Kern Carter's Blog, page 182

Breast Cancer x Beauty Scars

A meaningful partnership.

Before I even started writing BEAUTY SCARS, I challenged myself. I said, “Kern, can you write a story that can be both easy to digest and deeply meaningful?” Early reviews suggest I may have succeeded, but I’m really only getting started.

Now that BEAUTY SCARS is out, I want everything connected to it to be as meaningful as the story itself. That was the thinking behind the #LoveYourBeautyScars campaign and I am so excited at how that has been received. But I wanted more. I wanted to make an even deeper impact on the lives of those who have in some way been scarred.

I’m blessed to have some incredibly creative friends. So when sitting with my “mad scientist” friend Nike Onile, I knew something great would come from our conversation. And that it did.

She left me with a gem. She said, “You need to match your ideas with the impact you hope to make.” Nike was absolutely right. I want BEAUTY SCARS to touch millions of people, so my ideas need to match that kind of ambitious thinking.

So as we listed out some potential partners, The Breast Cancer Society of Canada (BCSC) was literally the first name on our list. Without knowing exactly how to explain it, we just felt it was right.

Why Breast Cancer Society of Canada

First, like many of you reading this, I have lost people close to me due to cancer (breast cancer, specifically), along with other forms of this disease. In every instance, I felt like a life was stolen, unfulfilled, and gone far too soon. The loss of those lives still impact me to this day.

For me, those who have suffered or suffer from breast cancer are the physical representation of the spirit of my novel. If anyone can relate the visceral nature of what BEAUTY SCARS truly means, it’s them.

And if I’m truly committed to this whole notion of meaningful action through my art, then I better put my money where my mouth is. So I’m donating 20% of all sales of BEAUTY SCARS from now till the end of December to the Breast Cancer Society of Canada. I want to explicitly put the percentage that I’m donating, rather than stating, “a portion of the proceeds.” That way, no one is left guessing or assuming. 20% is the number.

In addition to the donation, the goal is to open up the discussion on what beauty means in today’s culture. In some way, all of us are chasing beauty. It transcends race or gender or even culture. But I argue that the distorted view we have of beauty today is directly impacting the morals, perspectives, and even the physical and mental health of those who allow themselves to be influenced by this pursuit.

Today more than ever, we need to control THIS conversation. We need healthy messages and images, and we need leaders in the industries that matter to consistently communicate these messages and images. That’s a big part of what this partnership is about and why BCSC agreed to make this happen.

I can’t say I know how the next three months are going to go. What I do know is that I’ll try to be as loud as possible in getting people to read this story. The BCSC will be in chorus and we’ll raise our voices together. And in reading this story, I’m hoping that people will become more aware of what beauty truly means.

Get your copy of BEAUTY SCARS here.

Support the Breast Cancer Society of Canada here.

Breast Cancer x Beauty Scars was originally published in C.R.Y on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

10 Years of Writing Without a Break

CRY

At the risk of sounding ignorant, I never understood those people who needed to take breaks from writing. Like what are you really taking a break from? This is supposed to be something you love, something you’re passionate about. Why would you ever want to stop.

I’ve been writing professionally for ten years now. Ten long years. I can remember starting off on Blogspot and sites like Suite101. Those were fun days trying to figure out what the hell I was doing. The only thing I really cared about back then was getting my voice out. I wasn’t writing about any one topic in particular, just writing.

I went those entire ten years without ever taking a significant break from writing. By significant, I mean I never went more than two weeks (and probably never even got to two weeks) without writing something meaningful. That’s a long time. Probably too long. And that’s why something had to change.

A few months ago, I decided to stop. My novel was done, I paused my clients (I’m blessed to be able to do that), and I just stopped. I wasn’t sure what to expect. More than a few times, I picked up my Chromebook and thought about getting back at it. But I always stopped myself. I stopped myself because I knew it was the right thing for me to do.

I actually should’ve done it sooner. As a writer, or any artist for that matter, you have to be an observer. You’re creating pieces that either mirror the world around you or predict it. You can’t do either of those things if you aren’t feeling. And to feel at the level you need to in order to create great art, you need to be vulnerable. You need to be present.

