A Space to Dream

Life as a Social Media Manager for a ~theatrical news outlet~ means I'm constantly clocked in. I never truly get to punch my time card at the end of the day, because for me (not to be dramatic) there is no end of the day. Whether it is posting content or monitoring feeds for breaking news, the space that many people use to unwind is my work space and constantly keeps me on edge.

That's why when I took a week off to go home last week, handing over the reigns and responsibilities to co-workers seemed near impossible. Would they dedicate that around-the-clock attention that I usually give? Would *I* be able to not dedicate that around-the-clock attention and actually disconnect?

My mom planned a camping trip deep in the Pacific Northwest for the first three days of my visit, so I didn't really have a choice. We would have no cell service.

About an hour into the car ride, I posted my final Instagram photo (before a co-worker took it over for the rest of the week), and I decided to put my phone away. We still had service, but I thought I might as well and take the plunge. We cranked up the Bright Star cast recording (WE LIKE IT BECAUSE WE'RE FROM TEXAS OKAY) and shared some fascinating conversations.

It was freeing.

Me feeling bright and breezy on the beach with no service

As much as I thought I would feel FOMO and anxious about not having access to social media, I felt quite the opposite. I brought out my phone a few times to take photos and videos, but other than that, it remained untouched in my backpack.

It was the perfect way to set the tone for a week at home. Being in a space surrounded by nothing but nature was exactly what I didn't know I needed. I guess I am a PNW kid after all. Even after we got back to my hometown (and service), it felt different than normal visits do. I usually feel overwhelmed of the odd, nostalgic fragments of memories that meet me when I'm at home: they include ex-boyfriends, former friends, and embarrassing moments where I wasn't 100% sure of who I was as a person. Sure, I still strategically maneuvered around Target so I didn't see kids from high school and let my mom make me breakfast, but there was another element layered on. It was something along the lines of gratefulness and appreciation.

I (for the most part) tried to be genuinely present and in the moment. I spent time with friends that I've known for 17 years. We ate, we laughed, we sang Sound of Music at the top of our lungs. We looked through old photos of us from elementary school and talked about what was going on in our lives. How things have changed, how things have stayed the same and how there are some parts of this world we'll never understand. As I sat taking in these moments, I internally acknowledged how grateful I was to have a space where I can be myself and a permanent, full-time support system. These people have seen me through everything: braces and frizzy hair, phases of being too-obsessed with boyfriends, graduation, and really great karaoke renditions of Stevie Wonder's "Superstition."

Since 1999

They were there when I was building towards the dream of New York City; just a cherished aspiration, ambition and ideal. I spent years sifting through possibilities that would lead to the Big Apple: learning the iconic choreography of Alvin Ailey's Revelations, flipping through pages of Seventeen magazines. Maybe because some of our dreams have become a reality, or maybe it's because old superficial relationships have been stripped out, but I was truly able to appreciate home this time around.

Home has always been a space to dream, and I felt new dreams bubbling up as I began packing to return home. 2016 has been jarring (in a number of ways - personal, the world, etc) and visiting the space where it all began is exactly what I needed to recharge (phone pun intended).

June 16, 2016; or, The Day I Almost Got Married

If you asked me eight years years ago what I'd be doing on June 16, 2016, I probably would have said I'd be getting married to my high-school boyfriend.

Let that sink in.

I was 16 years old. 16 was my favorite number.  It was our anniversary date. I would be two years out of college by then. It made sense... at the time.

I did not think that I would be spending the day from recovering from taking photos, talking with and teaching Broadway legends how to use Snapchat the day before.

Yesterday, 70 Broadway stars gathered to record "What the World Needs Now" (a la 1985 "We Are The World"), to be released on iTunes with the proceeds going to LGBT Center of Central Florida. It's obviously been an intense, heartbreaking couple of days. The Orlando tragedy took place the morning of the Tony Awards, so the Broadway community used multiple platforms to send love and show solidarity with victims and those affected: social media, pinned silver ribbons, and the actual broadcast itself.

