Old Lady Glasses, anyone?

I am visually challenged. I can’t go to the bathroom in the morning without my glasses. If my dog were more obedient and less arthritic, she could double as my Seeing Eye dog. I went to the ophthalmologist the other day for my annual checkup. The results from that visit? A prescription for reading glasses and eventually, PROGRESSIVE LENS AKA “old lady glasses”. sigh.

Why are you getting new?

When my friend Tye asked what I expected in the New Year, I felt an uneasiness in my stomach that rendered me speechless. I hadn’t given the subject much thought. The previous year was filled with so much of the unexpected that it cautioned me not to presume what the totality of a new year might be. Then it hit me: the only difference between December 31and January 1 is one day.

Black woman stressed looking at sky

From meltdown to gratitude

When the axle decided to disconnect itself from my car, I had a meltdown. Right there, in the middle of the street. I had a meltdown. In the midst of my meltdown, I called one of my praying sister friends. I told her, I could not take one more unexpected mishap to spiral me into a financial or spiritual crisis. She told me that the only way to combat spiritual warfare is to say a prayer of gratitude.

Five year plan label

Healthy musings: in praise of the 5 Year Plan

Several years ago a co-worker introduced me to the concept of “The Five Year Plan”. Her new daughter-in-law vowed not to have children during the first five years of marriage because it was not part of the couple’s Five Year Plan. They wanted to establish their marriage before adding kids to the equation. Hearing that philosophy opened my eyes. I was about to enter my thirties but lived without planning anything more long-term than my impending nuptials. That was the moment I started creating goals for myself. They started small. Now I am moving forward, in the direction every beautiful, strong and powerful Black woman should.

Mardi Gras masks

Wearing the mask, also known as, living with depression.

At one point in my life if you asked people in my circle, “Who is Dori Ray?” you would get a variety of responses: Successful. Excellent mother. Community activist. Dependable daughter. Howard University alumna. Budding entrepreneur. In public I was certainly all of those things. I got dressed each morning, put on one of those personas and left my house tired, broken, depressed and everyone was clueless. I continued this charade for years. However, maintaining the act was exhausting. I started each month with less strength and energy than the one before.