I realized I was neither of those things, not at the level I needed to be if I wanted to tell great stories. I needed to be more entrenched in the culture as an onlooker, a participant. Otherwise writing about what I see, whether I fictionalize it or not, wouldn’t get deep enough into the subject to make it connect. Taking those few months off allowed that to happen.

It wasn’t till about a month ago when I felt good about making the lateral move back into this world. My vision is the same but my perspective on how to see that through has changed. I can’t tell you how good I feel writing this right now. I can’t wait to keep sharing my experiences through a lens that has been cleared.

And I really don’t know what’s going to become of all this. But that tension, that hint of uncertainty about exactly what subject matter to cover and what words will come out of my mind and onto the page is what’s making this phase of my life so exciting. No promises, guys, except emotion and honesty.

C.R.Y

Originally published at journal.thriveglobal.com on October 5, 2017.

10 Years of Writing Without a Break was originally published in C.R.Y on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

My Beauty Scar — Fingers to the Sky: Love Your Beauty Scars Part 8

“What we allow the mark of our suffering to become is in our own hands.” — bell hooks

Image by Filena Arcia

I guess it’s only right that since I’ve been asking people to share stories of their beauty scars, that I finally chime in myself. To be real, I wasn’t planning to write anything. I’m kinda over writing about myself which is partially why I started the #LoveYourBeautyScars campaign. But I digress.

I’m not sure if it’s immediately apparent by my feature picture, but both my pinky fingers are bent. That’s because before I dedicated myself to writing, I was a pretty damn good basketball player. We had a gym in the basement of my apartment building and I would play literally every single day. That meant through knee bruises, elbow scrapes, and yes, dislocated fingers.

My mom was a nurse so when my finger popped out of place, I wouldn’t even go to the hospital. I’d just run upstairs, she’d wrap my little finger together with my ring finger, and I’d go right back downstairs to keep playing. The life of a teenager.

I hurt my finger so many times and my mom wrapped it up so many more times that crooked became my new normal. Now every time I look at my two partially deformed fingers, it brings me back to a good place.

Basketball was the first thing to make me dream. I was in that gym at 6:00 p.m every day. Longer during the summer. Basketball made me dream of being on TV like Kobe Bryant and Allen Iverson, my childhood heroes. Basketball took me out of Toronto and across the continent to New York and Philadelphia, all over Florida and Michigan, New Jersey and DC. Basketball took me to France at the age of 16. It gave me a full scholarship to a division one university.

I felt like anything was possible. And looking at my life now, I feel exactly the same way. It’s only through reflection that I came to this realization. Excelling at basketball set the mental foundation for how I approach my writing.

Going to the gym everyday is like writing everyday. Getting injured on the court is like getting turned down by a publisher. And writing hasn’t physically taken me around the world yet, but I’ve touched many people from across the globe through my words. Of that I can be sure.

But there’s also a flip side to this. I got a lot out of basketball. More than most of the guys that played with me growing up and more than most who ever play any sport. But I never played on the biggest stage. I never reached the professional level. That scares me.

Thus, my scar is a symbol of my biggest fear: failure. Failure as only I can define it. That’s by my terms, not anyone else’s. I really don’t care how many people think I’m killin it. I don’t care how many contracts I nail down. My heart knows what it wants. The universe knows what I want.

I love my beauty scar because it’s a reminder. A constant reminder. One I listen to every single day I wake up. I wouldn’t have it any other way.

My novel BEAUTY SCARS is out now. Get your copy here today.

My Beauty Scar — Fingers to the Sky: Love Your Beauty Scars Part 8 was originally published in C.R.Y on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

The Battle in My Mind — Love Your Beauty Scars: Part 7

“A scar is what happens when the world is made flesh.” — Leonard Cohen

Image by Desiree Thomas

The following account is by Writer/Author/Entrepreneur Pauleanna Reid. It’s always difficult for me to read these types of stories. It’s like getting a peek at someone’s diary. Pauleanna is open about what she describes as “the battle in her mind.” The #LoveYourBeautyScars collective continues.