There are too many people to point but it's a lot

And now they were doing more. There were a few reasons why yesterday will be one of the best days of my life.

By now, I've learned how to calm my inner-fan girl and play it cool while capture social content at Broadway events. But yesterday was other level. Within the first five minutes of walking in the door, Tommy Tune and I waved to each other (!!!) and he whisked by me with his arms open to give Chita Rivera a hug. I swooned.

This was followed by seeing Matthew Broderick and Nathan Lane huddled in the corner (reminiscing about The Producers I'm sure?!), Michael Cerveris and Judy Kuhn strolling through the hallway (going over lines for Fun Home?!), and chatting with Kimiko Glenn (Soso from Orange is the New Black). And she was the least-intimidating because we had worked on a live-stream together. Just so you understand what "other level" I'm talking about.

Soon the recording studio was filled with Broadway stars and legends. Bernadette Peters, Audra McDonald, James Monroe Iglehart, Carmen Cusack, Jose Llana, Jessie Mueller, Billy Porter, and so many more; all there to support the victims of Orlando.

Sarah Jessica Parker looked stunning -- not a day over Carrie Bradshaw circa 1999 -- as she touched my back and said "Excuse me, sorry," to squeeze past me. College freshman Felicia squealed.

I helped Matthew Broderick as he learned how to use the drawing tool of Snapchat, and it took everything in me to not start singing "Twist and Shout" with Ferris Bueller style.

The same thing happened with Joel Grey and Bernadette Peters, but "Willkommen" and "Anything You Can Do I Can Do Better," respectively.

Then it happened. I was going through the Snapchat coverage so far, and Lin-Manuel Miranda walks by. We've been in the same room before, I've taken photos of him, but have never actually talked to him, so clearly this was a big deal. We make eye contact. He gives me a cool nod and a "Hey" and I stumble through something resembling "Hi." OKAY. I knew I had to rectify that situation later.

I brushed off my embarrassment to capture Carole King singing her solo, and ran into Sara Bareilles. She said she had seen me on Playbill's Snapchat and that's when I blacked out. We geeked out together over Carole King and laughed about my embarrassing moment with Lin. She was so chill. I loved it.

I saw Lin standing a few feet away from me a few minutes later and I boldly said "Lin!" and I went up to explain how embarrassed I was about earlier.
Felicia: I've honestly been thinking about this moment since 2012 when I discovered In The Heights and it changed my life so I feel like I messed it all up.
Lin: Goodness gracious! No you didn't, you're fine!

Then he recorded this adorable snap for me and I almost passed out. (ALSO he asked about Bye Felicia and that's the only time I was happy about it.)

Then it REALLY happened. Whoopi MF Goldberg. She was walking past and I was practicing my deep breathing.
Felicia: Ms. Goldberg?
Whoopi (as she wraps her arms around me for a hug): Whoopi, just Whoopi.
Felicia: Whoopi. I just wanted to introduce myself, I'm Felicia, I do social media for Playbill and I want to grab a photo of you for that, but first and foremost, I wanted to thank you. You have been such an inspiration my entire life. Sister Act, The Lion King, Cinderella! I wore out those VHSes growing up.
Whoopi:Oh no, you are so sweet. Thank you.
Felicia: Can we also take a selfie together? I am just so honored to meet you. My mom is going to be so excited.
Whoopi: Sure!

Sister Mary Clarence in the flesh, y'all! 

It was magical. In second grade, after my tap dance performance at the end-of-the-year talent show, a teacher wrote in my yearbook "Whoopi would be proud," because everyone knew how much Whoopi inspired me. And to be able to thank her and hug her was so magical. It was magical!

Soon it was recording time, and the crowd filled in the studio. They sounded INCREDIBLE. That's what you get when you gather 70 top-notch Broadway stars! Hearing them sing "What the world needs now is love sweet love" was addicting, emotional, powerful. I wanted to just sit there and hear them sing the whole thing over and over. These are the people that we all admire, and it's for good reason. They're not just talented performers, but they're warm and gracious humans, too. I've never felt so proud and honored to be a part of the Broadway community.

