of trusting our gut or intuition. Thinking before you ask questions and trusting your instincts will get you much further than adopting a CYA mentality all the time. Too often it's better to ask forgiveness than ask permission.

• Waiting for the spanking hurts worse than the spanking itself. So get it over with! If you did something wrong, own up to it and own up to it quickly. The faster you take responsibility for what you did, the faster you deal with the consequences. Also, being honest and accountable often will get you more respect than waiting to confess and playing the blame game.

The lessons I've learned from Dr. Davy are boundless. Our loss was Heaven's gain and I will forever be grateful for the lessons (though tough) that I gained from her. She was truly a gem and I'm glad to have another angel added to my flock. I will continue to honor her memory by living her wisdom and sharing it with others. Dr. Davy lived. She really, really lived. And I'm grateful.

Rest in peace.

What are some Davy-isms that you learned from her? Celebrate her life by commenting and sharing what she taught you.

2012...or 1912?

2012: The Year the Pot Finally Boiled Over 
2012: The Year America's Caged Monster Finally Broke Free
2012: The Year the Country's Dirty Little Secret Went Viral
2012: The Year a Dark Past Emerged From The Shadows
2012: The Year We Realized We Were Never Really "Free."

I've been daydreaming about future headlines for awhile now. With so much going on in the news, I can't help but think that it's time.

It's that realization moment when it becomes apparent that what happens next is up to you. Up to me. At 22-years old, I'm the same age as most of the Freedom Riders (pictured above) who left college to risk their lives on a journey through the deep South to challenge Jim Crow. I'm the same age as many of the protestors who marched in strength and solitude for Emmett Till. As I prepare to leave college and embark on a life that will be guided solely by my own decisions, I've come to the realization that the Special Prosecutor's announcement is a direct challenge at me, my peers and our future children.

In just four months since the start of the new year, the black community has already suffered the loss of too many as a result of bigotry and racism. Trayvon Martin was killed in cold blood 43 days ago; his murderer is still not in custody. On March 24, 19-year old college student, Kendrec McDade, was shot and killed after being wrongfully suspected of having a weapon. Four days ago, Howard Morgan was sentenced to 40 years in prison after being shot 28 times by police officers while he was working as an off-duty police officer. This past weekend, innocent black pedestrians in Tulsa, Oklahoma were gunned down by two racist white men.

Is this 2012 or 1912? As we continue forward toward this year's presidential election, I can't help but wonder about what else the year has in store and how my generation will respond. The Black Panther party has already reorganized into a more modern, yet just as radical version. Racial tension is at an all-time high right now, and I know that if something doesn't happen soon these rallies could quickly turn into riots. But would you riot?

Mark my words: The events of this year could forever be recorded in history as a turning point for this country and its continued struggle with its dark past. The headline may even look similar to what I imagined above. But how will our response fit into that story? How will our generation be described? What will you tell your grandchildren when they ask you about it?

It's not just time; it's our time. I think it's time to stand up and regroup. What happens next is up to us.

Get Over It: Why Black People Need to Lighten Up

Face it – black people like chicken.

It can be baked, barbequed, broiled, slow roasted, kabob’d or grilled; but let's be honest, you like it best when it’s fried. There’s nothing like the crispy, juicy, down home comfort of a crunchy, perfectly-spiced chicken breast. Your mama made it, her mama made it, her mama’s mama made it and her mama’s mama’s mama probably made it on somebody’s plantation. Fried chicken runs as deep as the blood, sweat and tears of our ancestors and is an undeniably integral part of our culture as black Americans. We cook it, we eat it, we talk about it and if you look anything like Mary J. Blige, you’re mostly likely singing about it too (see video on right).

Too much? Well, if you didn’t even kind-of smile at that last paragraph I have two words for you: LIGHTEN UP! It’s time for us to start treating silly generalizations as what they are – silly generalizations. It’s like the black community is in a permanently crouched position – waiting, carefully watching for someone to slip up and do or say anything seemingly offensive that we can rant about. From racist bumper stickers, to ignorant tweets to stereotype-charged advertising, we’ve slowly become the that was racist-patrol. We have to understand that most generalizations are based in some sort of fact and laugh about it. We also have to understand that people tend to hate and fear what they don't understand. Most importantly, we, as a community, have to realize that our constant defensiveness is what gives blatant ignorance its power.

In regards to Mary J. Blige, the 'queen of ghetto love' recently decided to partner with Burger King to promote their new crispy chicken wrap. In a voice filled with the soul we all know and love, she sang “crispy chicken, fresh lettuce, three cheeses, ranch dressing, wrapped up in a tasty flour tortilla!” like the rent was past due. I’ll be the first to admit it – when I saw the commercial, I couldn’t help but bob my head and snap to the catchy beat. When the commercial was over, I laughed and shook my head. In no way did I feel that Mary J. Blige making a personal decision to sing about fried chicken had tarnished my brand. Matter of fact, the tune has been stuck in my head ever since. Nevertheless, Burger King pulled the commercial after backlash from viewers who said the commercial was racist.