I have to work really hard at being happy. I’ve lived with depression and anxiety for more than 10 years and it has taken a lot of effort to drown out the noise and make positivity louder in my life. Becoming mentally strong is a process, a long one. And what that looks like for me includes self-love rituals, very detailed morning routines, talk therapy, medication and the occasional social media break.

This is my reality. I have a battle in my mind every single day that not many people will ever understand. If you didn’t know any better you’d probably think my life is perfect. It’s not. We all fight our own private battles behind closed doors. Some of the most beautiful people I know have scars. Don’t be afraid to show yours.

Prior to achieving my dreams of becoming a writer and speaker, I allowed my self-doubt to get the best of me and during my teens and early 20s I endured some of the worst years of my life., I suffered from symptoms of depression and I often felt alone, which was the hardest thing to deal with because I felt as if no one understood what I was going through.

:: Constant negative voices in my head and memories of trauma and self-hatred ::

Image by Desiree Thomas

I was date raped at 14. Pregnant at 17 and was also in a physically abusive relationship at 19. In addition to those traumatic experiences, in high school I was constantly bullied about what I wore, how I spoke and even the way I walked. I was alienated and tormented so much that I didn’t even attend my prom and the only place I felt safe was when I was eating lunch alone in the cafeteria, library or quietly in one of the stalls of the girl’s washroom.

But then I discovered writing and continued to write in my journal daily to escape from my crazy life. During my senior year, while my peers aspired to become princesses, police officers, lawyers and doctors, I wanted to be (the obvious) a journalist and author. However, my teachers doubted me because I failed grade 11 and 12 English. My parents turned a blind eye because they didn’t believe it was a ‘real’ career and my peers just didn’t think that writing was cool. So at the most critical point in my life is when I felt like I had no one to turn to. I graduated high school feeling low and confused and I entered a college program that was selected by my parents and was not a true representation of the type of woman or professional I aspired to be.

I hated my college program. I felt like I was dying a slow death. I couldn’t breathe and every day I walked into a classroom feeling less than inspired or motivated to participate. I lacked focus, my grades slipped and eventually I just stopped going. I stayed in bed for days…weeks. I cut off friends and family and I had constant anxiety about whether or not I would make it to tomorrow. But I hid my depression well. I often slapped on a fake smile when I needed to and pretended as if everything was cool the few times I went out in public. But inside I was deteriorating.

:: One day I reached my breaking point ::

In my final year at school, I turned to suicide but had two failed attempts. When my life was spared, I realized that there must be a bigger reason why I am still here and soon thereafter I

found myself on a new mission to figure out what it was. At that point I had had enough listening to other people and their negativity. I was so frustrated that I finally got the courage to tell myself that this is my life and my dreams are worth it. My next move; I dropped out of college — which is not the answer for everyone, but at the time it was the best choice for me. I’ve never looked back since.

If I had one piece of advice to give you: It does get better, but nothing changes if nothing changes. I’m 29 years old and have lived with depression and anxiety since the age of 10. But here’s some insight I’ve learned along the way: Make a commitment to work on your weak areas. You can’t just sit there and hope something positive will happen. Hope will only take you so far, you have to put action behind it. Years ago I joined group therapy. I got so tired of hiding my anxiety, that I finally decided to openly talk about it. Best choice I ever made by far. Bruh, sometimes drastic steps like this are necessary.

Especially if you want results. You need to be re-evaluating your life constantly and look in the mirror and get real with yo’ self. You’ll discover that amazing things happen when you pay closer attention. At the very least you will learn more about who you are. I advise taking a step back from your life (sick leave, time off, vacation, social media break, whateva) to gain some perspective. Maybe your finances are a mess, you have bad habits, you need anger management, or perhaps you are in an unhealthy relationship, self-doubt –This is your opportunity to learn from your mistakes and grow.

One of the many lessons my experiences with anxiety has taught me is that nothing is ever as bad as it seems. There is a hidden blessing and benefit in every experience and every outcome but we often do not notice because we are worried and or upset. I try to remember that I’m not alone. Everyone has problems. Some people are just better at hiding it than others.

