That Johnson Boy Said What?

WAKE UP!

2012-01-17T05:46:00.001-05:00

I woke up from a dream today. It was a dream steeped in The New American Dream... plentiful jobs, fully replenished 401(k)'s, incredible health benefits and educational opportunities for all. It was a dream best described as Unemploymentopia!

I woke up from a dream today with the words of our family ancestor, Uncle Clyde Simmons, ringing in my ears:

"Ain't nobody coming. Not the government... nobody."

Ain't nobody coming to fix the jobs situation or donning a cape to stop the flood of foreclosures. No governing body will bring about meaningful change to our education or penal systems. Ain't nobody coming... NOBODY.

To know Uncle Clyde is to know a walking, talking, believer and bestower of Positive Affirmations. His ain't nobody coming declaration, uttered just days before he transitioned, were not warnings steeped in doom and gloom. They weren't meant as an attack on President Obama either. They were and remain powerful words of inspiration, encouragement and a reminder to our family.

He understood that our solution lies in harnessing the collective intellectual, spiritual, emotional and financial resources within our own family. In other words, stop outsourcing ourselves and bring our talents in-house to create true wealth, true prosperity and legacy for generations to come. Thank God for the wisdom and guidance of our elders!

I woke up from a dream today knowing ain't nobody coming, but us. And you know what? I'm good with that. As we collectively emerge from this dream and act as if ain't nobody coming, we will invigorate our lives, our community and the world at-large, all the while breathing new life into the words of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.,

Free at Last, Free at Last, Thank God Almighty, We're Free at Last!

Keith O. Johnson

a/k/a That Johnson Boy

Reflecting on INSPIRATION

2012-01-02T07:25:00.004-05:00

I woke up the week of December 10th to that still small voice instructing me to put out a message of hope for the Holiday season. Its soul, yes SOUL, intent was to draw attention away from a draining 2011 and redirect readers to the beauty that is the universal Spirit of Christmas. The only other parameter was that the project should be free, free, free!

Within hours, I had the title--THE TWELVE RAYS OF CHRISTMAS--along with twelve areas of focus. I began writing... waiting for inspiration... and spending inordinate amounts of time staring at the screen.

The first chapter, A Ray of HOPE, details how my nephew inspired and wrote my first chapter. But, on Tuesday, December 20th, the project and my understanding of INSPIRATION took on a whole new level of understanding.

I was in the middle of writing when I received a text message informing me that a good friend had finally moved into her first California apartment. I broke my no interruptions rule and gave her a call. She began telling me the most wonderful story--a literal depiction of a Ray of Love. I asked if I could type while she talked so that I could use her story in my project. "Of course!" she replied, and then proceeded to go into hyper-dictation mode.

Minutes later, I received another call and upon glancing at the caller ID, felt the need to take the call. You do know what happened, don't you? Another incredible story that sent my fingers scrambling to document her testimony which would illustrate a Ray of Gratitude.

I could see something developing, something beyond the scope I had established for this project. I stopped everything, asked for divine guidance and waited for my answer. My answer came via the divine jet stream. The only reason I wasn't blown away was that I completely let go of the reins and allowed Spirit to move and move me as only Spirit can.

My next lesson in INSPIRATION came from my wife, Nicole. She is the Queen of "when Spirit says move, MOVE!" While I typically negotiate and request confirmation before changing MY well-laid plans, my wife moves immediately. No negotiation. No worries about "her plans or her blueprints." Just shift and go! My channeling her approach is a major reason why I didn't lose my mind and shut down.

The closing lesson on INSPIRATION came from Dr. Wayne Dyer. His book, INSPIRATION, was my introduction to the concept equating INSPIRATION to "being in Spirit." What happened over the next 48 hours illustrated his position beautifully. When I emerged from my impromptu meditation, I sat still until led to call or write a specific person. There was no logic to the process. None! Whoever came to mind as a possible collaborator, I obeyed the feeling and reached out. All in all, I reached out to 15 people. Twelve responded immediately, picked a theme word and sent me their stories. One writer, Gordon Chambers, emailed me his story within an hour, all the way from Tokyo! Another, Australian Bronnie Ware, replied with a big yes despite having never met me or read my work! When I was feeling ansty and ready to take charge, something in my spirit told me to wait. And indeed, the contributions of Cynthia Occelli and Max Luces-Tucker were well worth every single minute and more! Forty-eight hours after that initial text interruption, I had 12 Rays of Christmas beautifully depicted by twelve individuals collaborating as one spirit. INSPIRATION!

It would take me until 7pm-ish, Christmas Eve before I actually hit send and published the eBook. That part of me that loves the details was still battling for perfection. I'd received several calls from folks who know me well reminding me that "good enough" will suffice. Ultimately, it was remembering the PURPOSE of the project that prompted me to stop everything and hit send.

As I was writing this blog, I discovered a very special gift among the many gifts this project granted me. Of the twelve individuals that made up the 48-Hour Inspiration Dream Team, four of them were participants in the 2011 Artist's Breakthrough "FREE YOUR CREATIVE SOUL" Workshop series! Thanks TK, 7th Mark, Rev. Cynthia Bond and donning her Producer's cap for the first time, Cynthia Johnson! Now THAT was a special gift indeed!

INSPIRATION! Be it. Believe it. Live it. It's the divine jet stream that allows us to soar higher than we ever dreamed imaginable. Let go and let it flow. Don't be scared. Don't close your eyes either. Just let go and soar!

Welcome to 2012!

Keith Johnson aka That Johnson Boy

Click HERE to Download Your Complimentary Copy of THE TWELVE RAYS OF CHRISTMAS.

$700 Fine for JayWalking in LA!

2011-01-06T18:29:00.002-05:00

I'm living proof that a $700 Jaywalking ticket will make you arrive in court a day early with your best Johnnie Cochran swag on full blast.

Next day, I'm back... ready... feeling and looking good like a Cochran man should. Inside the chamber, the Repeat Offenders posse douse my ears with HazMat-grade cynicism. I shift my focus to the "No Talking" sign and pray for the proceedings to begin!

The Judge enters the chamber bringing new meaning to the phrase "justice is blind." His Honor rarely looked at anyone during the proceedings. It was as if we were witnessing a Master Ventriloquist dispensing No-Look justice in 30-second sound bites. I witnessed at least 30 no-look trials where fines were reduced and payment extensions granted. But, every request for community service was cut-off by His Honor's judicial remix of the Destiny's Child hit, "No, No, No, No, No!"
Finally, I'm summoned before the Judge.

Keith Johnson... Crossing against a Do Not Walk sign... how do you plead?
No Contest, Your Honor.
Same as guilty. Fine is reduced to $50, State of California fee of $145. Will you pay today or do you need an extension to pay?
(Hmm, fine greatly reduced, but I'm walking outta here with all of my cash) Your Honor, I'd like to request Community Service.
Do you have a job?
No sir, your Honor.
How do you provide for yourself?
I've lived off my now depleted savings, and...
So how do you provide for yourself (with a hint of irritation in his ventriloquy)?

I...
The record will reflect that I answered immediately, but I swear to you, time stood still. I had the facts, figures, and estimations to answer him. Neither his curtness nor the indignation of having to share my personal information in this impersonal forum could knock me off my stride.

Inexplicably, something compelled me to abandon my strategy and to just tell the truth even if it might be deemed inappropriate. I stuttered just a bit in reply to his request of "how do you provide for yourself..."

G-G-G-God Your Honor.

W-W-WHAT DID HE SAY? stammered the Judge, his head finally jerking upwards to see who invoked the name of GOD in his Chamber. He swung around, visibly flustered and asked the Court Reporter, DID HE SAY GOD?

Did I? Did I just say God? I could hear sprinkles of laughter emanating from various parts of the chamber as I confirmed that my provisions were truly a blessing from God.

He grumbled out his verdict. NO Community Service. Pay by March 23. If you can't pay by then, come back before the bench!

Foolish, dude! My mind was quick to remind me that uttering God was not a part of my legal strategy. But logic couldn't account for my journey, especially my journey back to Los Angeles. I left a great job in NY without a job in LA, and went from single in Manhattan to a family of four. Yet, through God's blessings, all of our needs continue to be met. We've seen miracles in our finances and opportunities. I bear witness to the spiritual truth that there are many blessing channels, but one source and that source is God. Great is thy faithfulness!

I spent the rest of the day battling the dreaded ego. "You lost." "No Victory Update on Facebook for you?" "Did you really say G-G-G-GOD?" Thankfully, the story doesn't end there. I was blessed this morning with a new perspective. Thank you God!

Perhaps someone needed to be reminded that they're not alone in facing life challenges;
Perhaps someone needed to be reminded - yes, God is faithful; yes, God is our provider, but also the profoundly simple, awesome truth that... God Is.
Or perhaps - just perhaps - God desired to hear me publicly proclaim that which I profusely thank Him for in my quiet time.

I thank God for this morning's insight. And I'll even share with you what I shared with Him...

Perhaps the notion of standing in a Court of Law, where one promises to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, So Help Me God, released just that: My Truth about God's Truth, the Universal Truth about a God that loves each and every single one of us. And that truth roared forth like the Chuck Brown classic...

I Feel Like Bustin' Loose, Bustin' Loose Y'all!!!

Love, from That Johnson Boy

21 Days in Labor

2010-10-11T13:06:00.004-04:00

It's official!

My proverbial water broke on the evening of Friday, October 8, 2010. Thankfully, I was among family old and new who call the Lucy Florence Cultural Center in Leimert Park, home. When Patty Kamson exclaimed "now is the time...", I knew exactly what that meant for me. My spirit was in agreement. Now is the time - my time - to birth this baby. And just like that I induced labor.

No one seemed to notice that my water of intentions had broke. Then again, I was in the presence of women whose lineage birthed civilization. These, the Daughters of the Dust, are innately gifted in the African tradition of welcoming Spirit home. No need to panic. I just stated my intention over and over again...

"Now is the time to birth

Must Love Chocolate

Now is the time to let it flow

through me and onto the pages.

Now is the time!"

A pregnant man definitely needs an incredible midwife. I immediately turned to natural born healer, Rhonda Kuykendall-Jabari. Diagnosis? Good to go and open to flow!

So I thank you God. Thank you, even when I didn't understand divine interruption of my flow. I was close to finishing my first book when You whispered "there's a book that precedes this book."

What? Do you know how long I've been working on my book?

So I resisted... and insisted... and explored... and tinkered with... and got excited about your idea. I wrote like crazy... in my head, but your words never quite made it to the page.

Thank you for stoking my passion even higher with living, breathing examples of the love you wanted me to display. Chocolate-covered dreams of love and companionship really do come true! Yet, even with my new found levels of excitement, that dang blinking cursor - naked in a void of whiteness - haunted me.

And when I anguished over my good but not great title, you sent me 5600 miles to bask in the spirit of Shakespeare and Company. Talk about a Parisian paradigm shift... Magnifique!

That's love.

I thank you God for your love. It is unto You that I submit these next 21 days of laser-focused intention of birthing your idea, one stroke at a time.

Welcome to Day One of my 21 Days of Chocolate Labor. Let it flow, let it flow, let it flow!

Why Men Leave

2010-09-24T12:25:00.003-04:00

I've never met a man who hasn't thought about leaving. Some just talk about it, while others lace up their Nike's and just do it. Me? I'm no exception. I've done both.

Contrary to widely held beliefs, men don't leave for the other woman. They don't leave for the other man either. They don't leave because "you deserve better." Not even the lack of sex or an acute midlife crisis will cause a man leave.

I know why men leave.

Men won't leave, even when we feel our world takes us for granted. There are days when we feel like we're losing ourselves to our employers, mates, children, dates, friends, deals, panhandlers, bills, homework, housework, "yes, I'm still unemployed, ya jerk!" Our investments remain underwater with ballooning notes, not to mention the crazy IRS folks... unemployment's a joke, on & on & on & on... this list don't stop until...! Where's my time? When do I get to do something for me?" We may stress out and/or act out, but we won't leave.

I know why men leave.

Show me a man who believes that his dream is dying and I'll show you a man on the precipice of leaving everyone and everything. I'm not talking about your garden-variety dream, i.e., big house, financial riches, etc. No, I'm talking about THE dream. THE LIFE MISSION - the reason why we're here. It is a divine deposit that demands our withdrawal for circulation into and for the betterment of the universe at-large. Once we acknowledge and embrace what it is, it becomes our reason for living. But, if we aren't sure what it is or the demands of life appear so overwhelming that we can't envision it or question if we're even worthy of receiving the blessing, all Hell breaks loose!

I can't think of anything more capable of sending men to the brink of leaving. But, we won't leave. He can even find meaning in his discontent. As Mary Morrissey stated in Building Your Field of Dreams, "Honor Your Discontent. Respect the feeling inside you that's nudging you toward a greater experience. This is God's greatest gift -- your life -- speaking to you. Your inner friction rubs and rubs, creating a divine spark that will ignite your desire into a potent idea."

So, why do men leave?

Paternal Order

I believe a man's father is the driving force in his life. Whether he is active in our lives, makes infrequent appearances or has never been in our lives is of no consequence. He is the driving force (mother's guide/father's drive). Some of us aspire to be like him. We do great Dad imitations, tracing his steps, his path and his legacy at the expense of neglecting the development of our true identities. Other men vow to never be like him, over-correcting to the point of losing our true selves. Every man knows the elation of seeing ourselves in our dad; and I dare say most men know the horror of seeing his own life previewed in the failures and setbacks of his father. All of this transpires unbeknown or unacknowledged by us because we are our own man.

But the day comes when a man realizes that this invisible, paternal force does indeed affect his life, his decisions and his emotional well-being. His father can't calm turbulent seas, can't provide immediate relief from the overwhelming stress, can't understand nor help you live your life mission. That doesn't make our father's weak, incompetent or useless. It makes him human. It is then that we come face to face with Paternal Order, that our earthly father is not the alpha male. God, the Father, is. God doesn't just reign at the top. God reigns over all... everything... everywhere.

Understanding Paternal Order will cause every man to leave... leave his father's footsteps and embark on his divinely created path as ordained by God, the Father. In Him, we must seek wisdom, guidance, comfort and fuel for the journey. He alone is our Creator and He alone created every aspect of our universe and our being. In the past, a man may have enjoyed or resented people proclaiming how much he is like his father. But, he'll leave that paradigm the moment he embraces that "I and the Father (God) are one."

No matter how great and wonderful our fathers may be, we are not our father.
No matter how invisible our fathers may be, we are not our father.
No matter the level of success our father's may have achieved, we are not our father.
Your path is uniquely yours. Your life mission? Uniquely yours too.
As Rev. Michael Bernard Beckwith recently stated, "Our life is a Master Piece, not a copy. Any questions, insights, clarifications should be directed to the Creator of the Master Piece." Everything that you need - EVERYTHING - has already been provided. Just ask and you shall receive.

I told you I know why men leave. Women, too. And to God Almighty be the glory!

**********************

Given the Paternal Order of things, this is my last post as That Johnson Boy Said What? I created the moniker to honor my Dad, whose name I proudly carry. The spirit behind the name will always be with me. But, my personal path awaits me. So, help me welcome into the world & just cover me with prayer, as I bid farewell to That Johnson Boy and Greetings to PROVERBIAL SUN!!!

The BEST 4th of July Present EVER!

2010-07-02T16:38:00.001-04:00

Please take a few minutes to listen to this young brother's Graduation speech. POWER-FULL!!!

What To Give The Mom Who Doesn't Deserve a Damn Thing!

2010-05-06T07:05:00.018-04:00

Damned if I do / damned if I don't

Mad if I do / guilt-ridden if I don't/

Call when I know she's at church

or just... whatever.
Happy? Mother's Day!