They say a wedding day is the best day of a girl's life. Maybe it's true. All I really know is that yesterday was one of those truly special days that I want to hold onto as long as I can. There was so much love in that room, and I can't wait for the world to hear it.

The #ByeFelicia Filter: Thoughts From A Felicia

There's an amazing website called Femsplain that has monthly themes for female-identifying writers to contribute pieces for. This month's theme was "filters," but I completely missed the deadline due to the holidays and moving into a new apartment. I really wanted to submit a piece, because it fit perfectly with something that's been in my mind the past couple of weeks. Then I remembered I had my own blog.

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The first time I heard the now-iconic “Bye, Felicia” phrase was on Twitter on October 4, 2012, from a hip gay guy I semi-knew from University of Texas’ Theatre and Dance department. (We now share an apartment with his boyfriend in New York City.)

My initial reaction to his virtual shade was hurt and confusion. How did my name -- a name that I could NEVER find on touristy keychains or mugs -- suddenly become associated with an 11-character hashtag insult?

My confusion continued as the “Bye, Felicia” retort became rampant. More friends using it on Twitter. More people I didn’t know using it on Twitter. A CHILI’S BARTENDER AS SHE HANDED ME MY RECEIPT? I was no longer safe anywhere, not even in Chili's on 45th and Lamar drinking a frozen strawberry margarita with sugar on the rim.

Soon after, “Bye Felicia” had exploded into a full internet meme. And I continued pushing back. WHY MY NAME? A name that had been so unique and individualized for me growing up, the only pop-culture reference to it being a .05-second mention by a cartoon penguin in Mary Poppins. (Thanks Sherman brothers, by the way, for having my back.)

Somewhere along the way, I discovered where this phrase actually derived. Friday, a 1995 stoner buddy crime comedy film, starring Ice Cube, Chris Tucker and a character named “Felisha.” Ice Cube’s character “Craig Jones” dissed Felisha, the neighborhood mooch, with a simple “Bye, Felicia,” and the rest is history. I certainly didn’t see the movie when it came out, (The Little Mermaid and Harriet the Spy were more my aesthetic at the time), so I can only guess that the phrase became a staple within black culture, and then white gay men came in to claim it.

By 2013, it was definitely mainstream. I tried turning it around with a creative “#byeyou” to anyone who said it to me, and even wrote a BuzzFeed article defending the sanctity of my name -- suggesting 27 other names we could say bye to instead. Notable suggestions: Regina George, Rebecca Black and Shawanna, that polyester braid-wearin’, jeepin’ hussy from Clueless.

It didn’t work.

It has come to the point where “Bye, Felicia” is mentioned within my first few seconds of meeting someone. It’s either excitedly exclaimed or cheekily mentioned when they ask, “Bye, Felicia - you get that a lot right?” with a self-satisfied smile.

It's such a common occurence, I have an on-and-off switch for my “Bye, Felicia” identity. When someone enthusiastically mentions “Bye, Felicia,” I instantly get a little bit sassier, a little more theatrical. They get a little bit friendlier, a little more excited. It’s as if they snapped their #ByeFelicia filter on. They expect me to act a certain way, and because I’m pretty extroverted and like people liking me, I give in.

But I'm starting to get a little possessive of my name. My name is mine! I want to choose the identity that goes along with it. I'm frustrated that others have started applying their own filter of what they expect “Felicia” to be or act like. They place their own identity onto me -- which is usually a sassy, black woman. I'm frustrated that I go along with this indicative identity. What’s worse, I'm frustrated that this filter is being applied from people who probably aren’t the best allies to women of color. I'm frustrated that they’re accustomed to women of color -- or black women, specifically -- being a spectacle, a source of entertainment.

It's literally like an Instagram filter. Taking something real, and distorting it to look the way you want it to. Up the brightness, increase the saturation, and you have my "Bye, Felicia" persona.