There’s no person in the world who is capable of handling every punch that is thrown at them. We simply aren’t made that way, but what we can control is our outlook. Our problem is not the problem. Our reaction is really our problem. Which I know and understand but obvi in the moment it can be difficult to put into practice. It’s something I am constantly working on though. Anyone can walk way from a problem; that’s super easy. Facing problems and working through them, that’s what makes you strong.

More from me at kerncarter.com

My novel BEAUTY SCARS is available on Amazon  here .

The Battle in My Mind — Love Your Beauty Scars: Part 7 was originally published in C.R.Y on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

For My Children — Love Your Beauty Scars: Part 6

“The wound is the place where light enters you.” — Jalaluddin Rumi

The stories that have come out of this #LoveYourBeautyScars campaign have been incredible. The people who I’ve asked or who have volunteered to share are truly courageous. Even more fulfilling is that so many people have been touched by these stories of living with scars. Anyone carrying their own scars know that they are not alone and recognize that moments of despair, frustration, pain, and sadness can be overcome.

I don’t limit the way people want their voice heard, so this next story by Steveroy Daley was done over video. Please listen to him tell a heart-wrenching story involving his two beautiful daughters.

https://medium.com/media/136c129713b404255f34d8daf14f6703/href

Get your copy of my new novel BEAUTY SCARS  today.

Visit kerncarter.com for more.

For My Children — Love Your Beauty Scars: Part 6 was originally published in C.R.Y on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

Religion Has Scarred This Soul — Love Your Beauty Scars Part 5

Blind faith is dangerous

The following account is told by Beth Ostrander. She digs deep and reveals how religion has suppressed parts of her being to this very day.

My beauty scar is very deep. It’s at the soul level. And like a person who has their leg amputated, I too have limitations. Mine show up in the form of these words and the sensation of being frozen out of fear. Or these words that are: I can’t, I shouldn’t, this is too much.

I am compelled to edit my words and find safer words. Even as I was writing my first drafts, of what my beauty scar is, I wrote a LOT of words. But this is not complicated. My beauty scar is ugly. It is self hatred, it is self-judgement, it is judgement. It is shame. It is the ugly side of religion that has caused this. I keep wanting to edit so I don’t hurt others, but this time I don’t want to edit so I get to the point quickly.

There is an ugly side to religion and it has caused me a wound.

It has kept me silent. It has kept me unhappy. It has shut down my sexual desires. It has shut down my awareness of what makes me happy. It caused me to be depressed because I listened to the judgement and I heard that I am evil, I am bad, I am wrong, my desires are wrong.

So my scar goes deep. My scar has layers. I let you see a tiny bit of my scar, but to let you see to the depths of my scar and how it still affects me…that I DO NOT like to do. It scares me, quite frankly.

Because I awoke. I woke up to my amazingness.

I could see that I was no longer shit; I was amazing. And I did that four years ago. But there is still scar tissue that grips me sometimes. Sometimes it hits in the middle of a moment in the day. It feels of dread and fear and self-doubt that is so extreme, I will give up on every passion and every desire that was crisp and clear just the day or moment before. And I know not everyone has this.

I know everyone worries and has self-doubts and wonders, but this degree of I am willing to shut it all down because of how wrong and how incapable I am. This…this particular depth of that belief, I think, is a special result of the dark side of religion. Because I am CERTAINLY not alone in it. And I see it as a common scar of those who have been affected by religion. That we suppress our sexual desires, that we suppress our actual passions in the world. Because we are afraid we are wrong.

When in fact it is our very beauty, our very gift to the world that we are diminishing. It’s ironic. I think it is the final lie. If we speak in Christian terms, it is the final lie of the serpent and of Satan that sex is wrong and bad, our desires are wrong and bad. Because, in fact, when we suppress these areas of our lives, when I suppress these areas of my life, we are not our beautiful in the world, I am not my beautiful in the world.

And it’s this ironic thing that the very people affected by religion actually desire to contribute and be something for others. And they are so fooled, I have been so fooled.

I continue to show the affects of this scar tissue. It’s easy to fool myself in a moment to stop being my beauty, to stop being my gift to the world. Because I am afraid I can’t, I shouldn’t, I am bad, and I get overwhelmed.