   Welcome to a world that I know all too well. I've spent years treading this debilitating riptide of anger and resentment. But alas, Mother's Day - the perfect platform to unleash my turmoil with calculated precision. Not pretty, is it? Breaches between parent and child never are. Petty perhaps, but pretty? Never.

   Lost in the madness is the dichotomy between love and anger. I actually love my Mother. But, unresolved issues from our past often produced conflicting waves of anger and resentment. Even in our happiest times the war between love and resentment waged on. I've prayed about it, attended professional counseling, created pacts with self to just say no to anger and the punishing emotional blows. Yet, time after time I found myself in relapse, mired in a war with no end, in a battle that I seemingly could not win. That's how it appeared to me, up until Mother's Day 2008.

   I set out that weekend to have a wonderful time with my Mom. We shopped 'til she dropped, dined and shopped some more. We worshipped together and acknowledged that our first ever weekend excursion was mutually gratifying. But that's not what made it special. What made it truly special is the gift that we shared that weekend. I gave my Mom the gift of...

Forgiveness

We didn't speak it, nor did we write it. Yet, we both understood the spirit of forgiveness offered from the soul. On that day, our life began anew. I had attempted to forgive many times. It was the logical thing to do. But on this day, my soul said yes, forgive her and... forgive yourself for punishing her. Mind you, my forgiveness wasn't based on understanding. I still didn't have answers as to why things happened in the past. I forgave her simply because she is my Mom, the first Lady in my life and the first Love of my Life. In forgiving her, I set us both free.

During the train ride back to New York, I pondered a new dilemma: what will I tell my circle of like-me's? Like me, they were mired in dysfunctional parent/child relationships. Like me, we found comfort in our mutual understanding and empathy. Friends, like me, who would promptly slay anyone offering a fix, a scripture or medicine for our wounded souls. What will I say? I'll tell them the truth as it came to me while gazing at my reflection in the train window:

"When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put away childish things." (1 Corinthians 13:11)

Had you shared this scripture with me just 48 hours earlier, I probably would've dealt with you. Seriously. But on that train ride home, this scripture illuminated my past in ways I never sought to ask.

What will I tell my friends like me? I'll tell them to love their Mom and forgive her, without reason. I'll tell them that the words of Paul Boese ring true: "forgiveness does not change the past, but it does enlarge the future." I'll tell them that true understanding and illumination comes after the act of forgiveness.

I'll tell them that we were right. We won't do to our children what our Mom did (or didn't do) for us. I'll tell them that we'll be better parents because of our Mothers and their journey. I'll tell them what they already know deep inside their spirit - that the child in us lashes out about what should've been. But the adult in us knows that life is about choices - complex, life-altering choices and the ramifications of each choice. We may not follow Mom's path, but each of us have managed to blaze our own path down ramification alley. May our own offspring be merciful in their judgement.

I'll tell them to fight every spirit of resistance with the spirit of love. I'll tell them to spend time getting to know the woman behind the Mom title. I'll tell them to be patient as old wounds remain tender long after the skin appears mended. And if their Mom is no longer with us, I'll tell them it's never too late to heal the relationship. Speak the healing power of forgiveness, on Earth as it is in Heaven.

Lastly, I'll shut the heck up. Like-me's can only handle so much! But, I'm a living witness that the loving relationship you desire with your Mom is but a forgiving spirit away - risk everything, open your heart and go get it!!! Life begins with a whole heart.

To my own Mother, thank you again for loving me, even when I made loving me so difficult. You are my First Lady and First Love and I'll always love you. To my other Mom, there aren't enough roses to show you how much I love you. And to my wife, who is allowing me to spend Mother's Day away from her, I love you LadyBug. Me has a surprise for you!

And to all my Moms and their big babies, Happy Mother's Day!

Why Every One of Us Must Fall

2009-09-01T11:51:00.010-04:00

To the brothers & sisters of Generation ME,

Fall is here. I can feel it's presence, sense it in our conversations (both spoken and unspoken), and see it in our eyes. We know Fall as a planetary season, but never before have we experienced Fall as a life cycle. However, if you've recently celebrated or are slated to celebrate the Big 50, I say to you my friend... Welcome to Fall.

Fall is here. Just yesterday, our leaves were Summery hues. Overnight, tinges of Autumn un-colored our foliage - a hair here, a forest there. Follicles fall leaving us bald. Tributaries have taken up residence where happy lines once flashed. Mirror, mirror on the wall... who the heck is THIS person and why are they showing up in MY mirror?

Fall is here, our season of transition. Our Spring is but a memory. Our Summer? Yesterday's news. Our Fall is before us. What shall we do, my brother? My sister? What shall we do?

This road trip of life is beckoning us. You gotta admit, the vantage point from the driver's seat is decidedly different at this point. We've passed the invisible road marker that signalled that we are beyond the halfway point. No longer does this road trip appear as an infinite adventure. It now has a destination, even if the remaining mileage is unknown. We may have 40+ years of struggling to balance our checkbook, but on this journey into Fall, life is demanding a full reconciliation. What will you do when, perhaps for the first time ever, your dreams disappear from your horizon and reappear in your rear view mirror? "Is that my... my.... dream back there... on the side of the road?"

Family, our Fall is here. Whether your life-to-date reconciliation didn't balance out or your dreams appear to be fading at warp speed, one thing is certain: we are entering our season of transition. Before you take radical actions or panic, I'm simply asking you to step back, take a deep breath and respect the process. It is necessary. It can be difficult. But, it is definitely in Divine Order. Welcome it.

"To Everything There Is A Season"

Ecclesiastes 3:1

I don't have the answers for what lie ahead. I do believe there are two things we each can do that will benefit us greatly. First, let's agree to open and honest communication. Who knew of those dreams now appearing in your rear view mirror? Who knew? Let's have real dialog, withholding the judgement. Let's keep it real.

Second, the path that we each must travel is cloaked in uncertainty. And yet, the pathway into Fall is well-travelled. We can illuminate our pathway by turning to the greatest, natural resource on earth, our elders. We may have bigger houses, fancier cars, bigger titles, and have out-earned them, but we'll never out-learn them. Seek out their counsel and sit as a child. Speak a little/listen a lot. No cell-phones, no 30 minute time allotments. Theirs is a wisdom acquired from every season. Invest quality time and you'll be rewarded with wisdom that not even Oprah money can't buy.

Happy 50th, Generation Me. May you experience a peace that surpasses all understanding. Love, That Johnson Boy.

I Will Act Now!

2009-08-04T13:22:00.007-04:00

"My dreams are worthless,
my plans are dust,
my goals are impossible.
All are of no value unless
they are followed by action."
Og Mandino (Excerpt from The Greatest Salesman in the World)

I will act now.
Never has there been a map, however carefully executed to detail and scale, which carried its owner over even 1 inch of ground. Never has there been a parchment of law, however fair, which prevented one crime. Never has there been a scroll, even such as the one I hold, which earned so much as a penny, or produced a single word of acclamation. Action alone is the tinder which ignites the map, the parchment, this scroll, my dreams, my plans, my goals, into a living force. Action is the food and drink which will nourish my success.

I will act now.
My procrastination which has held me back was born of fear, and now I recognize this secret mined from the depths of all courageous hearts. Now I know that, to conquer fear, I must always act without hesitation, and the flutters in my heart will vanish. Now I know that action reduces the lion of terror to an ant of equanimity.

I will act now.
Only action determines my value in the marketplace, and to multiply my value I will multiply my actions. I will walk where the failure fears to walk. I will work when the failure seeks rest. I will talk when the failure remains silent. I will call on 10 who can buy my goods, while the failure makes grand plans to call on one. I will say it is done before the failure says it is too late.

I will act now.
For now is all I have. Tomorrow is the day reserved for the labor of the lazy. I am not lazy. Tomorrow is the day when the evil become good. I am not evil. Tomorrow is the day when the weak become strong. I am not weak. Tomorrow is the day when the failure will succeed. I am not a failure.

I will act now.
When the lion is hungry, he eats. When the eagle has thirst, he drinks. Lest they act, both will perish.

I hunger for success. I thirst for happiness and peace of mind. Lest I act, I will perish in a life of failure, misery and sleepless nights. I will command, and I will obey my own command.

I will act now.
Success will not wait. If I delay, she will become betrothed to another and lost to me forever.

This is the time. This is the place. I am the man.

I will act now.

(Excerpt from The Greatest Salesman In The World by Og Mandino)

A Meditation Experience from That Johnson Boy

2009-05-27T06:58:00.003-04:00

Yosemite - The Meditation Experience from Keith Johnson on Vimeo.

Hello Fam,

Here's a wonderful energizer for Hump Day or any day for the matter. Hope you enjoy! Sincerely, That Johnson Boy

PS... If the video is jerky, press pause and allow the video to load complete before pressing start again.

Barack Uncensored: Who You Calling a...?

2008-12-09T10:57:00.008-05:00

Why THIS Revolution MUST Be Televised

2008-11-11T14:08:00.010-05:00

Obama '08 - Vote For Hope from MC Yogi on Vimeo.

Election Day 2008 - What's YOUR Story?

2008-11-04T10:41:00.004-05:00

Welcome to Election Day 2008!!! Can you believe it's finally here?

Never have I been so grateful to cast my ballot. I was at my voting precinct at 6:55 a.m. (with video camera in tow). Yes, I videotaped my thoughts for your viewing pleasure.

I'd love to hear your Election Day story. Click the COMMENTS link below to share your unique perspective.

Happy voting, and looking forward to seeing you in my hometown of Washington, DC, during the Martin L. King/Inaugural Day weekend.

That Johnson Boy

One Man's Naked Truth about Intimacy-Part I

2008-05-20T00:01:00.011-04:00

We are not human beings
on a spiritual journey.
We are Spiritual Beings
on a Human Journey.
Pierre Teilhard de Chardin
(French Jesuit Priest/Philosopher & Paleontologist)

Why are we so afraid of intimacy? Why am I?

Few things have impacted my life like Teilhard de Chardin's "Spiritual Beings" quote. Chardin's philosophy wasn't new to me. But, the stark simplicity of his words reawakened the oft-forgotten truth buried within this mass of clay. Most of all, they are a constant reminder of divine order. We are Spiritual Beings on a human journey. Now, I eagerly incorporate his Spiritual Beings quote into my daily affirmations.

Little did I know...

just how pervasive my newly incorporated "Spirit first" affirmation would be. I received a call that my youngest sister was rushed to the Emergency Room. Major surgery ensued. Simultaneously, my Mom was recovering from major back surgery. The convergence of these events left my remaining sisters exhausted on all fronts. My brother and I both live out-of-state, but agreed to come home. He volunteered for the hospital shift, while I would relieve him once my sister was released.

I boarded a 6:00am Baltimore-bound Amtrak train. My luggage contained ample clothing, laptop and enough work to fill every hour of my visit. But neither the Yellow cab driver nor the train porter could see the invisible steamer trunk I was dragging with me. Stuffed inside was the stress from both surgeries and anxiety over my role as Caretaker. God only knows what else was lurking below the surface. Ok, make that God & myself.

Why am I so afraid?

My anxiety was eased upon seeing my sister. The shock at seeing her small frame was offset by her painful laughter at my jokes. Once home, I quickly found my rhythm and reveled in discovering the hyper-sensory skills of a caretaker/parent. We spent the next few days navigating post-surgery developments.

Those first days were like Man Heaven. My duties were results-driven ~ running errands, maintaining the medication schedule, adjusting pillows and lite joking ~ all well within my comfort zone. Man Heaven offered this male ego the perfect world: a damsel in distress and fixable scenarios. It got even better... every day in Man Heaven is like Palm Friday! It seemed as if every female was extolling my greatness for being there. There was something unsettling about the praise (which I will address in Part II). I was just a brother trying to care for his sister.

My visit to Man Heaven ended abruptly when my sister's recuperation took a painful downturn. I was quickly being forced into that uncomfortable area beyond my comfort zone. I could simultaneously juggle a bed pan/trash can combo while assuring Sis that none of this was more than I could bear. Handling the frenetic pace of liquid projectiles was challenging, but no where near as discomforting as my search for what to say. What is it about men like me that allows us to process a thousand thoughts-a-minute, yet our jaws remain clinched and our potentially soothing words... silent? My first casualty? I lost my mind. I stopped thinking, ceased editing, and let my unrehearsed thoughts flow from my mouth.

One small step for man, one large step for this man.

My trials came faster than Sis' post-op gas pains. Each trial was more intense than the last. Each one demanded that I remove yet another layer of me, from me. My eldest sister joined us on Friday. Together we witnessed as our sister went from sick to violently ill. The pain gripped her body causing seizure-like tremors. I watched, looking and feeling helpless, as my eldest sister embraced her and prayed without ceasing.

Why am I so afraid to Bare It All?

"There is something you can do." I heard a voice inside me implore me to get naked - to lose all the suffocating layers. I knew what I had to do. What if I...? What would they...? What if...? I can't expose myself... not to that level. But, the revealing words of my daily affirmation were unrelenting and ready to manifest in my life:

We are not human beings on a spiritual journey.
We are Spiritual Beings on a human journey.

I couldn't provide immediate relief for the pain that ravished her frail, trembling body. But, if I availed myself, I could soothe her soul. It wasn't about learning; it was remembering how to soothe her soul.

On Friday, May 9, 2008, my soul remembered what it really means to be intimate. I embraced my sister as I never have before. I softly spoke the words I've never spoken before ~ words that emanated from a pure place with the purist intention. I exposed myself to the universe, and in doing so declared that I finally remembered who I am.

Her pain remained - so much so that we had to rush her to the hospital. But her soul? Her soul quieted like that of a newborn baby. As for my soul, it matched the rhythm of my once lost/forever found twin. We discovered peace. We discovered understanding. We discovered love in the purest sense.

My life shall never be the same. Thank God!

Check back next week for a very revealing Part II. Fellas you have about 1 week to enjoy your slice of Man Heaven 'cause I'm about to bite into the apple.

Have a wonderful day, from That Johnson Boy!

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Menage a Cinq? Now That's Sexy!

2008-04-15T00:44:00.012-04:00

"We need quiet time to examine our lives openly and honestly... spending quiet time alone gives your mind an opportunity to renew itself and create order."

Susan Taylor

Spring has finally made its Broadway debut! To say that I welcome her arrival would be an understatement of global warming proportions. New York clung to Winter as if invoking the Mars Blackmon refrain of "please, baby please, baby baby, please!" Mother Nature responded with a Stylistic gust of "Break Up, To Make Up... That's All, We Do." In the middle of this hot today/cold tomorrow drama were tormented folks like me. But alas, Spring is here!

Just as New York seemed unwilling to bid Winter goodbye, my internal clock clung tightly to the season of hibernation. I couldn't seem to jump start my mind and spirit out of hibernation mode. But, you know what folks? A hibernation well spent is a beautiful thing.

Hibernation? I know... most of us view hibernation as a luxury we cannot afford or worse, it's just plain ol' lazy. I counter that belief with the words of Susan Taylor. Ms. Taylor speaks of the need for quiet time to examine our lives openly and honestly. Most of us operate at such a hectic pace that we barely have time to examine our checkbook. That's the openly honest-to-God truth. But, I say to you my friend... life-changing breakthroughs and (re)discoveries abound when you take the time/make the time to spend quality time with yourself.

The secret to a great hibernation? It's all about the company you keep! And yours truly, That Johnson Boy, spent quality time with not one... not two or three, but FOUR beautiful ladies! That's right, my very first Menage a Cinq, and I can't wipe this silly smile from my face! I say again, a hibernation well spent is a beautiful thing! You want the dirt don't you? Here we go...