I'm also frustrated because I'm not sure what to do about it. I normally like to write blogs after I've already surmised a solution to my problem, but that's not the case in this situation. To a certain extent, this "sassy black woman" is a part of my identity. So isn't okay for me to just highlight that part when people bring it up? Maybe if it's by choice, not because there's a certain expectation. And for better or for worse, I've found that I can also benefit from it. It helps people remember me. A cool Broadway performer remembered me and followed me on Twitter because of it. How can I dismiss the trend that makes my Klout score higher?!

I know that #byefelicia won't be going away anytime soon, and it may take me a long time to understand how it integrates into my identity. For now, I'm going to make sure that I stay in control of how intense the filter is, and be happy that my name isn't Kelvin...

Riding in Cars (with Boys)

July 31st, 2015 was my seventh anniversary for me and my driver's license.

Me and Bae (driver's license) on our sixth anniversary

I celebrated by not driving. Yup, that's right! Kicked my heels up and let someone else worry about steering, directions, and traffic. In fact, I've kicked my heels up and haven't driven 210 out of the 215 days we've had of 2015.

I go back-and-forth on whether I miss driving or not.

Somedays, it's really nice to sit back and relax, reading my book, listening to a podcast, and having 30 extra minutes to zone out before work. But then there are the days where the subway car is packed wall-to-wall, personal bubbles are popped, and the monotone MTA voice speaks the words no one wants to hear: "We are delayed because of train traffic ahead". Those are the days that I realize how nice it was to have my own car.

It's quite a lifestyle change to switch from car to subway. I rode the bus a lot in Austin, which is honestly why I think I was able to adapt to the subway. I knew riding public transportation meant you had to be a bit more aware then if you're just driving, (YES, mom, I know you should be ~totally aware~ when driving, but you know what I mean).

There were some sketchy folks on those Austin CapMetro buses (ask me about the woman who sat next to me and snorted a pill, it's one of my best anecdotes!), but they kept to themselves for the most part. That's why I was completely startled when a guy tried lifting up my dress in a rush-hour-crowded 1 train on my third day in NYC. That would startle anyone, right?

Sadly, street harassment is nothing new for women, particularly in New York City. I am now constantly aware of how my outfit will register with men, and in turn, how they will treat me.

One night I was riding home around midnight, reading and listening to music, with my sandal-clad heels kicked up on the perpendicular seat in front of me. An older white man with slighty dirty work clothes sat on the same perpendicular row of seats as my feet. So I gave him a quick, polite smile as I moved my feet down. I'm not a monster!

Several minutes later, I saw him lean in and move his mouth. Oh, he was talking to me. I removed a headphone.
"I'm sorry?"
"I was just wondering if you'd let me suck on one of your toes."
"What???"
"Yes they're so beautiful!"
"UHM NO"
(Cue headphones back on)
"Not one little suck?"
"NO."
(Cue ignore)

And as he got off several stops later, he offered one last "I really wish you would consider it".
(Cue continue ignoring)

So now I can't wear SANDALS without getting commented on by a guy???? Like WHAT??? It was definitely one of the most bizarre situations I've experienced in New York City.  I'm still perplexed by it all. Plus if you know my toes at all, you know they are nothing to write home about, with clear marks from years of dancing. I repeat, WHAT???

July 31st, 2015, I wore a black skirt, white crop top, and berry-colored cheetah print shoes that matched my berry-colored lipstick.

It was a good outfit. I felt happy and fun in it. It received praise from co-workers (Hi, Kayla and Samra), so I decided to wear it to a friend's party that night.

At said party in said outfit, with some fly people

Wearing it while out doing after-work errands, I was able to gauge a consensus reaction from men. The security dude at my apartment's management building staring at my boobs while saying he needed to take my building-pass photo, a man standing at the bottom of the stairs looking up while I walked down (IN A SKIRT), a sneaky guy in sunglasses on the train. Okay, I didn't feel happy and fun in it anymore.

It was at that moment that I wouldn't want to wear it late at night on the subway. It was the end of the week, I was in no mood to either fake nice to a guy to appease him, or ignore him as he constantly peppered me with questions.