The truth is, to be a famous and successful black American is to carry the weight of the black community on one’s shoulders. We automatically realize the fact that there may not be many in our position and that the image we project to the general population may be one of the only positive impressions of blacks to which they’re exposed. We realize that how we speak, behave and react is being judged at all times by our paler counterparts and we respond accordingly.

But is it fair? Is it fair to me that the silly decisions Mary J. Blige makes for her brand could affect how people view me? Is it fair to aspiring black actresses that they could be discounted in regards to larger lead roles because of the roles that actresses like Gabourey Sidibe, Octavia Spencer, Viola Davis and even the late Hattie McDaniel have chosen to take? Is it fair that young black boys like Trayvon Martin have to fear for their lives because of young thugs who share nothing but a similar complexion?

No. It’s not fair. And while some may argue that life isn’t fair and “it is what it is,” I decided long ago that wasn't going to own y'all's “raggedy shit” (credit to Raven). I’ve got enough of my own to deal with. Yes, I’m black. No, I don’t like fried chicken. Yes, I’m black. No, I'm not plotting to attack you because I’m wearing a hoodie. Yes, I’m black. No, my first language is not “Ebonics.” I’m not a dropout, I don’t aspire to be the next Nicki Minaj and I am not illiterate (my excellent reading comprehension actually made it clear to me that both Rue and Thresh were black prior to viewing The Hunger Games on opening night - but that’s another conversation).

There comes a time when you have to be able to laugh at yourself and more importantly, laugh at other people. Don’t own those generalizations. Realizing that your success is not based on someone else’s decisions and choosing to be your own unique brand is the first step to fighting stereotypes.

- Jess

Why Activism DID NOT Die With My Generation

Yesterday, I was told by a professor that activism died with my generation. We’re too “apathetic.” We’re too “narcissistic.” We’re too “self-involved.” We’re too “scared to step out.” We’re too “concerned about looking good on paper.”

Students in his generation wouldn’t have just sat by, passively chatting about the latest instance of injustice, like it was the latest trend. Marches. Sit-ins. Protests. Rallies. Picketing. With duct-taped mouths, heads bowed and fists raised to the sky, they would have fought relentlessly (with their local, contained group).

Have you ever imagined how the civil rights movement might have been different had social media existed?

Dr. King would have had thousands of Twitter followers. Pictures of Rosa Parks being arrested after defiantly refusing to give up her seat on that bus would have spread like wildfire on sites like Instagram. The Freedom Riders would have organized a group via Facebook and might have even recorded and uploaded their encounters in the Deep South to YouTube or Tumblr. News of the four little girls killed in the church bombing or 14-year-old Emmett Till’s murder would have been instant trending topics (given that Twitter didn’t block them).

Social media would have been major for not only raising worldwide awareness of civil rights issues happening in small areas, but also for mobilizing international support. The bus boycotts, which begin in Montgomery in 1955, would have extended beyond Montgomery, traversing the South and east coast, devastating the public transportation industry for years to come. The sit-in at the segregated Greensboro lunch counter in 1960 by four brave North Carolina A&T students might have been by at least forty brave students. The 1963 March on Washington, which was attended by 200,000 people at the time, could have easily reached one million attendees.

I am inexplicably grateful for and indebted to my ancestors who sacrificed their livelihood and lives for the life and opportunities that I have the privilege of benefitting from today. Their strength and courage during the civil rights movement has been unmatched by many generations. On the same note, I believe it is unfair to claim that my generation lacks the capability of making the same impact. While our ancestors laid the foundation that paved the way, we have courageously continued their legacy by stepping up and speaking out. And, it is our voice that has forced the world forward into places they only imagined (the outer space and the White House, to name just two).

Our generation has a different type of power than our ancestors. What they did – the sit-ins, marches and rallies – had a purpose of making people pay attention; making people care enough to address the injustices they faced. Conversely, our generation has the power to dictate to what the world decides to pay attention by speaking out about it online. From Barack Obama to Troy Davis to Trayvon Martin – we tell the world what is relevant. 

For example, within the past two weeks, Trayvon’s story has gone international, even leading to protests abroad. Our voice led to the fastest growing petition in Internet history, according to Change.com. Our voice made celebrities pay attention, helping to get the word out. Our voice has made news networks dedicate days of coverage and analysis to the story. Our voice made the FBI and the Department of Justice take over the case when the local government mishandled it. Our voice made the President of the United States comment. Most of all, our voice made sure that the Kony’s and the Zimmerman’s of the world aren’t sleeping at night anymore.

That, my friends, is activism; and I'd bet anything that our ancestors are proud.

-Jess

Loving Your Letters

I play a lot of Words with Friends. And when I say "a lot," I mean I may have a small problem (Alec Baldwin status). But I love the game because it keeps my mind active and it teaches me a lot. In fact, in the hundreds of games I've played, I've actually been able to make some interesting comparisons between life and the game. Just hear me out.

For those of you not familiar with Words with Friends, it's basically like Scrabble that you can play remotely. I'd like to think that I'm a beast, but I've definitely had some weak moments. People often complain that I play too strategically or too slowly, which I can definitely admit. There will be times when I'm staring at my letters for hours, trying to figure where they'd best be placed. While imagining the words I could create and points I could score, I notice myself focusing more on what I don't have than what I do have.