I have a phantom belief system which I don’t actually agree with. But this belief still holds tremendous weight if I don’t catch myself in the moment. The weight of that former truth can still be heavy.

And yes, it is a beauty scar because every, every, every time I can see beyond that phantom reaction, my beauty shines. People are impacted; they say it again and again. They couldn’t say it enough for me to actually believe, but they are impacted by the beauty that I am as an individual.

And my scar tissue keeps me very, very authentic and connected to the pain which I know is what makes me so relatable to others.

When I allow my beauty to shine, the combination of my authenticity and my sincerity and my connection to the pain, AND the gift when I let it be unleashed, the gift that I actually share with people, that combo is the result of me, Beth Ostrander, and my beauty, and my beauty scar.

So, I am grateful. And I am more grateful for this opportunity to share because it has not been easy to write this. In fact, I had to say it out loud first, in the dark, on a video camera, in the dark, because I am crying as I am saying it. Because it is painful yet. Because I feel alone in it. It feels still dark. And yet, speaking it again, alone in the dark, right now, has me feel very, very humbled and powerful. I am grateful for my beauty scar.

My novel BEAUTY SCARS is OUT NOW. Get your copy right here or visit kerncarter.com

Religion Has Scarred This Soul — Love Your Beauty Scars Part 5 was originally published in C.R.Y on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

Emotional Scars Leave Marks for Life — Love Your BEAUTY SCARS Part 4

“When one is pretending, the entire body revolts.” — Anais Nin

Image provided by Christa Meyer

Physical scars aren’t the only ones that leave marks. Christa shares her story on an emotional scar that has left its mark since childhood.

I have a scar that hides away most of the time, but it runs deep. I’ve had it for as long as I can remember, but I used to keep it hidden from everyone. Nowadays, I’m not so ashamed, a little bolder, a little more proud of where my scar has led me. I’m proud of who I’ve become and realize that the depth of my scar has led to the depth of me as a whole.

As far back as I can remember, I have memories of my stomach tying up in knots and a strange tingling sensation moving through my body. My heart and my mind would race, and a sweeping sense of panic would come over me. It wasn’t until my early twenties that I was able to label this as anxiety. To the four-year-old me, it was just me feeling “sick to my stomach” or the reason why I was quiet and maybe needed to be alone.

Anxiety followed me through my younger years. I had a panic attack in the car with my mom. I didn’t even know what it was; I only knew that I couldn’t breath and I was scared. My mom sang a song with me until I could catch my breath. I have memories of watching the clock at night while trying to fall asleep as a kid. I would stay up for hours watching the clock, telling myself to fall asleep, but seeing the time switch over to the next day.

Depression and anxiety led me down all sorts of crazy paths going into adulthood. They led me to some painful, bad decisions, wrong relationships, and fizzled friendships. Fortunately for me, I hit a serious low thirteen years ago and decided that I was done. I felt like I had been leaning against an old storage closet door, trying to keep all of my garbage stuffed in there, using all of my energy to hide it away. Then, I did something crazy and just let go. I knew I would have tons to sort through, lots of work ahead, but I wanted to be whole above all else.

“He who floats with the current, who does not guide himself according to higher principles, who has no ideal, no convictions — such a man is a mere article of the world’s furniture — a thing moved, instead of a living and moving being — an echo, not a voice.” Henri Frederic Amiel

I went to counseling. I prayed. I tested out setting boundaries. I decided that getting to a place of integrity, being whole and not divided, was my ultimate goal. I prayed some more. I read books about how to heal from past traumas. I learned to meditate and quiet my mind. Did my anxiety go away completely? No. Did I never have to deal with bouts of depression again? Not that, either. After having both of my daughters, my old friend swung by for a baby blues visit and reminded me that he still hangs in the wings. After years of “working on myself,” this can be disappointing at times. Can’t I be cured of this nasty stuff altogether?