I requested an Uber car. The first words the driver said after confirming that he was indeed the Uber driver was a compliment to my perfume. "Very nice, clean, and attractive," he said. Headed to a party, I was in a good mood and simply accepted the compliment. We had a nice conversation about where he was from in India, then a quick compare-contrast about his hometown versus New York City. It was nice. We hit some traffic, but my pre-party vibes were very real, so I didn't mind.

Then out of nowhere, he asks,
"Why is your accent so... nice and good?"
(Cue nervous chuckle)
"Haha, well I used to do broadcast journalism in high school???"
"OH THAT MUST be why your accent is so nice. It is very attractive and innocent and s-e-x....y"
(Cue calling Mama Fitz)
(Cue 10 minute phone call with Mama Fitz until I reached my destination)

I repeat for the third time in this post, WHAT??? I had ordered the Uber to avoid this. And yet there I was, in an even more intimate situation than a subway car, getting this bullshit. If I had known I'd experience that in the Uber car...well, what were my other options for transportation? This was a day that I realize how nice it would be to have my own car where I could be in a safe space.

Part of me thought I was lucky because it was verbal rather than physical. No, fuck that.
If women can't be safe in a car or just public transportation, where can we be?

My Hair and I Are Fed Up

It's exhausting keeping up with my hair. I am constantly being challenged; emotionally, physically, and otherwise.

It's always had a mind of its own. Never afraid to drive a hard bargain when negotiating with bobby pins in the morning. Never agreeing to hairstyles found on Pinterest -- a polite "Thanks, but no thanks," to some, a louder, more aggressive "No!" to others. Never making friends with water of any form -- humidity, sweat, nor rain.

My scalp has ached from my thick curls being combed and twisted out, and my arms from doing the combing and twisting. But some of the exhaustion runs a bit deeper, reaches a bit farther, and wow am I tired of dragging my feet. Well, more like I'm tired of people trying to drag my feet. Okay, really more like I'm tired of allowing people to drag my feet.

"Your hair look so...bushy, today."
"You look like a kid on the Rugrats!"
"You look like Abbi Kadabbi from Sesame Street!"
"You look like Mickey Mouse!"

The last three were all said in the same day when I wore in two puffs atop my head. I find myself feeling guilty for getting irritated by their comments -- they don't mean to be offensive. They're friends, colleagues, people I admire and respect. And I guess I don't really even blame them, but it adds another stumble onto my long trek to complete and total love-thy-hair bliss. I get that commenters are merely observing my unique and "different" (by their standards) hair and connecting it to something familiar. It would really helpful if they were familiar with the insulting comments I've gotten over the years.

Growing up in such a white community led to so many questions about my hair and its care routine.

"YOUT PUT CAR GREASE IN YOUR HAIR?!!?"
"It's so puuuuffffyyy!!"

I was in the first grade when I got my first relaxer. A relaxer treatment is like a "reverse-perm" process, using chemicals to straighten hair. At first it just made hair management easier. Gone were the nights of combing through knotted tangles. But as I grew older, and as handfuls of Disney Channel stars with straight hair were thrown at me, the more addicted I became to keeping my hair straight; always looking to my next relaxer appointment, or buying a new straightener that would guarantee even straighter, longer-lasting straight strands. It made me look more like my peers and aspirational-celebs, which as we all know, is a huge priority in middle school.

Shout out to Therone, who will be thrilled that this photo is making a comeback!

I began to use my straightener as an armor. Shield myself. A way to blend in and be accepted. I was so excited to control something that used to make me different and set myself at the status quo. I wasn't aware of my self-whitewashing, but my 20/20 hindsight makes me realize I was forcing myself to comply with standards of white feminine beauty. To put it in a dramatic way, it was like my blackness disappeared with the steam of my straightener. Not to say that I didn't identify or connect to parts of Black culture, but I think 2005-Felicia would have been a lot happier being able to identify with black women that also had to use silk pillows to keep their hair moisturized and wraps to keep their hair looking fresh in the morning. And at a really basic level, I wish I would have known that I did not have to straighten my hair to look or feel beautiful.