If only I had a "G." If only this area of the board wasn't already occupied. If only I had another vowel. If only, if only. If only I could focus on what I do have rather than agonizing over what I don't have, I could probably move forward.


Gratitude is at the forefront of my mind in 2012 - appreciating what I have and not focusing on what I don't. I've had some majors losses during my college career but they don't compare to the wins I've experienced. By focusing on the right things, I think we can all move forward and make the best of our circumstances despite what we're lacking. Marinate on that.

--> purelyjess. I welcome all challengers :)

Getting Focused Against the Odds

It's easy to accomplish things when you feel like it - but when you do something even when you don't want to is when true growth and self-discipline happens.

My main focus this year was to build up my own self-discipline. Yesterday, the stars didn't align for me. Three days into the new year and I was already losing my grip on doing what I needed to do. I overslept, got distracted by Twitter and Tabatha's Salon Takeover, and before you know it it was 4 p.m. and I had lost most of my time to be productive. But in every failure there's definitely a lesson. Here are some lessons I learned that will help me to stay focused throughout the year:

Anticipate your 'down days:' When observing yourself, note the days where your productivity lags. Is it when you wake up late? Is it on Tuesdays and Thursdays when there's less on your schedule? Is it on Monday when you're overwhelmed? If you can anticipate the days when you'll be struggling to accomplish what you need to, then you can better equip yourself to meet them head-on. 

For me, I always start strong on Sunday and Monday, when my motivation and inspiration is at its highest. By Tuesday, I've slowed down. By Wednesday, I'm lagging and have lost most of my steam. By Thursday, I'm honestly pretty useless. If I know that about myself, I can better equip myself to deal with and overcome it.

Set a time limit. Sometimes we need a little bit of distraction to get focused. Give yourself a few minutes or hours of what you want with a clear plan to get back on track afterward. If what you need to do is time sensitive, promise yourself that you'll come back to it as soon as  you finish. Sometimes a small dose of a television show or computer game is exactly what the doctor ordered to get your mind back on track.

Don't beat yourself up. Everybody deals with focus issues every now and then. Just because you're unfocused doesn't mean that you've failed at achieving the goals you've set out to accomplish. Accept the fact that you're a little off today, embrace it, pray about it, then let it go. We're not superhuman.

After a few hours of Tabatha yesterday, I was able to turn the television off, relocate and do what I needed to do before I went to sleep. Hopefully these takeaways will help you the next time you find yourself to be lacking in focus or motivation.

What are ways that you access focus when focus isn't in your favor?

The Micro-Action Movement.

It's only January 2nd and I'm already on a roll with no intent of slowing down. My first 40 days of my "New Year's Results" is in full force (not eating out more than once-a-week), and I've also gotten back on track with my novel which I was initially intending to have finished by May, but with a new micro-action goal of 4,000 words-a-day, I am on track to finish this baby by January 15th (right before my classes start). I started three new graduate school applications yesterday that I am also aiming to have finished by the first week of school, so I am PUMPED, to say the least.


I read a blog post yesterday that really helped me to understand how I'm going to attack these results without giving up the way so many people do early in the year. The blog talked about the concept of micro-action. When we make a big resolution, such as to lose weight, write a book, change our diet or better manage our money, it sounds more than doable in the heat of the moment, but when it comes time to actually face the reality of accomplishing these things, we become daunted by the reality of them and what it's actually going to require of us to make it happen; that's how people give up so quickly. I mean, let's be real. Will you really go to the gym every morning at 6 a.m. to jog on the treadmill for an hour? Maybe for a month while you're still motivated. Personally, I know the gym at school is only crowded for the first three weeks, if that.


The blog I read stressed micro-action: doing something small and realistic to contribute to the greater, long-term picture. Planning to run a marathon by October? When you think about it, it's daunting to actually get up every morning and run to train when you've never run before. Start by committing yourself to power walking three times-a-week, then later graduating to jogging, that way you're less likely to quit because you're committing to actions that are actually manageable. The next thing you know you'll be in New York finishing that marathon and wondering how you actually did it. 


For me, finishing and publishing my novel has been a task that's been on my list every year, but when it comes down to sitting down to actually write 60,000 - 80,000 words, I get intimidated and distracted by my own thoughts. Questions like "Who are you to write a novel?"  "What makes you think anybody would read this?" cross my mind and distract me from the task at hand too easily. That's why I'm committing to micro-action. Spending two hours to write 4,000 words-a-day instead of trying to sit down and write a novel all at once is much easier on my state of mind. Restricting my weekly fast food intake and money output by designating only one day a week when I can indulge at a restaurant is another way I'm micro-acting. Another way is by jump roping for five minutes each day before really getting out on the streets to jog again.


Be real with yourself in 2012 and your resolutions are sure to become results. Check out the blog and let me know what you think! If we focus on the little things, I'm sure that the big results we want will materialize. What are some of your resolutions that you can micro-act on?