At the end of the week, my fiance Chris took me out to dinner to celebrate my first week on the job. I styled my hair to look cute and flirty, used just enough lip gloss and blush to look sexy, and wore my ankle-length, asymmetric floral skirt with a cotton white blouse with a low-cut scoop neck line, and high heeled yellow sandals to feel sexy. Yes, I wore a slip. Well, sort of. Since Chris and I were going to an upscale restaurant, where the city’s elected officials and elite eat, I wore a black body shaper that would give off a shadow when the light hit my thin skirt. Slips are too old-fashioned, even for me.

Chris came straight from work and was still wearing a starched light blue shirt and expensive tie when he picked me up. He handed me a tiny book of poetry when I opened the door.

“Hey beautiful,” he said, smiling and kissing my neck.

“Hey love. What’s this?”

“Just a little something I thought you might like.”

I gave him a big hug, stashed the tiny book in my purse and we were out the door. As usual, Chris had a song for me to hear when I got in his truck. But this one happened to be one of my favorites from the seventies – Ambrosia’s “Biggest Part of Me.”

Sunrise. There’s a new sun a risin’.

            In your eyes. I can see a new horizon

            That will keep me realizing

            You’re the biggest part of me

 

I loved his taste in music. He had range. Sometimes he’d pull me in blasting Go-Go beats with Chuck Brown and Eva Cassidy wailing “Let the Good Times Roll.” The next time he picked me up, he might lean in touching his cheek to mine, playfully singing along with Frank Sinatra’s “You’re Just Too Good to Be True.” When he played “Biggest Part of Me” this evening, I got lost in the music, and I could feel the stress of the day melting away as we pulled off. We went to Palmer’s Restaurant on the Hill, where I told him I found out Madame Senator takes her favorite reporters and donors for lunch. I had not been there since I moved to Washington for my first job a couple years ago. Looking at the menu, which had no prices on it, I realized why.

“Chris, you know Red Lobster works just fine for me,” I said. “Okay, I shouldn’t play myself so cheap, but B. Smith’s would be fine. I’m not trying to bust a brother’s budget. I know you’re about to buy a new house and all. I’m just saying…”

“I got this,” he said. “I hope you run into your boss up in this piece. I can’t believe you let her play you with that pitiful salary. But I got your back.”

Once we were seated, I looked around and spotted former Prince George’s County Executive Wayne Curry, whom I had interned for my senior year in college. I waved at him and was delighted that he recognized me. He smiled and gave a familiar nod.

“Isn’t that the brother from the so-called wealthiest Black suburb in the country?” Chris asked. “He was the first…”

“Um, hmm. He moved the county from a major deficit to a sizable surplus,” I said.

“What do you know about Prince George’s politics? You just got here,” Chris said.

I told him I thought it was unfortunate that term-limits prohibited Curry from running for another term because he was awesome.

“I don’t care how good they are, they should all have term-limits,” Chris said. “You know what they say about absolute power. It corrupts absolutely. I believe it.”

 

1. Our excessively busy livestyles can wind us up and wear us out. How do you unwind (music, yoga, movies, meditation, spiritual practice, etc.), and how often?
2. Describe your current energy level on a scale of 1-10.
3. Is it where you’d like it to be? If so, how will you maintain it, if not how can you achieve your optimal energy level?