First up was my blue-eyed soul sista, Louise Hay. Ms. Hay stimulated my brain cells with her book and DVD offering, YOU CAN HEAL YOUR LIFE. Her book first hit the bestseller list in 1984, and returned again in 2008. Every keystroke and image challenged my beliefs regarding illness and healing. Her book made me refocus on a question raised by Christ, who asked "do you want to be made whole?" I never forgot that bible verse, and it is the guiding force behind my life mission. Ms. Hay's book is a wonderful tool to utilize when we dare ask ourselves "do we want to be made whole?" Needless to say, my time spent hibernating with Louise was very good indeed.

Next up, a blogger of whom I hold the highest regard. She goes by the name Babz (like Babs) and her blog is Lovebabz: A Life in Transition. Babz, like many of my blogging friends, is a gifted writer and I read her post every day. I believe her willingness to be emotionally naked, coupled with her strong empathic skills, will guide many to the comfort of a safe harbor. She will be one of my Mission Partners and we will go forth and do our part as conduits for healing. Not bad for a chick representin' CONNECTICUT!!!???

Next up is the "Set It Off" girl. Every party needs one and this lady more than fits the bill. She's a D.C. native, and goes by the name C. Paige. She's an accomplished writer, having recently given birth to her baby, "Bloggers' Delight: Volume One Love and Redemption." But I warned y'all - she's the set it off chick. She and her crew are rewriting the publishing game rulebook. They've left the Matrix and are delivering Love and Redemption to a bookstore/cafe/restaurant/etc near you. By the way, they don't need the industry validation, unless it's for parking. Her hustle? Ridiculous! Her secret to making me beg for more? She signs every blog entry with "Moved by The Creator, Merely posted by CapCity." How dope is that? I told y'all she'll set it off every single time!!!

Finally, when you hibernate with four women, at least one of them should leave you in the fetal position muttering her name. Lady #4 is just that woman. Theresa Thompson had a lifelong dream of being a published author. She trusted God - through thick and thin - and in 2008, she proudly announced to the family that her first novel Dogs Gone Wild is available for our literary consumption! Cousin T, thank you for your perseverance and unwavering faith. You have no idea how your boldness invigorated and rejuvenated our family and all those who read your wagging tale of dogs abandoned during Hurricane Katrina. Ain't no shame here. Your accomplishments had me saying your name as I thanked God for your beacon of hope and faithfulness!

Folks, my hibernation is done - my faith more powerful than ever - and in no small part thanks to the God I love and the ladies mentioned above. I'm emerging rejuvenated and ready to roar!

Just one question... y'all ready for me? Much love from That Johnson Boy!

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A Texas-Sized Scare in Camp Obama?

2008-03-05T05:36:00.012-05:00

Dear Team Obama,

Welcome to March Madness! While that phrase is generally reserved for the upcoming winner-take-all NCAA Basketball Tournament, it also captures what lies ahead in our quest for the Presidency. It is in the spirit of March Madness that I don the Coach persona and say to all of you, "Huddle Up!"

First things first. Did the headline get under your skin? Are you offended by the Breaking News caption? I hope so. I need your undivided attention so that you might hear these two facts:

1. This Campaign doesn't need a Savior. It's not broken and doesn't need fixing; and
2. Turn off the tv. If the headlines are too distracting, then turn off the tv.

Here's a quick recap of where we stand:
1st Quarter - Team Obama started fast with a victory in Iowa. The Clinton camp answered our initial charge with a New Hampshire win.
2nd Quarter - The game turned physical, but after much jostling Team Obama went into halftime having put together 12 consecutive victories.
3rd Quarter - The Clinton camp mounted a furious rally culminating with "must wins" in Texas and Ohio.

Here we stand, poised for what promises to be one heck of a 4th quarter. We don't need major overhauls or panic-based decision-making. If we execute these 4th quarter adjustments, victory will be ours!

Adjustment #1 - Remain Fundamentally Sound
We have run the best campaign bar none. This campaign has set a new standard for mobilizing and deploying 21st Century ideals and strategies in a political landscape stuck in the 20th Century. Let's just keep doing what we're doing. Also, let's lose the obsession with being the front runner. Watching too much TV will have you craving front runner status. But, AMERICA LOVES AN UNDERDOG. Plain & simple.

Adjustment #2 - Be Street Savvy
This 4th Quarter push for the Oval office will require us to be Street Savvy. Much like playground basketball, the campaign fouls will be hard and physical. Senator Obama might appeal to the referee. But, Barack Obama? He knows streetball. There's no calling foul when you get hacked, no demanding the ball. Shrug off the foul, then make them pay in the paint. Make them pay by converting Super Delegates. Make them pay by mounting more wins. For every hard foul, get your butt up off the floor and make them pay! Got it?

When the play turns extremely aggressive (and it will), I need everyone to remember that politics and basketball are team sports. We must not lose our MVP to silly fouls, but we also cannot be pushed around either. I need enforcers to lay down the law. Remember, a stealthy-concealed, well-planted elbow to the ribcage will back off the most fervent opponent. The fundamentals of engagement are: (1) initiate, but never retaliate; and (2) smile/elbow/keep it moving. Who on Team Obama is willing to play this absolutely vital role? Do I need to bring Dennis Rodman out of retirement?

Let's lose the trash-talking. This constant political bickering is akin to trash talking and we all know that excessive arguing might land us a technical foul. Keep your head in the game and remember that the trashtalker doesn't do so to hear themselves talk. They do so to take you out of your game. If you're engaging them, then you're not hearing the voters. More important, you can't hear me and that will not be tolerated.

Adjustment #3 - To Thine Own Strengths Remain True
We can expect them to mount an all-out assault on your strengths. Sounds crazy, right? It's actually brilliant to turn ones' strength into a liability. Expect them to continue with the "who do you want answering the phone in the middle of the night (hence he's not ready)" strategy. But, their real focus will be on dismantling your strength as a communicator.

In this 4th quarter, we will counter their great speaker/low substance claim by conveying to the American people what we already know for sure. Barack Obama is a great communicator. And whether it be our President, our CEO, our teachers or our loved ones, we know that effective communication is the key and without it chaos ensues. When the crisis phone rings at 3am, we need a President who can communicate (also known as speak AND listen) effectively. Effective communication will unearth important little gems of information like "are there or are there not weapons of mass destruction?" The ability of our President to glean information is much more critical than their willingness to go to bed every night, fully-trousered so that they can be ready to answer that early morning call like General Alexander "I'm in Charge" Haig!

Adjustment #4 - The Solution is Green
I've read the post-Texas political analysis. According to the political pundants, we might have a race problem on our hands. Heck, even the streets worry that Latinos won't support our man. This is why it will be critical that we disengage from the media and engage our voters. If you do so, you'll learn what many of us on the front lines already know. The problem isn't black vs. white, black vs. brown, educated vs. uneducated or rich vs. poor. The disconnect is rooted in green. The Street Savvy truth is this: those groups listed above have been positioned to fight against one another in the battle over limited resources at the State and Local level.

Those at the lower end of the economic ladder are pitted against one another for the basic necessities of life. They're battling for funding for educational, healthcare, aftercare, and just about every basic service you can imagine. The present divide & conquer model afflicts all affected parties with a scarcity mentality. They are smart. They are intelligent. They desire nothing more than the fulfillment of the American Dream in their lives. But, the current system reduces them to hunters & gatherers.

I challenge you, Team Obama, to meet with local leaders/organizations/non-profits to see if my observations hold merit. If they do, I challenge you to address the real issue and craft an action plan that not only wins voters, but heals the economic-induced rift between the have-nots and the have-nots.

Team Obama, before you take to the court for this historic push to the White House, you must remember that Champions are forged through fire.

For many of you, this final push will be the most intense challenge you've ever encountered. We have in Hillary a worthy, hungry and determined challenger. Punch her and she instinctively punches back. One look in her eyes and you know that there's no quit in her. And we really don't dislike her at all. Unfortunately, it's not her time. Now Is The Time for Barack Obama. We want him, our Nation needs him and the World welcomes his arrival onto the geo-political landscape.

The 4th quarter between two great competitors is wrought with ebbs and flows and this campaign will be no different. We must execute. We must stay focused. We must do the little things well to ensure victory. But, in the end, it's about character. Will we withstand the heat of the battle and never lose faith? Can we execute our plan even as our opponent mount yet another comeback? I say to each of you... we can and we will! What we accomplish in this 4th quarter will impact our children's children. Let's give them a world that we only dreamed could be. Team Obama on 3!

Signing off, your coach - That Johnson Boy!

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Why Men Are Opting-Out of Valentine's Day

2008-02-14T03:05:00.022-05:00

Your eyes are not deceiving you. There's a movement afoot that's gaining momentum faster than Obama's Presidential campaign.

Will 2008 be the year that men finally Just Say No to Valentine's Day? That's the buzz throughout the land. After hearing their arguments, I've concluded that my brethren just might have a case. 2008 is shaping up as the season of change, perhaps now is a good time to explore this radical rejection of our National Day of Love.

Should Men Opt-Out of Valentine's Day?

Fellas, we all know that romantic love is a complicated animal. But, what would propel a man to foresake Valentine's Day and join the Strike picket line?

I guess you've never had LOVE
put you under her spell
Watch you get dressed for work
only to make you say, "Oh what the hell"
"Ahhh... boss... I'm not (sniff sniff)
feeling so swell."
Make you call on Brother L.L.,
'Cause Love be "Doin it & Doin it & Doin it Well."

I guess you've never seen LOVE
sauntering towards you
spilling all Victoria's Secrets along the way
leaving you defenseless with nothing to say...but,
Damn!
Make you sneak a peek in the daylight,
stare boldly in the moonlight,
or send your ass searching for a flashlight.

I guess you've never felt LOVE
melt your bad day away,
cajole your moody mood to play,
then soothingly remind you
that LOVE always has the final say.

I guess you've never heard LOVE
beckon over her shoulder
with a come hither motion
Because LOVE don't give a damn
if the neighbors hear the commotion.

Never felt LOVE's fingertips
linger upon your chest?
Never felt her frenchtips
burrow deep into your flesh?
Never known the intensity
of riding the crest?
Never had to fake a bathroom run
just to steal 5 minutes of rest!

Guess you never believed
that the River of Life flows thru her.
That LOVE would overflow her banks
just to quinch your thirst
satiate your hunger
cleanse your spirit
and lubricate your mind.
LOVE offered you her nectar
glass filled to the brim.

But your response to her invitation?
"Woman, You know I don't swim."

I guess LOVE never looked you in the eye
spoke to your shaky confidence
& proclaimed Oh Yes, My Man Can Fly!
I guess you never soared high under the wind she provided
Never experienced the power of a man & woman undivided.

If you've never known any of these things, then my brothers I say to you...

Strike on, brothers... strike on. Guess you gotta do what you gotta do.

But, as for That Johnson Boy? Love rules here fellas. Regardless of LOVE's rollercoaster journey through my life, the bottom line is... LOVE ~ in all of it's manifestations ~ has been extremely good to me. LOVE's beauty is everlasting. Forrest Gump probabaly said it best...

"Life Is Like A Box of Chocolates."

Dude, take some time to savor the chocolate. Savor it, I say. I declare you'll give up that picket sign. And ladies, I'm wishing you a mouthful of chocolate-flavored kisses & surprises on this Valentine's Day of 2008! Love always, That Johnson Boy.

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Overcoming The Obama Dilemma

2008-01-18T01:35:00.001-05:00

"I'm Asking You To Believe."

Not just in my ability to
bring about change in Washington...
I'm asking you to believe in yours."
Presidential Candidate Barack Obama

"Not yet, Mr. Obama... not yet."

Those were my thoughts about Mr. Obama's Presidential aspirations. I met Mr. Obama a few years earlier at a Chicago fundraiser for his first Senate bid. I found him and his wife refreshing and most of all, the real thing. I've worked in the political arena on both the national and local level. Refreshing is a rare commodity. When Mr. Obama announced his Presidential bid, I didn't hesitate to point my mouse to http://www.barackobama.com/ to make my campaign contribution. In the recesses of my mind, those words continued to resonate... "not yet, Mr. Obama... not yet."

And then came Iowa.

I vacationed in Iowa immediately after first meeting Mr. Obama. There were cornfields aplenty and several really nice art galleries. But the talk of the town was all about Obama. Senate candidate Obama had blazed a trailed thru Golena, Iowa a week earlier and folks were still on fire! They were actually giddy over Mr. Obama (as in Ala-BAMA). So, I wasn't shocked when he won the Iowa Presidential caucus. However, I was shocked that my silent mantra was still playing out in my head... "Not yet, Mr. Obama... not yet." My apprehension was logical to me, even if steeped in a kind of ethnic protectionism. Why would anyone want to face these facts:

Fact: The next President of the United States of America will inherit a mess of historic proportions. From the economy to foreign policy, the President-elect will be knee deep in mess. I'm talking the kind of mess that invokes memories of Cedric The Entertainers' Presidential Stress Response of "just tell 'em I ain't home."

Fact: By all indicators we are already immersed in a recession. Then again, who needs an indicator. How's your raise? Your mortgage? Your credit card debt? Your tax bill? Are you oversleeping or can't quite sleep through the night?

Fact: There is no quick fix to the war. The only silver lining? Buy some Halliburton stock. Then again, you might do well to just say no to this blood money.

These facts, coupled with America's pattern of assassinating African-American leaders, form the basis for my Obama dilemma. Why would I want my candidate to inherit this mess? Six months into the new Presidency, the American public will forget who created the mess. I honestly don't want the Nation's first African-American President to be crushed under the weight of the Bush administration. I acknowledge and accept that African-Americans must often do more with less, and have historically made the best of bad situations. But Damn! This is about as bad as it gets. So you see, this cannot be your time, Mr. Obama. I felt strongly about my position - that is - until I heard your Iowa victory speech...

"They said this day would never come..."

Now that alone was enough to capture my full attention. But his message was bigger than the civil rights movement. He then followed with...

"This is the day America remembered
what it means to HOPE."

On that victorious evening in Iowa, Barack Obama stopped being too young or too inexperienced. His youthful outlook and lack of time inside the political machine will be invaluable assets. I vowed that I would combat any fears about his safety with prayer. Most of all, my support wouldn't be based simply on the color of his skin. He's my next President because he is the best candidate for the journey that lies ahead. As my good friend, Dr. Dickerson, would say "he came into this world fully prepared for this journey."

In the words of the late Martin L. King, Jr., "there are some difficult days ahead." Indeed America must reap the bitter harvest sown from the Bush administration's seeds of arrogance and blatant disregard for humanity. The bible teaches us that in
everything there is a season. I believe the 2008 Presidential election challenges us to pick the candidate best suited for the coming season.

There is a time for a politician. There is a time for a war hero. There is a time for a diplomat and a time for a shrewd tactician. But, today... today is not that season.

This is the season of Hope. This is the season of change. We need a leader who can inspire the light within us, even as the foreboding shadows close in all around us. This is the season that they said would never come. I'll never understand why the naysayers doubted its arrival. Then again, the messenger was just some wet behind the ears, 34-year old minister talkin' bout "I Have a Dream." What would he know... right? Right!

Happy Martin Luther King Jr. Day from That Johnson Boy!

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Five Holiday Gifts from That Johnson Boy

2007-12-20T13:30:00.000-05:00

Today's blog is
dedicated to my
blue-eyed soul brother
and beloved brother-in-law,
Edwin Dearlove.

Your eyes gave hint of a kind heart.
Your smile simply confirmed it.

Happy Holidays! 'Tis the season for gift-giving and That Johnson Boy has five incredible gifts for you. In fact, these five will even make the Grinch smile! They pack well, won't cost you one copper penny ($0.00), yet are absolutely, positively, priceless! Shall we begin?

Gift #1 - Live In The Moment - This past week, I traveled to South Beach to celebrate my brother's 50th birthday. In reality, this year marked his 51st birthday. However, December 2006 found us all too busy, too strapped, too certain that we could recapture this special moment at a later date. In retrospect, allow me to add "too stupid" to the list.