Senior photos, 2010

Continuous years of straightening my hair led to damaged ends and days of regret after saying "No" to swimming invites so the chlorine-water wouldn't the relaxer out of my hair (and in one instance, literally wearing a plastic bag to not ruin the relaxer).

Friends were often peppering me with requests to see my hair in its natural state. I thought I had appeased the public with this photo, but I'm not sure what I was thinking, because this was still my hair with a relaxer in it, just no flat-ironing after washing.

"Fro" to straight hair

A conversation with the truest style-icon I know, Paige Brown, during my freshman year of college led me to start letting my relaxer grow out. Paige taught me about how much healthier my hair could be, and with my hair breaking off from intense heat all of the time, that sounded like a promising idea. Still, I flat-ironed it everyday.

It was Summer 2012 when I wore my hair natural in public. The summer itself was a summer for the books for many reasons (some of them are semi-documented here), but most significantly, it was my first time living in a community where the majority of the population were people of color. I would stroll around Washington Heights, listening to the In The Heights soundtrack, seeing these beautiful women with big curls and thick thighs. It made me realize that there were actually people that I could relate to physically. The final encouragement to go au naturale was fueled by a fellow DoSomething.org intern, Michelle Azzi, and my need to impress Corbin Bleu. Michelle had been pestering me to wear my hair naturally all summer, but when we were told we were going to meet Corbin at a volunteer event, I decided to take her up on the challenge. My rationale was that I would catch Corbin's eye if I shared the same afro-style hair as him.

I remember walking out of my subleased apartment and feeling terrified. I literally could not remember the last time I let someone (besides my mom and hair stylist) see me with curly hair. By the end of the day, my hair was up in bobby pins and a bandana, but it was a huge fearless step for me to take. And I really do think that it worked to get Corbin's attention.

HI CORBIN

I dipped my toes in the proverbial natural hair pool several times after that, but still stuck to a pretty strict straight-hair regimen. But I was getting braver, I would even chronicle the rare moment through photos.

"Afro hair, don't care. #aunaturale"

"If you tag #utexaspinkparty I will wear my hair natural for a day!"

The next time I truly let my natural hair loose was for UT's production of In The Heights. I was inspired by all of the women of color I had interacted with in real life, and it reminded me of that sense of kinship I shared with them. It was an exhilarating and freeing experience. And YEAH FINE, the compliments didn't hurt, either.

"Lights up on Washington Heights! Opening night, leggo"

And then, I started keeping it curly. I took college-graduation photos with curly hair, auditioned for shows with curly hair, and just started vibing with curly hair in a brand new way. I vibed with my curly hair all summer long.

Senior photos, 2014

As I made my permanent move to New York City, my hair went back to straight with my curls making sporadic appearances. Then in April, I wore my hair curly for an audition, and never looked back. There was one day in May that I straightened it for kicks and giggles, but while walking to find a Popeye's, walked straight into a rainstorm, and I took that as some kind of sign that I should just continue embracing my natural curls. So, I did.

"#Sun"

A few weeks later, I met a woman with thin blond hair. She was an overall kind person, so when she said "So I just LOVE your hair, I could never get my hair to do that," I knew she meant it in a positive way. But I honestly got a little defensive. "Well I would HOPE you could NEVER get your hair to do this! This hair is a badge of honor of being black and beautiful, and it wouldn't be fair for you to artificially achieve this look while I've battled my way to this state of self-hair-love. SO THERE." Well, well, well....looks like someone is liking her natural hair.

This state of self-hair-love is a idyllic place to be, my friends. Mornings are less-stressful, days are more enjoyable, and the number of "bad hair days" I've endured has shrunk. I've found a family with the women of color of the DoSomething.org office, who proved willing to answer any and all questions I had about natural hair. After all of the self-deprecation I experienced in the years before, I loving power-walking on this natural hair high.