But here’s the thing. I don’t look back and think that I was born with anxiety. I do, however, believe that I was born with a sensitive spirit (and likely a genetic predisposition toward anxiety) that combined with some difficult early childhood experiences. Yet that same sensitive spirit that feels downturns in life so deeply also makes me a deeply caring person with a sharp intuition. It makes me a connected mom, a wife that has made plenty of mistakes and knows how not to repeat them, and a healthcare professional that better understands how people are hurting. Most importantly, my scar is an ongoing reminder to me that while I am fiercely stronger than I once could have imagined, I am also vulnerable and deeply in need of God’s grace and direction. My beauty scar will forever remind me of that and also the need to be so, so grateful for all of my wonderful blessings . . . my sweet family, a fantastic job, and a life that has taught me gratitude the hard way.

More stories like this on C.R.Y

Emotional Scars Leave Marks for Life — Love Your BEAUTY SCARS Part 4 was originally published in C.R.Y on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

Razors Cut More Than Skin Deep — Love Your BEAUTY SCARS: Part 3

“I was satisfied with not being here.” — Jamie-Rose

Listening to Jamie speak those words almost frightened me. To think that a 16-year-old girl could somehow reach that conclusion is really scary.

By Jamie’s own account, she had everything setup for someone to feel love.

“Privileged, in a private school. I was very looked after.”

But that’s the illusion, isn’t it? Or rather the delusion? That somehow, we can manufacture love through materials. That by giving another person things or resources, it shows that we care. But that’s not the reality. That certainly wasn’t Jamie’s reality. She soon found herself feeling isolated without anywhere to turn or anyone to turn to.

“I didn’t connect with anyone at home…and when you seek that love somewhere else and still can’t find it, you feel very much alone.”

Alone. Another scary thought. But when you feel neglected inside your own home, then go to school only to be made fun of, thrown up against lockers, ridiculed for being different, then alone is exactly where you end up.

Adding to the intensity of Jamie’s troubles was the fact that her mother worked at her school.

“So if I told people what happened, she would get fired. It would destroy my whole life. I [remember] a crazy fight with my mom in the car. She kicked me out and I had to walk to school. I couldn’t tell anyone.”

And then that night. Jamie says she had done research on suicide weeks before.

“It’s fine,” she convinced herself. “It will probably be better if I go. Maybe my mom wouldn’t be so upset.”

Jamie is sitting in her bed. She has one of those packaged razors in her hand.

“I remember having the blanket over my face so it was complete darkness. I had one of those packaged razors and just put it straight in and started going down.”

I’m closing my eyes now. I’m trying to put myself in Jamie’s mind, in her room on that night not so long ago. I imagine feeling fear, feeling sadness, maybe even an odd sense of exhilaration. But Jamie tells me none of this is true.

“You feel numb. Feeling sad would mean that you’re feeling something and really, you don’t feel anything.”

A light is what saved Jamie’s life. A text from her boyfriend the very moment she dug that razor deep into her left arm made her stop.

“My boyfriend messaged me and because I was under the covers, it was this massive light. It’s almost like he knew what was happening. He ended up calling me and told me to meet him [at a park outside my house]. I snuck out and saw him. I thought, ‘you really do care about me. And if you care about me, maybe other people care about me, too.”

Jamie is 21 now, and I ask her what she thinks of when looking at her scar. Maybe some regret, or anger? But no, Jamie’s answer is as deep as the story behind her wound.

“When I look at it, it’s more like I overcome something. It’s also a reminder that I was cared about. It was the start of the change. I don’t know where I would be if I didn’t do that.”

More stories like this on C.R.Y

https://medium.com/media/931e78ff4d8b4b998560143cc7efc8ec/href

Razors Cut More Than Skin Deep — Love Your BEAUTY SCARS: Part 3 was originally published in C.R.Y on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

Fear and Forgiveness — Love Your BEAUTY SCARS: Part 2

“Scars are just another type of memory.” — M.L. Stedman

Photo by: Filena Arcia

Sometimes little things can have deep meaning. That’s exactly what I think of when I hear the story of Ebony’s scar. She was bit by a dog as a little girl which left a scar across the top of her face. Here are Ebony’s own words.