A visit to his favorite 5-star restaurant was a complete disaster. How bad? More than once I scanned the room to see if we were being "PUNKED" (a/k/a Candid Camera moment for the 50 & over crew). It took me two days to get over the disappointment of the evening. But, on the plane ride home, the metaphoric brilliance of the restaurant hit me.

The restaurant is definitely 5-Star. The food? Exquisite. The service? Heavenly. But, you can't show up late - not just late but 365 days late - and expect an incredible evening. Fifty years earlier, God reserved the perfect time and place. Yet, in our arrogance we glanced at our blackberrys and elected to tinker with time. Guess what? Time won, we lost.

My friends, the gift of "Living In The Moment" is priceless. Practice living in the moment until it comes naturally. This holiday season, there is always someone else to see, some place else to go. But the words of our Grandmothers ring true: "Still yourself, child" and live in the moment. Embrace this gift and you'll unlock a special bonus gift more precious than silver and gold. It is the gift of cherished memories.

Gift #2 - The Gift of Touch - For all of the warm images we associate with the Holiday season, the truth is for many it is the loneliest time of the year. The gift of Touch warms like no fireplace could, and in fact, might actually save a life. Reach out and call that friend, family member, co-worker and let the warmth of your spirit shine through. Save the "I was worried about you speech" for another day. Same with the "wish you were here." This gift is about living in the here and now, and letting the love of your heart flow through. Ya feel me?

Give #3 The Gift of Tolerance - Each of us are unique. We are unique in our approach to life, how we love, laugh, play, work, process, pray, dream and the list goes on and on. Your children will never raise their children like you. Your sister will never prepare her collard greens the way you prepare your world famous greens. Your brother's outlook on life will never be yours. As my family prepare to say goodbye to our loved one, Edwin Dearlove, one thing is certain. None of us - not one of us - will approach the grief process the same. But, the gift of tolerance allows us to respect, and perhaps even appreciate, the difference in our approach. The gift of tolerance is like a welcomed sigh of relief. It just feels so good through and through.

Gift #4 - The Gift of Forgiveness - I know what you're thinking... that's an Easter gift, right? Perhaps. But, consider this - the essence of forgiveness was born on Christmas Day. What better way to inject Christ back into the commercialized Christmas? In the spirit of The Christ, let's give the gift of forgiveness. Not even the magical glow of a child on Christmas morning can compare to the glow of forgiveness. Trust me, no box and ribbon can contain it!

Give #5 - Living Life To The Fullest - On December 25th, we will celebrate the birth of Jesus, The Christ. He is the ultimate gift - God's gift to mankind. In the spirit of this day, let us embrace God's gift and live life to the fullest. I know you already know this, but it bears repeating: God has some incredible plans for you. He's already opened the right doors and made reservations with the right people. Every gift, talent and "I didn't know I could do that-ism" has been divinely implanted in your DNA. Don't worry that you don't see them now. They're on a time-release formula, and just like God, they'll always show up right on time! It's the season of renewal and birthing greatness. It's the season to live your life to the fullest. Embrace Gift #5. Go 'head... I dare you!

Happy Holidays from That Johnson Boy!

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Take This Job And...

2007-08-07T00:06:00.000-04:00

Would I be standing here?
After all these years...
Among the stars above;
Maybe not...
If It Wasn't For Your Love.
Gordon Chambers
www.GordonChambers.com

That Johnson Boy has a new gig! That's right folks, on July 24th I began a new chapter and joined the Operations side of ASCAP.

Earlier this year I graduated from ASCAP's groundbreaking MOVE Leadership Program. It was a grueling, but gratifying nine month experience. Shortly thereafter, the Head of ASCAP's Royalty/Distribution came a courtin' and I listened. I loved my job as a Membership Rep - having risen through the ranks from Executive Assistant to the Sr. Director, Creative Affairs in ASCAP's NY headquarters. Yet, as we concluded our initial meeting, the nervous energy that only a good challenge can produce was undeniable. I was seduced. A few rounds of intense interviews and negotiations and the deal was done.

On July 24th, I headed into my new gig with an overwhelming sense of accomplishment and exhilaration. Why then, less than two weeks into my new role, did I find myself declaring...

"You Can Take This Job and...".

Have I lost my mind? Perhaps the transition from night owl to daywalker was more than I could bear. What could make a reasonably intelligent, ASCAP-invested person emphatically state

"You Can Take This Job and...?"

What was it that woke me up at 3am in a cold sweat? Was it the steep learning curve or the constant flow of data? Was it the never-ending stream of acronyms that made me a foreigner within my own department? Does ANYBODY speak english here? These ingredients alone were rendering me unconscious shortly after the street lights came on!

Perhaps it was the realization that I've been charged with leading an area vital to the distribution of over $680 MILLION in royalty payments to our songwriters, composers and publishers. That's 680,000,000 reasons to lie awake at night.

Maybe it was the challenge of managing approximately 30 individuals. That's 30 unique INDIVIDUALS with individual needs, desires, goals, etc. How will I feed them? How will I grow them? How will I challenge them?

My initial response was to hit the gym. I ran on the treadmill like a man possessed. I figured I'd burn off the energy until I was too tired to worry. It did produce sleep, but failed to resolve my core issues.

My deliverance arrived via a phone call from one of my closest friends and Ph.D candidate, Kenney Dickerson. Dr. D shared with me something he heard at a recent educator's conference. "We come into this world with everything we need for our entire life journey." That means we arrived complete. Fully-loaded. Pimped out. Diamond in the back; sunroof top. You get the picture, don't you?

Why did I feel anxious? I wanted to succeed. I wanted to deliver the goods. I wanted to make a substantial return on ASCAP's investment. Why would God honor my prayers and give me the desires of my heart if I wasn't ready?

I don't remember the time or what I was doing, but I do know this... at some point the words of Dr. Dickerson took hold. I found within me a seed planted before birth and nurtured by an early illustrated children's bible. I can honestly say that I haven't recalled the story in 40+ years. But, in the spirit of Abraham, I gathered up my new job in it's entirety, and returned it to it's rightful owner.

"Lord, You Can Take This Job and
Have Your Will Be Done.

Not My Will but Thy Will."

I returned to Him that which He had so graciously given to me.

Twenty-four hours after my offering, I was standing before 30 or so individuals curious to hear what sayeth That Johnson Boy. As I rose to speak, I did so fully confident that together we will accomplish incredible feats. Together we will grow leaps and bounds. Our future has been forever altered by the humblest of pleas. "Lord, take this job and have Your will be done." And for all that we shall accomplish, to God be the Glory!

Thank you Dr. Dickerson. You are my brother and you remain as you've always been, the wisest of counsel. In the words of Donald Lawrence, "You Speak Life!" May God continue his divine work in your life!

To the rest of you, know that everything that you need for your life journey was imbedded in you before the beginning began. That makes you uniquely qualified to do the unthinkable, achieve the impossible and have a wonderful time along the way! Love always, That Johnson Boy!

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Happy Interdependence Day!

2007-07-04T23:51:00.000-04:00

That Johnson Boy here, and all I can say is Wow! So much has transpired since my last posting. I have tons of good news to share. I'm talking projects so exciting that I hate to go to sleep. But today's post is not about my projects.

Today's posting is dedicated to the
Parents/Family/Friends and Teachers of the
Graduating Class of 2007.

To the parents of the Class of 2007, you have my utmost praise and respect! Little did you know that graduating that cute little bundle of joy would produce more stress than the San Andreas Fault. Remember how you marveled when your little genius said their first words? Now, this same genius is contaminating your good DNA with some type of mental affliction that befuddles parents/teachers and the medical profession alike.

Why didn't you turn in your homework? "I dunno."
Explain to me why you did your homework, but didn't turn it in?
"I dunno."
>Are you even graduating? "Uhhhhh... I don't... I just... dunno."
We'll call it I-Dunno-itis and by all accounts it's extremely contagious.

From the moment your genius "I dunno-ed" graduation, you became the unwilling co-star in the greatest cliffhanger of the modern era... Stay tuned for the next episode of "Will he or will he not... Will she or will she not... graduate?" It's must've been a humdinger of a cliffhanger because family, friends, and co-workers called daily for a sneak peek of the final episode. In fact, this cliffhanger was so intense that you couldn't sleep a wink!

But, what did you do, my proud parent of the Class of 2007? No, I mean... what did you do after the 4th of July-style explosion and fireworks? No silly, I mean after you rationalized that a Taebo-style kick to the "hindpott" would constitute a crime punishable by jail time.

What did you do? You did what you've always done. You took off work - just as you had in the early years when your genius came down with yet another ear infection. You took off work - sometimes at the expense of advancing your career and often times under the scornful glare of childless colleagues. And you did this even as your little genius appeared indifferent and resigned to failing. But youngster had no idea that his parent was his advocate, his mediator, and chief negotiator. Nor did he know that you left the building with an action plan in place and that you would literally will that child to graduation day. Ok, a dose of tough love/rough love/"And I Am Telling You... You're Not Leaving These Books Unless You're Not Breathing" kind of love.

Because of your love and your actions, the entire world will know what you already know... that your baby really is a genius and a graduate! Trust me parents when I say your sacrifices have not been in vain.

To the family and friends who refereed, tutored, or even pried fingers from the throat of the unsuspecting genius, take a bow! Your contribution was right on time (wasn't it genius?).

To the teachers/administrators, I hear your frustration loud and clear. The emphasis on standardized statewide testing systems have all but eliminated true teaching and learning. I once thought "I-Dunno-itis" was just a phase or the "so cool it's dumb" thing to do. After talking with a many of you, I fear that we're systematically breeding "I-Dunno-itis" by failing to fully develop these young minds. I think each of us may need to look at the emphasis and time put into test preparation and ask our education leaders and ourselves that simple, yet effective question... "How's that working for our children?"

Lastly, to my graduates of 2007, my heartfelt congratulations! Whether you're like my niece Kelsey, who graduated early and with Honors (go Ms. UCLA!), or more like That Johnson Boy (don't ask), you have accomplished a great and wonderful milestone. I have a special gift for each of the graduating class of 2007. The gift will be released on Tuesday, August 14th. Be sure to join my email list to receive your Special Gift!

My friends, I have much more to share and share I shall. In the meantime, to the parents/family/friends/teachers and graduates of the Class of 2007, Happy Interdependence Day! We've been independent far too long. As you can see, it takes an entire village to raise up one child. Let us celebrate our interdependence and together we can and shall change the world! Much love from That Johnson Boy!

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All Roads Lead Home

2007-04-04T16:12:00.000-04:00

Back when polaroid pictures were king, my family would pile in the car and hit the road. My sisters would be sleep before we left D.C., but I would sit staring wide-eyed in utter fascination at the world beyond our Nation's Capitol. I would count out toll money or mentally map our route while bobbing my head to Pop's "don't leave home without 'em" collection of 8-track tapes. Junior Walker's "Shotgun" blared from the moment the pedal hit the metal. Gladys Knight & The Pips fueled the middle stretch. It was left up to Sam Cooke's "Live at the Copa" to close the show. I'm talking complete and total sensory overload and I loved every single musical mile!

Perhaps our family road trips are the reason why I, along with my brother Taz, view our lives as one big, exciting road trip. Earlier this week, our road trip came upon the strangest of places. This town should have been called Wishful Thinking, nestled deep in the heart of Not In Your Wildest Dreams. But, make no mistake - we somehow had made it here, and were about to navigate the intersection of "You'll Never Guess What Happened Today" and "Oh, My God!" Rather than ease into the intersection, Taz -- in true Taz-like fashion -- sped thru the intersection while spewing the good news from his lips...

"They promoted me to Senior Vice President!"

Oh my God! My brother, the Tasmanian Devil himself, has been promoted to Sr. Vice President at a Fortune 500 company! The conversation that followed blurred like fall foliage when speeding along at 110 m.p.h. (yes, we do know what that looks like). But, my mind was slowly trying to process... how did we get here?

Briefly, ours is a relationship forged in the simplest of gestures. One of my earliest recollections is of him walking up to me, throwing his arm around me while saying, "Hey phathead... you want some ice cream?" And with that, I let loose one of those wide "Howdy Doody" smiles because... I had a big brother! He was my first football coach. His reputation alone made me bully-proof (you really didn't want to mess with Gangsta Shorty). He would laugh hysterically while I practiced my rap on his girlfriends. I can still recite Phillipe Wynne's rap from "Love Don't Love Nobody" so convincingly that you'd think it was my own. While I would soon grow taller than my brother, I would never outgrow him. How could I? He is, and always will be, my big brother.

But what road does a little inner-city kid from Washington, DC take to ascend to Senior VP?

The map-maker in me would tell you to head south with the Washington Monument shrinking in your rear view mirror. You'll pass Civil War battlefields and acres of corn fields. Keep driving until the asphalt runs out and gravel pummels your car's chassis. The world you knew is but a cloud of dust in your mirror. Unfolding before you is the lush utopia and safe haven we call "Grandma Charlotte's House." I don't know if it was when he demolished Granny's mailbox while attempting to drive a stick shift or when he put on his Sunday's best clothing to walk back to D.C. Either way, we should've known then... that boy's going somewhere!

Make sure you drive back to D.C., and circle past Shaw Jr. High School, an inner city school manned then by the late Dr. Percy Ellis, band director Lloyd Hoover and an army of teachers/administrators who genuinely loved teaching and profoundly impacted the lives of every single student to walk thru those doors.

Now, head north to the City of Bethesda, Maryland. There you'll find Georgetown Preparatory School. Truthfully, the school and its academic counterparts could have been the model for the present day SURVIVOR television series. You see, despite all of the atrocities endured by the civil rights marchers, one of their few assets was their strength in numbers. But, for civil rights babies, there would be no such luxury. They were the one's who integrated the Georgetown Preps, the Muhlenberg Colleges and American Universities in the same manner Noah populated the ark - two {max} at a time please! They would endure cultural shock, isolation and the pressure of assimilation, yet still manage to keep their afro's looking tight most of the time.

Now hop in the car and fly by the U.S. Air Force Recruitment office and join up. Twenty years of service will ensure that you are well indoctrinated on the importance of loyalty, teamwork and the 11th Commandment of "no man left behind." Both terms are as valued in the office as they are on the battlefield. And while you're at it, go to night school for what may seem like an eternity. But you'll emerge - Master's degree in hand and ready to tackle the world!

Make a right turn on Corporate America Blvd. For all of the guru books on Business, that Taz is fanatical about simplicity. His strategy? Establish a plan of action and then... everybody row like hell! If you know him, then you know this about him. Plan, then get to rowing! In fact, his dedication to goal-setting was the topic that launched this blog (Little Goals).

With my thoughts and facts in place, I think I have the major components for mapping Taz's success. I know my mental map is lacking - marriage, children, family and friends, etc. Surely there's enough information to get one from Point A to Point S.V.P., ... right?

Just as I opened my mouth to render my expert opinion, my brother said to me in a voice that cracked with humility...

"Brother, it takes the Man upstairs to make this happen.
You don't get here without HIM."

And with that, my map was made whole. God's divine presence has been there every mile along the way. Every wrong turn, He's right there. Every detour, He's right there. Every "Road Under Construction," right there. As my big brother, Taz never told me what was cool, hip or fly just for the sake of being any of those things. He always told me and showed me the truth. And on this day, having navigated life's latest intersection, the simple truth is this...

All Roads Lead Home.

Congratulations Taz... you devil you! I'm so very proud of ya!

And to all of you - whether you're striving for C.E.O. or Chief Cashier, stay encouraged, keep believing, plan your work and get to rowing. Your blessing is coming! Believe that!

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Life's Little Pleasures

2007-03-26T10:53:00.000-04:00

Did you know that the littlest things can bring unspeakable joy? I'm talking the kind of joy that you can't contain and makes you look as silly as I do in this picture.

