Skip to main content

DashaFEST

Thirty-one days. When was the last time you spent thirty-one anything on yourself? I'm spending 31 whole days on me.

Welcome to DashaFEST.

I was in my early twenties when I first expanded my birthday from one day to the entire month. Indulgent and absurd, yes, and yet I've been shamelessly committed to this self-celebration for almost two decades. Some years have been resplendent, some more privately powerful. All, however, have been filled with reflection, adventure, assessment and rejoicing.

This year, DashaFEST falls during a time when I've made a conscious decision to match the passion of my work with a renewed enthusiasm for the amazing humans surrounding me. Operation: Social Life, I call it. We don't often recognize our habits of existing until they bear the rigid grooves of a rut.

I've been carving out such a rut for myself for quite a few years, I suppose. It hasn't felt like one because the nature of my work is social and I am so wholly fueled by the opportunity to do it. Still, there's something to be said for "playing hard." I used to know how to do that. Before the meeting agendas, and bedtime stories, and cameo appearances, and strategic planning meetings, the Girl Scout cookie sales, and airport terminals, I knew how to play hard for no reason. I proved it to myself every year during the month of October.

So, I'm excited about DashaFEST this year. Yes, for the events and challenges I've scheduled for myself, but, mostly, for this revived fervor to enjoy ME and the life that has stitched itself around my shoulders. I am blessed. Life is bountiful. Let the rejoicing begin.

dnk

Comments

Yetunde said…
Sounds like an awesome plan, Sis!
2:54 PM
unlocked said…
you are an inspiration!
2:56 PM
Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Dear Deborah Brown Community School ~ It is quite a feat for a small charter to make national news.  It is perversely disappointing, however, to read that a charter school led by two black women is systematically persecuting students of color for celebrating the natural textures of their hair. As an educator, I understand and value the impact of comportment.  Indeed, many ills of the contemporary school environment can be aggravated by lax guidelines on conduct and appearance. Nonetheless, your policies against natural hairstyles levels a much more serious attack against your students.  Rather than teaching them how to be “presentable,” your policy forces the concept of “acceptable” at a disastrously early age. Yes, the school should vigorously mandate “neat,” “modest” and “respectable.” These are essential expectations.  Denying the option of neatly, modestly and respectfully showcasing the heritage of their hair, however, reinforces a wickedly...
4 comments
Read more

dashaFEST 2013

It's here again, dashaFEST.  What started as a single event exactly 20 years ago has evolved (exploded?) into a month-long celebration of ME. Wait, I know how that sounds.  Let me explain. I've always enjoyed throwing parties. The theme. The games. The food and drink. Stirring around my divergent circles of friends and associates inside the same space.  I feel a small tug of pride when unlikely acquaintances can trace their connections back to my living room. Over the years, that one, overstuffed birthday party has unfolded into a calendar of events. A women's only event. An artistic event. A group activity.  A party. Something for my daughters. Something for my immediate family. A performance showcase of some kind. The enterprise is wholly ridiculous, and I am fully aware of this.  But giving myself permission to be absurd for a change is, actually, part of the appeal.  For what it's worth, I'm not obnoxious about it.  I don't keep tabs of who...
3 comments
Read more

Next to the Last Drop

We were all hugs in the middle of the coffee line.  Ours was a long overdue sit down now gift wrapped in a new project. We chatted through the line to a table by the window. Our sitting tipped the tiny cafe's count to "half full," joining a man with the newspaper, a pair of women studying and a shop regular who tittered with the barista while buying her bulk beans. My coffee mate and I were laughing and catching up, taking advantage of the holiday time warp. Not long into our conversation, a young guy walked through space and asked if we knew Mr. Wilson. We didn't. The young man moved on, melting into ambient cafe shapes and noises behind our conversation. Standing on the opposite side of the high table next to ours, the young man blurts out "HOW MUCH?" but to no on in particular. He walked out. We raised our eyebrows and kept talking. We were coasting into the brainstorming portion of our meeting when my coffee-mate's gaze was pulled beyond my s...
2 comments
Read more