But then, at a matinee at An American in Paris, I tripped on a rock. A rock that was actually a woman who loudly whispered from the row behind me, "Can you not lean left?" Ooh, I was angry. Excuse me? Was my natural hair blocking a part of the stage? My natural hair that I have spent years fighting against and have finally accepted as beautiful?  Because I, ma'am, am in the process of embracing my black womanhood, and if you have a problem with that, than I suggest that you lean right or perhaps take it up with the architect of this theater to rise your seat higher. Because I want to be free and enjoy this run. I want to let my hips move, my arms swing, and let my curls blow in the breeze. I'm ready to sprint.

Guest Blog Post: Stay In Your Own Lane

Welcome Guest Blogger, Jelisa Jay Robinson! A fellow Longhorn, writer, and theater artist, we often discuss life as a twentysomething.

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My friend circles are a collage of movers and shakers. Folks who hit the ground running and don't stop.  Whether they are coaching a winning volleyball team, writing their own memoirs or backpacking across Europe, they all prove that following your passions can be fruitful. I watch and support the success around me. I cheer the loudest at their plays, tweet the musiest congrats I can muster in 140 characters and make them feel like superstars. Yes, I milk my proud friend moments but I am not going to lie...sometimes I compare myself to them.  

 Oh, don't look at me like you have never done that before.

Your friend gets an incredible opportunity and you are still applying for jobs.  You are stoked for them but you wonder when your shot is coming. A little jealousy creeps up. Of course, you don't show it. You save it for a vent-session your mother or a friend who is completely detached from the situation.  You question your life path and wonder why isn't anything "Facebook-update-worthy" going down in your life.

Well, just chill.

Run your own race.

Yours is coming. 

In the mean time...

Stay in your own lane

Success is not spontanous. It comes as a result of spending hours hammering at your craft.  It comes from focusing on you because you aren't in competition with anyone but you.  It can be easy to compare myself to my friends who write and feel inadequate, like I am not doing enough. But understanding that I am on my own journey helps me sleep better at night. You only feel envious when you forget that the top isn't overcrowed and everyone can reach success.

Celebrate

And when that success comes you will want to celebrate with your loved ones.  You will want them to be as happy for you as you were for them.  If not more. So go eat cake. Get margaritas. Post an obnoxious Facebook post or Instagram photo with a heartfelt story of how they "started from the bottom" now they are here.  We don't want to make it to the top without our family, friends and loved ones. And supporting them puts you in positive spirits.

Work hard

Chances are you have to work for your goal (unless you are Paris Hilton) so instead of letting jealousy fester. Use their success as a motivator. Let it light fire under your behind to grind even harder. 

Write a list of awesomeness

When you are moping about not getting your way,  it is because you have forgotten about all the blessings you have. Write a list of all the awesome things in your life.  Saved money instead of eating out?  Write it down. Studied in France a few years ago? Write it down.  Helped your mom with groceries?  Write it. All of these will remind you that you are awesome and you have a lot to be thankful for.

Shut the cup up

Don't ruin your friend's big moment by talking about your insecurities all the time.  Do what you have to do to deal. Pray or have a chat with a trusted loved one. We all need to talk it out but do not dwell in despair. Just remember that your friend needs your support now more than ever.  Don't be in your feelings for two long.

When you find yourself sulking in despair because life is not what you envisioned at the moment, remember that supporting your friend means the world to them.  Comparing your path to theirs is like comparing an apple to an  orange.  Too different.   Everyone is on their own journey.  Have a little faith that your breakthrough is coming. Enjoy life and embrace relationships.  Because when you get your big opportunity, you will want to celebrate.  So when your friends find success and you find yourself a little jelly, recognize it, move on and work harder. Remember that God always has a plan.

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Jelisa Jay Robinson is a 20-something writer and playwright from Houston but her heart lives in New York.  She is the creator of lifestyle blog Black Girl, Latin World and she writes for Her Campus, the LatiNegr@s Project, Real Brown Girls and the Horn. 