This eruption of unspeakable joy was ushered in this morning by the new CD from Gordon Chambers, "Love Stories." I uploaded the songs onto my iPOD weeks earlier, but for some strange reason the files disappeared. Lo & behold, the files miraculously reappeared this morning and the biggest grin engulfed my face. I danced my way to work and along the way decided to find out what other little pleasures were there for my enjoyment. Here's a brief glimpse of what I discovered:

Little pleasures like...

smiling at the tall, regal woman stepping with a quickness along 5th Avenue this past weekend. I watched her, clad in a brown herringbone pant suit, chocolate hat tipped just right to allow her silver mane to flow in the haste of her pace. She embodied the Harlem Renaissance, and I have no doubt that those beautiful, brown hands stitched every single thread of her suit. To my beautiful, brown sista ~ wherever you may be today ~ thank you for making me smile.
remembering my first seamstress, the loud and talented Ruthie Harris. She's the reason why I can say with certainty that Ms. 5th Avenue was a seamstress. She's also the inspiration behind the name, That Johnson Boy. After all these years, she still calls me "Johnson" and I appreciate it. She is my reminder that we honor our ancestors when we carry our name with pride, honor and dignity. Thank you Ruthie. I promise to always beam with pride at being called That Johnson Boy.
looking out into a room packed with knowledge seekers at Clark Atlanta University. I challenge anyone questioning the merit of Historic Black Colleges to visit Clark Atlanta. There's no shortage of bright, articulate and ambitious future leaders walking the campus. And in true HBC fashion, y'all KNOW your fashion game is sick!!!
Meeting the Diva of all Divas, Diahann Carroll. Her show was incredible, but it's how she received my sister and I that made meeting her so special. We stood quietly watching as she did the meet & greet thing with the Park Avenue social set. When she walked to us, sista exhaled (as if kicking her shoes off) and said, "Can I tell you...". Our conversation was as warm and familiar as Saturday morning conversations in the Johnson Family kitchen. Thank you Lady Di for making me, along with every man in the building, smile profusely!
Smiling with joy as one of my budding superstar writers gave birth. I was working late Sunday night when I received a call from one of my writers, Latavia Parker. She asked "can I play a song for you?" She turned on the track and began singing the lyrics in my phone. Sista was singing her heart out and the song was bangin! God must've known that I needed a special treat, and a very special treat is what I received. Have you any idea how difficult it is to put your work before people for critique? Yet, here she was breathing life into her words (& Ms. Parker can sang too!). Thank you Tay-Tay for letting me come into the delivery room and for making me smile!

Lastly, to the singer-songwriter whose music jump-started my day, thank you Gordon Chambers. I'm dedicating a blog to your new CD in the very near future. Until then, thank you for blessing this world with some incredible music!

As for the rest of you - you do know what's next, don't you? Life's crazy, hectic, challenging and everything in between. But, do us both a favor and take some time to meditate on those little experiences that make life so wonderful. We all have them. You just may need to slow down long enough to enjoy the view.

Love always, That Johnson Boy!

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An Unforgivable Breach of Heart

2007-03-01T15:54:00.000-05:00

"...tell me (since you think you know so damn much) how I can keep my heart supple when every time I look in the mirror I see a damn fool. That's what love has done to me. Tell me something before I do something that I'll regret."

(emailed response to my Valentine's 2007 post)

I'll never forget this email. Never.

I received over 60 emails in response to my Valentine's 2007 posting. This particular email remains stuck in my consciousness. Her words show up uninvited every morning. As much as I advocate that we must keep our hearts supple and loving, her question is a valid one that demands answering.

How do we do that?

I woke-up early Wednesday morning with her email pestering my groggy head. Even worse, the incessant chatter set off my own bad relationship flashback -- I'm talkin' the kind of flashback that makes ME nervous that my middle initial is O, last name J. Come on Johnson... detour 'cause that's a dead-end street. Ya feel me?

I grabbed my blackberry in search of my daily inspirational email from Joel Osteen. His emails usually arrive like clockwork. Nothing! I lazily rolled out of bed, got down on my knees and attempted to pray. Have you ever muttered a prayer so weak that the entire effort seemed pathetic? That was me. Frustrated, I resorted to old faithful... the Lord's Prayer and even that felt weak and contrived. Still I continued on cruise control until I heard my voice say...

And forgive us our trespasses,
As we forgive those who trespass against us...

Did I just asked God to forgive me in the same measure in which I forgive those who cause me harm?

And forgive us our trespasses,
As we forgive those who trespass against us...

Forgiveness? God, are you trying to tell me something?

Is there anything more physically, emotionally and spiritually debilitating than unforgiveness? Reflect for a moment on how your entire being contorts at the thought of them that cause you harm. Not pretty, is it? Consider still that the mere recollection of their unforgivable act is oft-times as painful as the original misdeed. That's pretty scary. Of course, you would never spend time dreaming up acts of revenge or wishing ill will for their unforgivable acts... would you? Nope, not you. But, the rest of us have done just that!

For their crimes against us, we banished the guilty party to the prison of our unforgiveness. Lost in the emotional turmoil is a simple truth. In banishing them, we unknowingly sentenced ourselves to a life imprisoned. You do know that a loving and supple heart is a liability in prison, don't you? Here we are locked away in this prison of our choosing, all the while our unforgiveness clogs our spirit like bad cholesterol. Left unchecked, the arteries harden and block off life-sustaining flow to all of the vital organs. Without this flow, the heart dies - plain and simple.

My friends, we can't script a life devoid of relationship drama. Our ability to exercise forgiveness may be God's prescription for keeping our hearts supple and spirits warm and loving through it all. Now understand me, practicing forgiveness is a mother...! Easy to speak, but extremely challenging to live by. Yet, if we are the sum of our habits, then we must habitually condition both mind and spirit to making true forgiveness a lifestyle.

As for those occasional bad memory flashbacks, know this: you can alter their course. Bad memory flashbacks are like bad television. You can sit there and be consumed by it; or you can stop everything and change the channel immediately. Simple as that - change the #@#* channel! When we stop dining on the anger and hurt, we eliminate the crap that feeds the crippling spirit of unforgiveness.

And while you're in the forgiving mode, do yourself a big favor and begin forgiving yourself. In fact, that's a wonderful place to start. Promise?

Almost forgot: at 9:08am, my pager finally received the daily devotional from Pastor Joel Osteen. His message?

"But if ye do not forgive, neither will your Father
which is in heaven forgive your trespasses."
(Mark 11:26)

So what is the best prescription for maintaining a supple heart? Forgiveness. Let's commit to embracing the spirit of true forgiveness as if our very lives depend on it. Truth is, nothing could be closer to the truth!

Having been confirmed and affirmed, That Johnson Boy is signing off. But not before bidding you a wonderful day!

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How Far Are You Willing To Go In The Name of Love?

2007-02-14T18:12:00.000-05:00

Happy Valentine's Day!

That Johnson Boy here - typing feverishly on this keyboard in the hopes that warmth will return to these frozen fingertips. It is freezing cold here in NYC, but I think the following question will raise the heat in very short order. So, tell me folks... on this a Nationally Recognized Day of Love, I just wanna know...

How Far Are You Willing To Go In The Name of Love?

The question arose during my morning commute. I headed out to work on Valentine's Day and came face to face with a rather wicked ice storm. Luckily, I had already peeked out and realized that the Snow Emergency Rules were in effect. Translation: residents of Gotham City are granted permission to park their trendy attire on the opposite side of the closet in favor of unfashionable cold weather gear. Yet, even in my parka, timbaland boots, gloves and thermal underwear, I was still painfully cold.

Halfway into my commute, a delivery guy boarded the bus and created quite a commotion. In his hands was a huge tent of plastic, which he held in front of him as if carrying the Holy Grail. As he inched towards the rear, the mass of commuters parted like the Red Sea. I noticed that the female commuters were eyeing his package as if they were staring down a Victoria Secret's Buy One Get One Free sale. All the while I'm wondering what could create such a reaction in the normally staid Upper Eastsiders?

Mr. Delivery Guy exited at my stop. I caught up with him on the subway platform. Dude was shivering uncontrollably, his moustache and beard sealed in ice, but his package was intact. I could make out the bow... a splash of green... a mass of red... aha! Dude was delivering a bouquet of roses to some lucky recipient. The arrangement wasn't big at all. But the tent of plastic created to protect the roses was enormous. It's as if the florist created a temporary greenhouse to protect the roses from the elements.

And that, my friends, got me to thinking...

If the florist was willing to go to such great lengths to protect a token of love, then what about us? What are we willing to do to protect the real thing? What are you willing to do in the name of love?

We all know that relationships can be as brutal as today's icy Nor'easter. And like today's storm, they'll make you ponder how anything so beautiful can be so painful. The twist and turns of the average relationship is more than enough to invoke Marvin Gaye's "Make Me Wanna Holla, Throw Up BOTH My Hands." Simply put, overexposure to the unpleasant elements of love and relationships can leave us numb and send us scurrying into hibernation.

Don't get me wrong - I do understand. If you read my last posting, you know that I understand the painful aspects of love gone wrong.

HOWEVER,

Much like the florist, we must do everything we can to protect our ability and willingness to love. Most of us excel at protecting our hearts from others. But, on this cold-as-heck Valentine's Day 2007, I need you to know this: most of us need to protect our heart - not from others - but, from ourselves.

Hmmm, maybe I need to say that one more time. In the spirit of James Brown, can I hit it two times?

Most of us should concentrate on protecting our heart from ourselves.

Most of us (self included) are Master Bricklayers. We are the one's who encase the most delicate of organs within brick walls. We are the one's who continually administer the numbing I.V. long after the healing could've/would've/should've taken place. We are the one's who unintentionally allow the destructive seeds of cynicism to take root and fester in our spirit. But we don't call it that, do we? We call it survival. We call it doing what we gotta do... playin' the game (even as er'body declares they don't want to play games). We call it everything but what it is - a tragedy.

So, my friends, last year I gave you a Valentine's Day gift from my heart. This year, I'm asking you to grant me a Valentine's Gift from your heart.

Grant me a Valentine's Gift that you'll do whatever you have to do to keep your heart and spirit pliable, open and receptive to the enormous possibility of something beautiful happening in your love life. That means warding off the cynicism, as well as those who live to recruit members to join the Miserable 'til Death Club (a/k/a Men/Women ain't $#!# Club).

Grant me a Valentine's Gift that you'll do whatever you have to do to remove the walls. Learn from the florist. His plastic tent was ample protection against a fierce ice storm, maintained the perfect temperature for the delicate roses all the while allowing admirers a seductive glimpse at the beauty that lie just inside the tent. Each of us would do well to replace the brick and mortar with something more pliable that allows our beauty to shine through.

And, just in case you suspect I might be living on Fantasy Island, consider this...

Last year, in response to my posting entitled, "Something New For Valentine's Day, " I received an email from a very successful, single mom. She thanked me for the message, but also shared "if a man were to sing the lyrics from 'For Your Precious Love' - at this point in my life - he'd have to yell them as I don't think I'd be able to hear him." She's beautiful, funny, quite accomplished and yet, there was no one to whisper those beautiful lyrics in her ear. What she didn't write, but definitely implied was that she was open to hearing the lyrics and in fact, would love to hear the lyrics sung to her.

That was February 2006. In October 2006, I saw her at the Terisa Griffin CD Release Party in DC. She was in great spirits and introduced me to several of her invited guest. Didn't think anything about it... that is, until yours truly intercepted bits and pieces of the secret sista code - something about "new love" and a certain someone being "full of giggles." It seems that Ms. "He'd Better Yell" has a very special man whispering the Iceman's lyrics and by all accounts she's hearing him loud and clear and grinning like the Cheshire Cat. (And you thought you could keep a secret from That Johnson Boy???!!!)

Ladies and gentlemen, let me state emphatically -- I believe in love. I believe that each of us can enjoy healthy, loving relationships on THIS side of heaven. Let us all commit to gifting to ourselves the promise to do whatever we must do to keep our hearts supple, our spirits warm and our outlook and expectations refreshingly optimistic. That's work. I know it is. But, trust me - bricklaying is hard work (and no benefits to boot!). And when love comes calling... AND LOVE WILL COME CALLING... it won't have to bring a jackhammer to tear down the walls that you forgot were there. As for you and that special person? Y'all can embrace John Legend's "definitely worth listening to" ballad... you know the one... "Take It Slow." And, in time y'all can up the ante by calling on the Iceman. "For Your Precious Love, Means More To Me...".

That's how far I'm willing to go in the name of love. How 'bout you? Wishing you a truly wonderful Valentine's kinda love from That Johnson Boy, that's who!

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Think You Know Your Man?

2007-02-07T00:36:00.000-05:00

My Dear Valentine,

Morning is near. I feel its presence, even as the room remains cloaked in darkness. I'm wondering why is it that matters of the heart prefer the midnight to 6am shift. Tonight is no different as once again sleep passes me by. What is different is that tonight you fell asleep in my arms and hours later I'm still holding you close. But my heart... my heart... my heart is beating out this letter, even as my mind says no... don't. Or at least, not yet. Even in the warmth of your embrace, I've never felt more naked... or more alone.

As morning draws near, the warm memories of our first mornings seem lost in a dense Pacific Northwest fog. Funny, there was a time when your smile was all that was needed to burn off the thickest haze. As I lie here... tracing your hairline with the tips of my fingers, I still can't resist the beauty of your smile. We laughed, we loved, we explored our lives with gusto and passion. You even begrudgingly accepted my honest assessment that our combined body heat made full body spoonin' through the night a serious dehydration risk. Yet, here I am, holding you tightly; hour after hour... minute after minute... while bead after bead of sweat flows from our bodies.

As morning draws nearer, I find peace in the ebb and flow of your spirit at rest. It's been a long time since we've had peace. Nothing comes simple anymore. Your questions, my answers, our responses both spoken and unspoken are complicated beyond measure. There must be a chapter in the relationship handbook that says "The pursuit of happiness must grant a right-of-way to the pursuit of peace." Perhaps I'll contribute a chapter, if only to illuminate the unspoken truth about love and peace. The pursuit of peace isn't a truce between man and woman. It is a truce between each individual's head and their heart; between logic and intuition. And if you really believed that God granted the gift of intuition exclusively to women, think again. Although... right about now... this gift of intuition feels strangely like a curse. But, what do men know... right?

Morning is almost here. I spend the waning moments trying to eliminate any gaps between our flesh. The sweat is pouring profusely from our bodies. You know that I hate the tickling sensation of sweat's trickle. But, what you don't know is how hard it is to let go. Maybe we can lie here... sweat out the hurt, our heartaches, the overbearing sense of frustration. Maybe if I hold on tight enough, the voices screaming from both head and heart will evaporate into the morning light. I lie here, holding you close, yet sensing the futility of my "maybe if's." All the logic within me won't stop me from gently kissing your cheek and offering up one last "maybe, if..." all the while partaking in that silent universal (albeit pathetic) ritual of wondering are you awake?

I want you to know that I know... Mourning is here. Has been for some time now, but here in the final moments before dawn Mourning's kicking my ass. Seems Mourning is pissed at me, and truth be told, rightfully so. I've committed the unthinkable crime of passion - yelling out another's name while in her clutches. I want Ms. Mourning to know that I didn't slip when I called her by another name. Hell, I even convinced myself that her name was "job stress."
I was just trying something - anything - to avoid the reality of her arrival. It's not the first time she's paid me a visit, but I don't think I'll ever become accustomed to her sewing my curtains shut tight or pounding my stomach with her relentless body blows. Most of all, Ms. Mourning, I know that I'll never grow comfortable calling you by name.

Unfortunately, I can't hide nor deny my reality. Mourning arrived with the fury of Patti Austin's bittersweet plea, "Love Me By Name" bellowing in her wake.