It was an evening just before the sunset. I was 7 years old playing at the park in Markham with my brother and sister. Later on, a school friend brought her family and her full grown (husky) dog to the park.

I approached my friend’s dog and family to say hello and their dog unexpectedly jumped on me and bit my forehead. I thought I went blind at first because of the blood. Thankfully the dog missed my eye. I was left to get 8 stitches.

You would think that this type of experience would traumatize a person. I definitely would’ve felt some kind of way about dogs (and probably animals in general), but Ebony’s scar left her something much deeper.

As a child, I hated my scar. I wished everyday I could replay that moment to avoid the dog entirely. But as an adult looking at my scar now, I feel it’s apart of who I am. I feel beautiful with my scar. I even forget it’s there until someone asks me about it.

Ebony has owned a total of three dogs since getting bitten, the first only two years after being attacked. Though she was fearful at first, she quickly realized that not all dogs are the same.

I got over my fear. [Now] I feel beautiful with my scar.

https://medium.com/media/931e78ff4d8b4b998560143cc7efc8ec/href

Fear and Forgiveness — Love Your BEAUTY SCARS: Part 2 was originally published in C.R.Y on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

A Flap of the Wing

Your only goal in giving is to make an impact.

Image by: Michael Baird

My daughter asked me this morning if it’s possible to make money from her art. She’s 14 now and has been through a full year of art school. I tell her “of course you can make money with your art. Anything is possible.” I say those words and she believes me. I’ve repeated those same words to her since she was able to talk. My next step was to buy her a camera, get in touch with some of my creative friends and ask if they would be willing to mentor my daughter. Each of them enthusiastically said yes.

I recently read that Chance the Rapper pledged $1 million to help save public schools in Chicago, which are facing a pitfall of over $200 million. Without reaching that figure, these schools are facing closure and potentially 400,000 students would instantly become dropouts. Even more recently, I heard an interview with Seattle Seahawks defensive lineman, Michael Bennett, who said he is donating all of his endorsement money to help both minority women and minority communities as a whole. Bennett says he expects the sum to be in the range of $400,000, and will also donate half of his jersey sales.

No doubt that both of these celebrities are aiming to make a direct impact to their immediate community. They not only have the platform, but they also have the funds to ignite serious change. It’s commendable.

What’s also commendable are my friends taking the time to mentor my daughter. Neither of them have millions of dollars, nor do they have endorsement deals worth hundreds of thousands of dollars. But the impact they will have on my daughter will be just as profound as these celebrities making six and seven figure donations. That’s because the end result is the same. Hope.

That is what is at stake here. My daughter’s hope will be reinforced by working with these artists. She will see that anything truly is possible. If and when Chance and Bennett get to make good on their promises, many more people will experience the same feeling of hope. It’s this hope that drives us to keep going. It’s an unexplainable spark that can set in motion an infinite cycle of inspiration.

I really think we need to reevaluate how we think about charity. We need to reevaluate how we think about giving in general. The point of giving is to help empower those who do not have the same opportunities as you enjoy right now. It’s providing a boost to someone or to a specific group who, through no fault of their own, are limited in their ability to provide for themselves.

By giving their time to help mentor my daughter, my friends have embarked on a sort of philanthropy. They have empowered someone who could not have gotten that experience without them stepping in. And in return, they ask nothing. In return, I expect when my daughter has gone through this experience, that she share her time and knowledge with another young girl looking to do the same thing. And I’m not even saying that my daughter will go on to be a successful artist. What I’m saying is that she will know it is possible.

It is through this cycle that lives are changed. It is through changing the conversations with your children that minds become open. Your impact starts with those around you, those who you interact with on a daily basis. Look to see how you can uplift any of those people first, because that is where your impact will be most powerful.

Let the people who can donate money donate their money. Your duty is to donate for impact. If we can wrap our minds around this concept, I truly believe it will go a long way to improving our communities, which in turn will improve our cities until the impact is felt across the globe. It takes one flap of the wing to cause a typhoon. It’s time we all break free from our cocoons and spread our wings as wide as we can.

Originally published at coligo.co on May 15, 2017.

A Flap of the Wing was originally published in C.R.Y on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.