Last Week of College: One Year Later

One year ago, yesterday, I stood on the steps of the University of Texas' tower, and poured out four years of memories through something slightly resembling a poem. It was in collaboration with some of the most inspirational theater artists I know -- fellow Theater and Dance seniors, on the last night of college as a conclusion to my Week of Spontaneous Moments of Theater.

As we emotionally thanked UT for what it had given us in the past few years, not many of us knew what would be next. There is no one I would rather share such an intimidating moment with. These friends that I had bonded with during classes, shows, parties, we were all heading into the scary unknown of adulthood together.

Two weeks later, we walked (or more like danced, strutted, and boogied, honestly) across Bass Concert Hall stage, and became official graduates of the University of Texas.

Here we are. One year later. Standing at the finish line of our first post-grad year. What a doozy it's been. Moving to new cities, finding new jobs, making new friends, and steadying our footing in this new world. Here's what that first year has been like, straight from the mouths of babes (and by babes I mean some of the seniors that took part in that last night of Spontaneous Moments of Theater week).

I, myself, spent the summer in Austin, performing in The Who's TOMMY at ZACH Theatre. It was my first professional show, and it was pretty damn cool. Just as the show was winding down, I started looking for my next step. I had interviews for an editorial fellowship with BuzzFeed LA and BuzzFeed NYC, when the dope CEO of DoSomething.org called me with a job offer as a Digital Content Associate. Um, duh. After two incredible summer in NYC with DoSomething.org, I knew it was a great way for me to achieve my dream of living in New York, and I already knew I liked the organization. I made the move and have spent the last seven months strategizing social media, learning the ropes of SEO, and writing tons of content. And it's been super challenging - finding and maintaining an apartment, learning about personal finances, and keeping my passion for theater ~alive~. It's been unpredictable, and if this first year has taught me anything, it is to roll with the punches.

"Post grad life is hard! This past year has been the end of an era marked by summers and GPA's, and trying to find myself outside of the student lifestyle has been a challenging, but rewarding experience. I've fallen more in love with art, artists, and artistry than ever before, and I now look back on my time in the department as prep for my artist's soul in the real world - on ehtat doesn't always encourage it to grow. Today, I'm probably most proud of how certain I am in my path as a writer. Choose to make and share art isn't an easy career choice - with all the rejection, criticism, and "I am a fraud" insecurities - but now it seems obvious to me as the only (crazy) career I'd ever be happy with."
-Alison Stoos

"I am most proud of myself for being courageous. Destiny made courage a theme in my life since graduating. Life has definitely been scary, but I have been leaning into that fear by taking courageous actions. One of those actions was applying for the 2015-2016 Fulbright U.S. Student program. After many months of praying and waiting, I found out I received the award and now I will be spending nine months studying physical theatre in Italy come this October!"
-Ja'Michael Darnell

"After that night, my faith in my dream was restored. I focused on my dream of being a writer. It was scary but after a leap of faith my work in now in the Austin Latino New Play festival! Gathering with artists and feeling their creative energy was motivation for me."
-Jelisa Jay Robinson

"It's hard to believe that a year has almost gone by since graduation! my biggest worry, which echoed most of the people around me, was whether I would have a job in what I studied. I had applied to a few high school theatre programs already, but had heard back from none. Over the next few weeks I continued to apply but never heard back from any. I finally applied to an elementary school that Roxanne Schroeder-Arce recommended for me, and after applications and paper work, and a 9-hour, all day interview, I had my first job. My biggest accomplishment to date, and the one I am most proud of, is not just surviving, but thriving and having a blast through my first year as a teacher. I've always wanted to be a teacher growing up, through middle school and high school, and I'm always beside myself when thinking back on where I was and where I am now. I did it. :)"
-Oscar Franco

"Looking back a year after college I'm surprised by how much hasn't changed. Sure, parts of my life are different but fundamentally I feel that the past year has just been a continuation for me. Graduation didn't change as much of the world as I thought it would. What I'm most proud of a year later would have to be getting paid to act for the first time. Just having the tangible representation of knowing it's possible to have a life as an artists is something special that I'm deeply thankful for."
-Will Douglas

(Will update with more graduates as they come in!)