This letter excerpted from "Before You Give Up On Him"
Copyright 2007 Keith O. Johnson

PS... you might be wondering who is my, she?
You might be better served asking "who your HE might be?"
Think you know your man?

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Get Ready For The Journey Of Your Life

2007-01-01T17:00:00.000-05:00

Wow! It seems like just yesterday that Nikki Woods inspired me to post my inaugural blog, Little Secrets Behind Achieving Big Goals. A year later and I'm still here and for that I say, thank you! You have encouraged, challenged, inspired and expanded my point of view with every email and posting. I sincerely mean that.

Now, take a moment and study the photograph (double click it to enlarge). Make a mental note of everything you see. Then, write down what this picture means to you. Don't worry, you won't be handing in this assignment.

Now, here's the story behind the picture:

"Come... you must visit our rainforest." Those were the exact words of my lodging host. I assumed that we were visiting the rainforest. Standing at the trailhead, it became clear that he wasn't joining me. However, the explorer in me wouldn't let me back out.

"How bad could it be?" It was on the grounds of a historic sugar plantation, so it had to be safe... right? Besides, I was a UCS (Unofficial Cub Scout - had all the gear, but never went to the meetings). Since then, I've backpacked and camped throughout the United States. I could handle this... right? RIGHT?

So off I trekked into a rather noisy Caribbean rainforest. The air was as thick as a steam room, making the downward sloping trail as slippery as frozen stairs. With every descending step, the canopy of tropical foliage blocked out all but the most determined rays of mid-day sun. The dark, vast crevice which ran alongside the trail made my stomach knot up. Here I was, clad in a t-shirt, shorts and canvas sneakers peering into the deep abyss. Two thoughts surfaced rather quickly: (1) this wasn't Central Park and (2) I had violated the Boy Scout motto of "Be Prepared."

My host instructed me to follow the trail to the main attraction, the unmistakable Big Tree. Confession - I never saw the tree. For the first hundred yards or so, I never took my eyes off the narrow trail. My eyes darted to and fro looking for snakes while my ears kept track of what sounded like something stalking me. My camping experience tried to reassure me that it was leaves falling to the ground, but I've been in the concrete jungle too long. I did what any New Yorker would do. I stopped in my tracks, and assumed the battle position to face my stalker head-on. I stood quietly waiting, all the while nervously peeking downward to make sure the jungle creatures weren't attacking my feet. Yes, I'll admit it -- full blown paranoia!

Should I turn back and climb the steep, slippery trail? Should I press onward, despite the fact that the trail ahead was cloaked in darkness? I grabbed my camera and began shooting pictures. I shot where I'd been, but they came out blurry. I shot the crevice, but it was too dark. I then turned around and shot a picture of the trail before me. What came into the LCD screen caught me off guard. There was a strong ray of sunlight streaming thru the jungle canopy and just beyond that was a little wooden bridge. Where did that come from? I hadn't seen that before. I stared ahead and still didn't see the sun nor the bridge. Am I coming down with Jungle Fever? I looked back at the screen, then ahead to the trail. Slowly, everything came into focus. There was a little wooden bridge that would transport me over the deep, dark abyss. And there was ample sunshine to light my path. From that moment on, I made like Forrest Gump - I was run-ning!

The picture is now my background on my computer desktop. No profound reason other than I found it beautiful. Then one day, the essence of the picture hit me with one of those Aha! moments.

We each have a personal path to follow. It isn't a group trail, family toll road or congregational highway. It's your personal path and has been divinely appointed specifically for you. At times it may appear too narrow, but there's more than enough room for you. The lack of width makes turning around difficult. Not impossible, just difficult enough for you to reconsider before retreating. The foliage alongside the path rings the alarm. Hear that foliage crunching under the weight of your footprint? That's you... treading off that path.

The riches of the path are available to each of us. Yet, I suspect that faith may determine how much bounty we can actually partake. My jungle foray was an exercise of little faith. Teeny, tiny faith believers tend to keep our eyes peeled to the path, sometimes at the expense of knowing which direction we're headed. We may learn to appreciate, even find beauty in this limited view. Why then do we arrive at life's checkpoints, having missed the experience of the journey, and saddled with a nagging sense of, is this it?

We, of budding faith, raise our sights just enough to see the foliage, perhaps even the crevices that lie ahead. We appreciate the blessings of our journey, yet are sometimes stumped by what we can't see. Yet, we continue forward in the belief that by faith, a way has already been made for us.

What that day in the jungle taught me is this: those of great faith -- faith that can move mountains -- enjoy the full harvest of their life journey. They experience the journey, hear it, taste it, smell it and feel it. They see untold beauty. However, they don't have a "Get Out of Jail Free" card. They, too, see the crevices and the impending darkness ahead. They don't always see the bridge or the sun rays. But great is their faith. They don't just believe the bridge exist to carry them over the crevice, they know it. They see the darkness, but they know the Light will come to illuminate their path. They know it. Because great is thy faithfulness, their eyes are fixed on the rich blessings of the journey. Because Great is thy Faithfulness, they rest assured knowing that their trail is the perfect width, length and destination for them, with the perfect accompaniment of the Most High God!

So, I ask you my friend. Are you ready for the journey of your life? I am! I believe you are too. In fact, your journey is destined to be so exciting that I want to be part of it. So, count me in. Just remember, faith the size of a mustard seed shall propel us through 2007 and beyond!

Mustard seed size chart = o
(One size fits all)

Happy New Year, from That Johnson Boy!

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Revelations from BESLA - St. Kitts

2006-11-04T00:37:00.000-05:00

In the name of God,
stop a moment,
cease your work,
look around you.
Leo Tolstoy (Russian novelist)

Greetings from the beautiful, tranquil paradise known as St. Kitts! This entry arrived via the warm, Caribbean tradewinds. Those same tradewinds beckoned me to wrap up four days of networking with a retreat to this hammock. I'm now back in the crisp air synonymous with autumn in New York City. Yet, I offer you this entry as it was, if only to hold onto my tropical, Ting-flavored memories for just a tad longer. Yeah mon!

I went to St. Kitts for the annual gathering of Black Entertainment & Sports Lawyers (www.BESLA.org). BESLA brings together some of the best and brightest legal minds in the world for a week of education, networking, deal-making, scholarship granting and parties where the walls sweat. As I set out to grade my conference activities, I noticed a rather large, lime green lizard scurrying up the tree supporting my hammock. Fear not... I'm a city boy. Lizards.. ok. Mouse? No!

My personal BESLA goal was to reduce the ranks of the Nods. You know the Nods, don't you? They're the people we see event after event. With familiarity comes the requisite greeting -- you shoot them a warm smile and a "what's up" head nod and keep it moving. Having declared war on this socially acceptable, but fruitless activity, I was pleased to issue myself a decent B+ (with room for improvement). With the lizard out of sight, I headed to my hammock, just in time to see a mass of clouds forming in dramatic fashion just off the horizon. Now, I don't want you thinking That Johnson Boy suffers from Moses-envy, but every now and then I recognize signs from heaven. Something about those clouds made me think this might be one of those signs. And with that, I grabbed my mp3 player, journal, pen and camera and settled in to hear what answers might be blowin' in the Caribbean wind.

As I reclined, I pressed play and listened to the soothing instrumental jazz offering of Collaboration's "Because Of You." If I didn't know better, one would think they recorded it with St. Kitts in mind. It's really that peaceful.

I met some pretty amazing people at BESLA. I met the future winner of the Iron Man Triathalon and guess what... she's definitely not a man. I met a ready for TV judge from the Lone Star state, an army of future lawyers from The U (Howard University), and the legal eagle behind Sears' quest to copyright the entire world. In the spirit of Butch Lewis, the conference was full of amazing dots just waiting to be connected. And because I had invested the time, my dots had names, faces, families, dreams and ambitions.

My attention then shifted to the once distant clouds that were now clustered before me. Propelled by the jet stream, the clouds appeared to transform with every passing minute. They took on large cumulonimbus shapes, cottonball white at first and later infused with the golden-orange glow of the setting sun. Perhaps for some on the Isle of St. Kitts, the clouds signaled rain. But I suspect most people never saw the clouds.

I watched in awe at what some might deem plain ol' clouds. From my vantage point, I compared the clouds to Moses' burning bush. So beautiful and awesome was this heavenly display; and yet the only thing truly unique here was that I took the time to experience this offering.

As I snapped countless pictures, I realized that God provides us with such beauty every second of every single day. He provides this beauty regardless of whether we see it, acknowledge it or even appreciate it. He bestows His beauty upon billions of people every second of every day; and yet, I can't help but sense that it pleased Him to know that someone appreciated His idea of a picture perfect day. Today, that someone was me, and the mere possibility that my appreciation would bring Him joy resonated deep within my spirit.

So, what does all this mean to you, the world changers that make up this community? What message do I have for you who work hard, dream big, and aspire to make a profound impact on the world? You know I was hoping you'd ask that question!

To my writers - you who dream of achieving best-seller status and an audience with Lady O of Harpo - by all means prepare to saturate the world with your literary gift. But, my message of hope from St. Kitts is that you experience God-like appreciation upon seeing one person deeply immersed in your words. May you see every fixed pupil and raised eyebrow, right down to them tracing their fingers along the ink-laden pages of the very book that contains your literary expressions. May you appreciate how meaningful your words have been to their lives.

To those of you like my music creators -- you who dream of #1 hits and performing before millions of adoring fans. My St. Kitts wish for you is that you witness one person, eyes closed shut, lost in the healing melody of your artistry. Know that their smiles and tears confirm that you've sang life into their story, their joy, pain, heartache and desires and inspirations. It took great courage to expose your soul within your songs. You'll need even more courage to truly receive a word of gratitude from those profoundly affected by your offering. Shall I sing "Be A Lion" from the musical, The Wiz? Works for me every time!

To those of you like my BESLA veterans -- overflowing with a wealth of wisdom and insight perfect for guiding and nurturing young minds -- may you take a moment to look into the eyes of your mentee and see just how extremely grateful they are for your mentorship. I guess you could wait a few years and see how they blossom. But, to wait would mean missing the overwhelming gratitude they feel towards you for your belief and investment in them just as they are/right where they are today. Remember back... was there ever a better feeling than someone believing and investing in a young, hungry, but unproven you? Your Honor, the defense rest.

To my career changers -- folks like the young lady I met at a recent Kelly Price Listening Party - folks bold enough to respond to this stranger's question of "what do you really want to do," I applaud you. Not only did you say what you wanted, but you followed-up as promised. May your efforts be revitalized in knowing that it only takes one (1) person to say yes to your new career and that one person is... you. I suspect that your very own personalized, co-signed in agreement "yes" is right around the career corner!

And lastly, to all of my driven perfectionists like my good friend, brother and saxophonist extraordinaire, Tracey "TC" Cutler. You know who you are. Like him, you're methodical in your approach and uber-meticulous concerning your craft. And like him, these traits combine to foster a self-depreciation of your amazing gifts and talents. Boy, do I have a special wish for you!

My wish for you is a lazy day on the beautiful island of St. Kitts. May you nestle into the belly of a woven hammock, turn off your critical ear, press play and listen as you and your Collaboration band mates weave your indelible magic on a Yusef Chisholm composition. In fact, don't even bother to listen. Feel the music and let it scatter your perfectionist traits along the Caribbean tradewinds. Only then will you appreciate how much of your spirit you imparted in every note, and just how much of a blessing your talents and gifts are to the universe. And perhaps like me, you'll flip Yusef's song title into a chorus of praise, then look to the cloud-filled heavens and proclaim over and over again... "Because of You... Because of You... Because of You."

Yeah mon, St. Kitts was heavenly. BESLA? Divine. God? Awesome! And should anyone inquire... who tink up all dis stuff?, you tell 'em That Johnson Boy, that's who!

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What Will Be Your Legacy?

2006-10-11T15:16:00.000-04:00

It is my honor to post the insights and thoughts of someone near and dear to my heart. She is my mentor, my therapist and best of all, my sister. I've been trying to get her (and others of you) to post, and finally she obliged my request with a posting that left me stuttering. Therefore, I present to you, the naturally beautiful, deceptively militant and always conscious sista I jokingly refer to as "Sista X." But you can call her Dr. D. Elyse Johnson (that's right, yet another one of those Johnson children). Happy reading, from That Johnson Boy!

"THE TERISA EXPERIENCE - I'LL NEVER BE THE SAME"
by D. Elyse Johnson, Ph.D.

If you have never seen Terisa Griffin in concert, you should pray that she comes to your town real soon. If she is not scheduled for your city, drive to the nearest place where she will be performing. Your life will be forever changed. I had the pleasure of seeing Ms. Griffin perform at "Blues Alley"- that's right, the legendary, internationally renowned Blues Alley in Georgetown (Washington, DC) - on this past Monday, October 9. 2006. Trust me when I say that she brought down the house with her melodious, soulful voice. More importantly, her message of hope and empowerment for people in pain was loud and clear. And, if you were there and didn't get it, I suggest you buy the CD and keep listening until you do get it.

From the moment I stepped out of the parking lot attached to the Shops at Georgetown, the first thing I saw when I looked up was a marquee that read in big bold letters "BLUES ALLEY" on the first line, and "TERISA GRIFFIN" directly underneath it. My eyes started welling up with tears at just that moment. To be honest, I was on the verge of tears all that night. And no, I was not depressed. I was just so darned happy to be a part of this life-changing experience. You see, just like many of you, I had read Terisa's story on the That Johnson Boy Said What? blogspot several months ago so I knew her struggle. My family and I also had the pleasure of celebrating Christmas Day with Teresa several years ago. Therefore, when I saw the marquee, all I could think was: SHE DID IT! SHE REALLY DID IT!

What is "it"? "It" could be those big dreams that some of us have and want to fulfill before we transition to the next life. Terisa had a dream and she brought it to fruition in spite of her struggles and circumstances in life. How many of us keep saying that we are going to pursue our dream, but we also keep giving excuses for why we cannot make it happen? Terisa, in bearing her soul, hence the title of her CD, My Naked Soul, turned her pain and life's lessons into a blessing for others. As she sang and narrated her way through each song, all I could do was nod my head because she hit home in so many ways. We, her audience, laughed, we cried or wanted to, and we nodded our way into the beginning of healing from whatever our past circumstances and experiences, especially those related to matters of the heart. Now, I don't know about you, but that's what I want my dream to be - a blessing to someone else.

Another irony of the "Terisa Experience", which is how I describe what occurred at Blues Alley, is that there were several of us from the same family there who had recently embarked on major empowerment projects - one brother and sister are writing a book and another brother is appearing at venues locally and sharing his spoken word. Little did Terisa know, but she served as a major impetus for us step it up and get our projects out there. When I got back to the job, I placed a copy of Terisa's Blues Alley flier on my wall. Why? Because every time I get ready to complain about life or give excuses for why I can't finish my project, the only thing I have to do is just look up on my wall and remind myself that if Terisa Griffin can do it, I can too! What about you? Do you have a dream? Have you started to pursue it? What will be your legacy? Terisa Griffin's legacy will live on long after she transitions over to the other side. Will yours?

FOOD FOR THOUGHT

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Behind The Scenes Peek at a Financial Blessing

2006-08-29T12:03:00.000-04:00

For a community to be
whole and healthy,
it must be based on people's
love and concern for
each other.
(Millard Fuller)

O' my friends, today is a wonderful day! Children young and old are headed back to school. And because of your generous spirit, Ms. Chanel Auguste had the pleasure of hearing a Clark Atlanta University Admissions Counselor say...

"Congratulations! You are officially enrolled!"

Two weeks earlier, I sent out an Emergency S.O.S. She was in dire need of an additional $3,500.00 to cover her tuition shortfall. This community showed just how powerful and supportive community can be. You responded immediately and was generous in sharing your time, resources, information and finances. I say again - today is a wonderful day!

What makes today so wonderful isn't limited to the fact that we successfully raised $3,500.00. What pleases me most are the lessons learned along the way. Oprah says that love is in the details. I believe the details of this experience illustrate how we can tackle many of the issues that challenge us. So, if you love details, spare me a moment while I show you some love!

First we must acknowledge the problem. Confession: When Chanel initially called me, I listened while simultaneously concluding that I probably couldn't help. That's the truth. I placed a few calls - just enough to ease my conscience. I probably spent more time mentally scripting my follow-up conversation with her, "Hey Chanel, I tried but came up short. Wish I could do more." But, when she called me early Tuesday morning, the anguish in her voice caused me to jettison my apathetic script. I had listened before, but now I heard her. She really needed my help. At that moment, I acknowledged her problem and it became real to me. But what could I do?

Pray. That's what I promised Chanel. I promised her that I would pray about her situation and call back. I hung up the phone and actually did what I said I would do. The answer came immediately and all that I could say was, "Do WHAT? Lord, let me make sure I understood you. You want me... ME... to ask for money? On MY blog? Oh No! No! No! No! No! I hate asking for help. I didn't create my blog to beg for money." His response came back loud and clear, and guess what? God doesn't stutter. So I set out on the all important next step...

Take Action. Faith without works is dead, so yours truly moved into action mode. I called Chanel to ensure that she was comfortable sharing her plight with the entire world. As soon as I hung up, God began dictating while I typed at a feverish pace. I know it was God because it took me less than 30 minutes to complete the post. Had it been just me, I would have spent an entire day creatively crafting my post to camouflage the fact that I was asking for help. I was committed to seeing this to a successful ending. I called Chanel one more time to ask, "...how's your faith?"

Know Thy Role. From the onset, I knew that there was no room for "I". "I" had to relinquish control. "I" didn't have the experience, knowledge or financial resources to solve the problem. By giving up control, we gained more resources than we could have imagined. Ideas flow freely when we get out of our own way. New perspectives shine thru when we get out of the way. The idea of using Paypal to process donations came about because yours truly got out of the way (thanks again, Sy). I would serve as facilitator and the guardian of the standard of excellence.

I had spent much of this summer studying the pursuit and expectation of excellence. Chanel's situation provided an opportunity to apply my lessons. For instance, I knew that folks meant well when they suggested that she sit out this semester or transfer to a less-expensive school. Their suggestions were practical, even logical. But where was the excellence? If you're a U.S. taxpayer, you already underwrite the expensive miseducation taking place at our ever-expanding University of Penitentiaries system. If we allow our tax dollars to support this insanity, surely we can use our discretionary income to support pursuits of excellence. So, you see, there could be no wavering on excellence, not from Chanel and not from our community of supporters.

At the brink of failure, the real enemy will surface. We had raised $1,700.00 in less than two weeks; yet with 48 hours to go we still needed $1,800.00. I spent Saturday night in a restless funk punctuated by visions of failure. Church service on Sunday offered little relief, although I did manage to find encouragement thru the television ministries of Joyce Meyers and others. By Sunday night I was mentally and emotionally depleted. The fear of failing to deliver had me stressed out. With that said, I eked out a prayer and went to bed. You do know what happened next, don't you? God blessed me with not one, but two dreams of Chanel headed to class! Two dreams in one night when I generally can't recall two dreams in a year!

I woke up short of feeling fully refreshed, but encouraged by the visions of her attending class. Most of all, I realized that in my darkest moments, the real enemy had surfaced. And that enemy was none other than That Johnson Boy himself. As the deadline grew near, my focus shifted from fundraising to "how's this going to make me look when I fail to deliver?" Wrong! It wasn't about me. Throughout this endeavor I would ask Chanel, "how's your faith?" I never once asked her to believe in or have faith in me. It was all about God. Yet, in the darkest hour, I was overcome by a fear of failure and how people would view my failure. This enemy didn't have horns or a pitchfork, but he did sport dreadlocks and worry lines. So I did what I had to do. I praised God for the insight, then slayed my dreaded ego and his fear of failure, got dressed and headed to my job! You do know what happened next, don't you?

Exceedingly Abundantly Blessed! That best describes what happened next. Here we were, $1,800.00 short, deadline just hours away when I received a page from an earth angel. She and her family made a donation early on, and would inquire daily for updates. I avoided her pages as I didn't know how to tell her that we didn't meet the goal. But, having slayed the ego, I inhaled deeply and sent her a text message with the not so wonderful news. Her response? "Find $900.00 and my family will match." I made one call. One. The deal was done.

Exceedingly Abundantly Blessed! We needed $3,500.00; God blessed us exceedingly, abundantly above that amount. After all, what price can you affix to this exercise in faith, restoration and healing? Some of you could write one check to cover Chanel's tuition. But your single act could never have the exponential impact of a loving community that shows how much they care. Who knew that a single phone call would touch so many lives? Folks from Iraq to London and everywhere in between opened their hearts and minds. You shared her plight with your friends and colleagues. You emailed encouragement and information. You sowed a financial blessing into the life of one of our Invisible Achievers. I can assure you she definitely has a testimony!

As for That Johnson Boy, this entire endeavor underscores the bible verse, "...all things work together for them that love the Lord." I'm reminded just how interconnected we are and how our actions (or inactions) have profound implications beyond the scope of our vision. My goal was simple - raise $3,500.00. Who knew that this endeavor would challenge me to confront my own apathy and strengthen my desire to lead thru Christ? How was I to know that my lesson was tied to a family miles away - themselves in the midst of financial struggles. They withheld their name, but offered their testimony.

Their finances were tight and they, too, were praying for direction. God's word for them? When facing such a crisis, sow good seed into the life of someone less fortunate. And so it was that on the morning of our deadline - the same morning that I finally summoned the courage to inform all of our financial shortcoming - I received a page from my earth angels. They didn't know Chanel. They barely knew me. But they knew God and desired nothing more than to honor His request to sow good seed. And with that they replied, "Find $900 and my family will match." Oh, I say to you again and again and again... All things work together for them that love the Lord!

I can't thank each of you enough. I really can't. The village is indeed alive and capable of greatness beyond measure. I promise that I'll get back to you as we chart a course to create a tuition assistance fund for situations similar to Chanels. Until then, if anybody ask you who's that making all that noise about today being a wonderful day, you tell them That Johnson Boy, that's who!

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Update: Emergency Situation

2006-08-16T18:09:00.000-04:00

As of Monday morning, August 21st, we have raised $1,200.00. We still need to raise $2,300.00. But guess what? That Johnson Boy definitely believes in miracles. We received word this morning that the deadline for paying tuition has been extended until Tuesday, August 22nd. Your financial support can help keep this wonderful student enrolled in college. Please use the donation button below to make a contribution. If you're unfamiliar with Chanel's situation, please scroll down and read my original Emergency Request blog.

First, let me thank my blog family for your amazing response to my plea for help. It really has been nothing short of amazing.

There were many wonderful suggestions, all of which have been or are in the process of being pursued. However, instead of depending on one major benefactor, I have implemented Sy's suggestion and began a donation campaign to meet Chanel's financial need.

The Chanel Auguste Emergency Tuition Fund has been set-up at Paypal. (For those unfamiliar, Paypal is the financial engine powering Ebay.) All donations will be deposited directly into Chanel's account. I will manage this process, but the accountability and updates will come directly from Ms. Auguste.

I know $3,500.00 is a lot of money. But, we can accomplish this without incurring financial hardship if we utilize the economies of scale. For instance, 700 supporters at $5 each; or 350 supporters at $10 each; or 140 supporters at $25 each - it is as easy is that. One less Starbucksaholic fix and our rising star is in class where she belongs!

Please help me send a message to Chanel and all of the young people striving for excellence that we see them, hear them, honor them and love them. Let us speak it from our mouths, mean it from our hearts and confirm it with our support.

Please donate what you can to ensure that her education at Clark Atlanta University will proceed. No donation is too little. And, if you unable to make a financial donation, please remember that the prayers of the righteous availeth much!

Click the button below to Make a Donation. Stop on by and yours truly, That Johnson Boy, will meet you there!

Emergency Situation

2006-08-15T11:06:00.000-04:00

I Need Your Help!

Those that know me know that those are words that don't easily escape my lips. But, I really do need your help.

Last Friday, I received an emergency call from one of ASCAP's former interns, Chanel Auguste. Chanel is entering her 3rd year at Clark Atlanta University. She's a full-time student maintaining a 3.5 gpa, is extremely active on campus, yet manages to excel in her job as a college representative for Sony/BMG. Her accomplishments have earned her entry into the population of Invisible Achievers (more on that later).

On last Friday, the Clark Atlanta University's financial aid office informed her that her financial aid package would leave her $7,000.00 short. She can apply for a loan, but would need a co-signer. When that process proved unsuccessful, she called me. They are willing to allow her to pay $3,500.00 to attend classes this semester, with the balance due next semester. School starts this week so time is of the essence.

So why am I writing you?

First, I need to know if anyone knows of any emergency funds for situations like this? Any information you can provide would be so wonderful and is desperately needed. Remember, the clock is ticking, so we need to move quickly.

Second, I won't assume what folks can or won't do. Therefore, I encourage anyone who would like to invest in this child to do so. You can do a loan, grant, promissory note, gift or whatever works for you. You may be wondering what steps, if any, has the family taken to resolve this issue. Let me assure you that they've raised some wonderful children, and have done all that they can. I'm just asking the village to step in as only we can. If you are so moved to underwrite or contribute, please don't hesitate to email me at Keith@KOJOHNSON.com and I'll email or call you as soon as possible.

Third, and equally important, I would like to initiate a dialog AND action plan to establish an emergency scholarship fund to benefit the many Chanel's of the world. I don't know how to set it up, raise funds, screen, etc., but I do know that collectively we have all the resources we need to bring this into fruition. There was a time when I would waste the next few months trying to do this on my own. Thankfully, I've learned to appreciate and utilize that most precious of resources - each and every one of you. Together, we can make this happen.

Lastly, why do this? I believe in my heart that we must reach out and support the population of young achievers that have been systematically made invisible. I call them our Invisible Achievers. They don't gangbang. They're not drug dealers or high school drop-outs. Their achievements are not scintillating enough to lead off the evening news. They're not poor enough to benefit from most aid programs, yet they don't possess the means to self-finance their education. They seem to have it together, which prompts many of us to declare that they've "got it together" and that they'll "be alright." And with that declaration, we divert our attention to the troubled children of the world. But, my friends, that is a mistake. Our Invisible Achievers need every bit as much of our love, prayers, time, resources and emotional substanance as the troubled child. They are much too precious to be made invisible by us or the media. Please remember that. They need us and we need them. They are our stars, and were meant to shine brightly.

So, that's my plea. I pray that you will be encouraged to help in any way that you can. I know we can do this!

Respectfully and humbly submitted by That Johnson Boy, Keith Johnson.

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My American Idol

2006-08-08T13:14:00.000-04:00

Go Shawty - It's Your Birthday

We're Gonna Party Like It's Your Birthday!

ASCAP Songwriter of the Year, 50 Cent

That's right folks - That Johnson Boy just celebrated another wonderful year! And as much as my Leo nature is in full swing, I am thrilled to turn my spotlight on the artist/songwriter/business woman whom I call my American Idol, Terisa Griffin.

Who is Terisa Griffin? Hard to describe, that is, until after you've had a TG experience. My TG experience came at a NABFEME Mentors Reception held at Ashford & Simpson's Sugar Bar. I was feverishly networking when I noticed one young lady camouflaged against the wall. She must be the artist, I thought. When NABFEME Founder, Johnnie Walker, introduced Terisa Griffin, the artist was barely visible. She opened singing Luther Vandross' "Superstar" and brought all networking to an abrupt halt. Music executives are notorious for talking through performances, but Lil' Ms. Wallflower commanded our attention.

My TG experience came as she sang an original composition titled, "Anymore." Her performance was so lyrically compelling and emotionally raw that she wrecked my central nervous system. Y'all don't hear me. She wrecked my central nervous system! I've been blessed to work with some incredible artists and have always maintained my professional cool. Yet, in a room full of female executives (and yes, I was dapper), that girl sang and all I could do was sit down on the dirty floor in awe.

At our first meeting, I learned that she left Louisiana enroute to Chicago to take control of her music career. She worked low-paying/no-paying singing gigs and saved money by living out of her car. It seems Ms. Louisiana had some street savvy too. She survived Chicago's mean streets by parking each night in front of Minister Louis Farrakhan's house. She survived that Chicago winter, and went on to prosper in the world of jingles and live performances. She produced "One Woman-One Voice" musical tributes honoring legends such as Aretha, Tina, Ella, Diana and others. She self-financed her debut cd, "Songbird" and the much sought after "Live at Cerritos" cd. She's a talented songwriter. Yet, in spite of her creative and business successes, she sat in my office and her eyes conveyed it all. She wanted a recording deal with a major record label.

What would you say? Musically, she was R&B at it's finest. But, today's R&B is a distant relative of true R&B. Let's call it what it is - hip hop with a vocalist on top. The pressure for artists to conform is enormous; yet this very conformity alienates them from their core audience. So what do you say to an artist like Terisa Griffin, when every prospective label/manager/producer she meets wants her to conform? I've struggled with that issue since our first meeting. Some time later, the topic came up and there would be no sidestepping the issue. On that day, our American Idol adventure began when I uttered five letters and five words:

T.R.U.T.H.

That's Not Who You Are

How do you tell an incredibly talented artist that the industry didn't value her talent enough to allow her to be herself? How do you convey that this isn't Berry Gordy's Motown, or Gamble & Huff's Philly International? Heck, J Records isn't classic Clive Davis. I told her the truth as I saw it because she didn't have to conform. She had all the ingredients of a Superstar, even if the industry machinery couldn't see how to monetize it.

What makes Terisa Griffin my American Idol? Sista girl looked in the mirror, learned to love what she saw, and got busy. She started saving money to record her 3rd cd, My Naked Soul. She worked damn near seven days a week, sometimes several shows a day. She produced several elegant fundraisers rivaling the best Las Vegas extravaganzas. She was driven and to be in her vicinity was to risk being put to work. But guess what? Griffin Productions paid folks well, fed her folks and made everybody step up their game. She's demanding, but all the great ones are. And yes, she'll fine you like Ike Turner!

What makes Terisa Griffin my American Idol? She remained steadfast in her belief. Folks questioned her artistry, her songs and her sanity. Well-meaning folks implored her to audition for the American Idol TV show, and every other reality talent show. Yet, she remained focused. Devilish minions were busy every step of the way, but she never stopped believing or working towards her goal. From the studios to the boardrooms, she would come face to face with every verbal assault imaginable, including the frequently hurled "B-word." Men seem to reference it whenever they can't dictate or take control of her situation. Fellas, any woman who went from sleeping in her car to running her profitable entertainment company isn't controllable and most definitely isn't afraid to assert herself. Got it?

What makes Terisa Griffin my American Idol? In the middle of the recording process, Hurricane Katrina stormed thru her hometown of Monroe, LA. She spent days not knowing the whereabouts of her mom, siblings, relatives and friends. The news of their well-being was dampened by the loss of other family members and close friends. What did my American Idol do? She tapped into and depleted her recording budget and helped relocate relatives. She organized Hurricane Katrina Fundraisers to channel resources to her community. And not once did I hear her lament the loss of her recording budget.

What makes Terisa Griffin my American Idol? She dug deep within her soul to birth some classic songs. She was daring and brutally honest in her approach - so much so that I questioned whether one song was too wimpy in this age of empowered women? Her response? "It doesn't matter what we say in public. When we're sitting at home all alone and brokenhearted, every woman knows the truth contained in Anymore." It takes courage to be naked before the world, and her songs are honest, thought-provoking and as naked as they wanna be.

What makes Terisa Griffin my American Idol? On August 3rd, that girl from Monroe, Louisiana shut down one of Chicago's swankiest nightclubs, the Green Dolphin Street. The occasion? A standing room only CD release party for her baby entitled, My Naked Soul. By all accounts, the girl from Monroe, LA had them screaming, crying, clapping and dancing in the aisles. And in doing so, she has made me proud in ways that are immeasurable. She is... my American Idol!

So, in celebration of my birthday, I invite you to experience the magic that is Terisa Griffin. Her cd, My Naked Soul, goes on sale today and is available online at http://cdbaby.com/cd/terisa2. Best of all, you can listen to the majority of the songs before purchasing. So, for my birthday, I want each of you to purchase at least one cd. That would be the best birthday present you could give me! You will love this cd - trust me. She'll appreciate your support and God knows R&B lovers need something to get excited about. Make sure to let her know in the comments section that "That Johnson Boy" referred you.

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A Special Father's Day Thank You

2006-06-12T12:12:00.000-04:00

There's Nothing Greater

Than Thank You.

That's What You Say To God

...is Thank You.

Dr. Maya Angelou

Thank you Father.

I rose early this morning, and yes, 7am is early. I dropped clothes at the cleaners and with mp3 player in tow, headed to Carl Schultz Park. As I entered the grounds, Jonathan Butler was singing, "Falling in love with Jesus is the best thing I've ever done." My Spirit was as warm as the morning rays and as radiant as the flowers that dotted the landscape.

For five years, I've lived just one NY block away from the East River. For five too-long years, I've lamented the harsh reality that the East River wasn't my beloved Pacific Ocean. For ten years, the Pacific was my oasis - a constant reminder of God's majesty. It was love at first sight. But, this morning is different. I can finally see the beauty that has been flowing just a brief walk from my front door. It was then that I knew today was special and began offering the first of a mighty river of praise.

Thank you Father. Thank you for removing the blinders and allowing me to love all that you've provided. Thank you for allowing me to fondly remember past blessings, yet move forward into the multitude of "here & now" blessings.

Thank you Father.

For only you know the depths of my intense struggle to complete my first book, "Before You Give Up On Him." Earlier this year, you gave me the most beautiful Rose theme for the storyline. I rejoiced in your vision, then proceeded to do what your children do best. I got busy - real busy - trying to validate your gift ad naseum. Lord, give me another sign? Lord, what if...? Lord, can a brother buy a vowel? Surely you laughed at my faith in jeopardy. Oh Alex, let me try "Is That What You Meant Lord" for $500 please.

Surely your patience is wearing thin? Shall I tell them your response? You woke me early this morning-after a weekend of research and writing-and opened my eyes to the multitude of rose gardens that flourish just one block from my front door. Lord, I want you to know that my research wasn't in vain. I identified at least six varieties of roses, and brought home the intoxicating fragrance of the rose known as White Masterpeice. She produces blooms in bunches, more than enough for me to get your not-so-subtle hint. Her soft petals are protected by a bushy mass of sharp, prickly thorns. Her armor pierced my skin, but the pain was well worth the opportunity to bring her sweet fragrance into my home.

Thank you Father. As I stood in the garden, witnessing yet another affirmation of your intent and design for my life's mission, Jonathan Butler's melody and lyrics bring tears to my eyes...

"You spend your days hoping, you spend your nights wishing

You're always feeling, something is missing

Can't you see, don't you know

You don't have so far to go.

It's already there

What you're looking for

It's already there

Don't have to search anymore

Open your eyes

Believe that it's true

It's already there... inside of you."

Thank you Father. That was so intense that I could stop right there. But there's so much more that I'm thankful for. May I share just a little bit more with you?

So many of my family and friends are in the midst of a major life transition. Careers are giving way to Your calling and giving us young'uns a whole new appreciation for the words, Blessed Assurance. We are thankful that the truth contained in those old, dusty hymnals ring true in this digital age. You have been faithful beyond measure. It is because Great is Thy Faithfulness that we stand in agreement that there will be no crisis in these mid-life transitions - just Christ as we minister one to another.

Father, you called Zurnie Neal home this weekend. The message on my voicemail said her passing was sudden and unexpected. She will truly be missed. To her recently departed husband, guess what Poppa Neal? She's baaaaack! I'm sure a day spent in heaven without Mrs. Neal gently telling you what to do must've felt like a hellish eternity. Now, it's salmon croquettes for er'body! To my longtime friend, Gina Neal and the Neal family, I love you dearly.

Father, from the depths of my Spirit I thank you -- for it was you and only you that raised into adulthood some of the most incredible people this side of heaven. We may never understand why their fathers left this earth so soon. But you are an awesome God. Have you checked your handiwork lately? Have you seen the men those Dickerson, Cutler, Hill and Stewart boys have become? Do you blush with admiration when watching Cynthia, Darlene and Jeff? And Uncle Raymond's children... they're soaring Lord. Soaring higher than eagles, yet remaining closer than penguins. The Dearloves? Learning everyday the meaning of by and by, and for that I give you praise. And as for my second family, The Scott Clan, they're blossoming under your care. Ma Scott recently cruised the Carribbean- can you believe that? So, for them, as well as the multitude of those known and unknown whose Father departed this earth too soon, Father, I thank you.

Father, I could go on and on. I really can, but I must get to that job you so graciously provided for me. Before I go, may I offer you just one more thank you?

Thank you Father, for the Prodigal Father, wherever he may be. Thank you for the emptiness he experiences each and every Father's Day. Speak to his spirit Lord, and remind him that the emptiness is not your wrath, but rather your incessant invitation asking, "Do you want to be made whole?" Father, right vs. wrong has waged too long to the detriment of the fatherless child. Remove the blinders so that he may see the most beautiful gift life has to offer. No matter what happened, it's never too late to be a father to your child. Is he feeling too broke to be an asset? Tell my brother that his love is priceless... priceless! Tell him not fear the anger his child waives around like the ultimate trump card. Let us praise the anger as proof that some emotion is better than no emotion. I drew blood for the chance to smell a rose. Children of the Prodigal Father utilize thorns as protection against emotional predators. Love-consistent and true- is the only mechanism capable of restoring trust. But to get close enough to love, the Prodigal Father must remain steadfast amongst the thorns. Let your love overflow into that child and in time, they will blossom. Keep it simple - say what you're going to do and by all means do just that.

To that brother willing to lose himself in order to love his child, Happy Father's Day. To that brother, filled with desire but the ghost of Pharaoh has a death grip on your heart, I'm praying for you. I offer you a Happy Father's Day in anticipation of the breakthrough that's yet coming your way.

And to you, My Father, I offer you in psalm the praise that Jonathan Butler is so sweetly offering in my spirit...

You Are So Wonderful

Lamb of God!

With much gratitude, That Johnson Boy!

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Disappearing Facts

2006-05-16T13:14:00.000-04:00

Did you miss me?

Yikes! (ducking the expensive yet lethal Jimmy Choo hurtling at knot-producing velocity towards my head)

I guess now is not the time to invoke my testosterone-driven flip the script ploy. You haven't seen nor heard from me in over a month and here I am asking, "did you miss me?" I know better, so let me try this again with a lot less bravado and a lot more humility.

Hello {insert your name}, please, please, please, pleeeease forgive my disappearing act. That's right, I'm summoning the Hardest Workin' Man in Show Business to "Hit Me - Fo Times!" Anything to ensure that you feel the sincerity of my plea. I'm well, thank you, and the truth is I've missed you something awful. I guess I owe you an explanation. Oops, strike that. I don't guess so, I know so. You deserve to know how That Johnson Boy can pull of the ultimate disappearing act.

Contrary to the emails stating otherwise, yours truly did not enter the Witness Protection Program, nor did I join the UniverSoul Circus. Don't believe my Pop's either - I've never dated Beyonce. Get that in your head Pops. I'm definitely not trying to be on Jay-Z's list of 99 problems. The disappearing facts surrounding my disappearing act...

That Johnson Boy, known as Keith Johnson, has workaholic tendencies.

I say tendencies because I can't really say that I'm fanatical about working. But, once I immerse myself in a task (and not just work-related), only God knows why I get so caught up. I'm talking caught up in a state of stress-induced, adrenaline-pumping, problem-solving, organized chaotic bliss. And just when the chaos threatens to wreck a project, the body delivers the most incredible drug known to mankind called endorphins. When released into the bloodstream, I'm in a Neo-like trance (see The Matrix and know the power!). I don't care what the problem is, I can see the solution. I'm dodging bullets in slow motion. I can work almost 20 hour days where sleep is more of an annoyance than restorative. The only thing capable of piercing the trance are the unwelcomed demands of well-intentioned friends and family. Only then do I recognize how similar my behavior is to that of Generation Playstation. And, much like them I'm left trying to explain that I didn't really snap your head off or growl at you -- you must have heard me wrong. All the while, I'm wondering when will this conversation be over so that I can get back to the task at hand. What you gonna do? Take away my Playstation? LOL

Maybe that's it - choose a less chaotic field of work. Wrong. Folks like me are compelled to work in stressful environments. It feels comfortable. Does that make sense? Anything less is a slow, painful death. That's why I'm at home at ASCAP, where I can legally dangle starving interns from our 7th floor window while quoting... "my office hours are January 'til July. Only then can you have a dang lunch break!" Just kidding.

So, yes my friends, I've been immersed in all things ASCAP. But I'm better this year than in years past. I've enrolled myself in the 1-2 step program. Step one was a beast, but I successfully achieved it by admitting, "Keith Johnson, you're out of balance... again." Step two? Refer back to Step one. And for those of you who are familiar with my situation, I offer you my honest rendition of this classic ending by Harold Melvin & The Blue Notes...

I know you done heard it 10 times or more... but,
I swear I done changed...
I swear I done changed!

So, there you have it, the truth - the whole truth - and nothing but the truth from That Johnson Boy. Folks like me didn't choose to be borderline obsessive. But, as for me, I thank you for caring enough to shatter my trance. While I may protest the intrusion, I desperately need it at times. When your own mother puts out an All-Points Bulletin, you know you've been missing in action much too long. When a brand new friend post a Chi-lites-type entry that basically says, "Have You Seen Him? Tell Me Have You Seen Him?", then yes, you've been gone too long.

As for my parting words, shall I take you to the bridge? Nope, let's go back to Harold Melvin and the Blue Notes, who so passionately captured my sentiments when they sang...

Oh, I,
Oooh, I,
Miss You, Miss You, Miss You, Miss You!

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In Praise of Being Angry!

2006-04-04T18:22:00.000-04:00

Don't Push Me

'Cuz I'm Close To The Edge,

I'm Tryin' Not To

Lose My Head...

(Grandmaster Flash & the Furious Five)

Have you ever had reason to celebrate being angry? Strange question, isn't it? Just weeks ago, I was celebrating tulips (On A Lighter Note), while simultaneously struggling with an overwhelming anger growing within me. It was so intense that I dared not write for fear of what might sprew forth. Yet, as strange as it may sound, I can honestly say that I've never been so happy to be angry. That's right, happy (in an angry kind of way, of course). I think my anger scared some folks, so much so that I'm wondering if anger has become socially unacceptable?

Perhaps anger has gone the way of it's cousin, the once acceptable emotional rite called mourning. You might not know this, but in some circles it has become a cultural and religious faux pas to actually mourn the passing of a loved one. If mourning, in all of its emotional outpouring, is socially taboo, then surely anger is too volatile and a candidate for cultural extinction... right? May I put a seven-year old on the witness stand?

I've witnessed firsthand anger gone awry. The date was April 4, 1968. My eldest sister, MJ, treated me to my first musical - Fiddler On The Roof. To this day, I still sing, "If I Were A Rich Man..." with all the gusto of the main character, Tevye the Milkman. When we emerged from the auditorium, my hometown of Washington, DC, was ablaze. While Tevye was bemoaning his lot in life, someone had taken the life of Civil Rights Leader and Nobel Peace Prize recipient, Dr. Martin L. King, Jr., and in doing so unleashed a wrath of Old Testament proportions.

I thought I knew anger. For instance, I was really angry when Big Head Glo from across the street broke all of my Crayola crayons. But, this anger was different. It draped the sky in a haze of mourning gray, punctuated by random showers of glowing embers. This anger had a different look too - not like my "why you break my crayon" stare, but an enraged, defiant "I'm mad as hell and not gonna take this SH*T no more!" glare. And this anger required rifle-toting troops from the National Guard and the U.S. Marine Corps to squash it. As for me, I really was angry at Big Head Glo, but I ain't gonna shoot her over no crayons! I guess I wasn't mature enough to understand grown-up anger.

Fast-forward - I'm all grown up and (drum roll please)... Anger-Proof. That's right, A.P. baby - yeah, that's me! The DC Riots revealed how devastatingly destructive anger can be. I really can't praise or embrace anything that destructive. Besides, by the time I hit the workforce, I discovered that society rewards those sophisticated enough to be Anger-Proof.

The No-Nonsense Guide to Anger-Proofing

First, take the anger... suppress it... rationalize it. Let the anger slide off your Teflon-coated, Power of Positive Thinking backside. Feel that? No? Great... you're almost there! Now be warned - repeated exposure to anger is hazardous to Teflon. In the likely event anger makes direct contact with your mettle, don't panic. Do what any well-rewarded, highly-rational, Anger-Proofed Sophisticate would do - execute a system override as if your magnificent God-temple was created by IBM. You don't need this stress and you sure don't want to risk becoming one of those bitter folks consumed by anger. Don't worry - just override your system.

Disclaimer: Override known to induce mild trauma such as:

(warning: system unstable)

(warning: back-up now)

(system failure)

CRASH

Ok, I didn't say it was foolproof. It does require spiritual paralysis to be effective. Or, is it the suppressing, rationalizing and crashing that makes one zombie-like? Either way, this is a recipe for a stroke and not worthy of my praise. So, is there any form of anger worthy of praise?

Yes, indeed! I have demonstrated that anger is combustible when ignored, sickening when suppressed and crippling when allowed to fester. However, anger is our natural defibrillator, shocking life into emotionally-comatose souls. It is an excellent warning system, notifying us when something is amiss and requires our immediate attention. If you can still get angry, then know that at the very least, you're alive and capable of emotions like empathy, compassion, indignation, etc. Show me someone willing to embrace these emotional powerhouses, and I'll show you someone who is destined to change the course of their life, their home, their community and our world at-large. I know you're out there. I can feel you. So today, let's celebrate you and your ability to transform anger into a propellant to accomplish the unthinkable!

- I praise the anger that propels people - ordinary folks like you and me - from empathy to action.

- I praise that son/brother/friend angry enough to defy fear while sending an unmistakable message to the resident jerk by vowing, "You will NOT raise your hand against my mother/sister/friend ever again... or else."

- I praise that worker angry enough to say with conviction, "you will NOT disrespect nor devalue my contribution in the workplace." And no, you will not go postal in the process.

- I praise the anger surrounding parents and children in chaos. Don't let your logic rule or fool you. The anger is proof positive that the love still exist. But, it warns us that everybody's talking, but nobody's really listening.

- I praise the anger that made "CRASH" one of the most profound films in recent years. Can we ever again question just how interdependent we really are?

- I'm praising the anger that won't take NO for an answer. To my ambassadors of R&B - independent to the core, talented to death and uncompromising flag bearers of our rich legacy, thank you for telling the music industry, Hell No! Thank you Gordon Chambers, Ledisi, Eric Roberson, Terisa Griffin, Chinua Hawk, Will Wheaton, Ronee Martin and all of the R&B artist around the world dedicated to advancing the legacy.

- Lastly, I'm praising my anger - fueled by those dedicated to manipulating policy and distorting images - especially as it relates to defining who I am as a person, who we are as a people, and the awesome beauty of humankind. It is my contempt for your agenda that I wake up happily angry, singing "If I Were A Rich Man," all the while transforming this anger into a powerful Love Gone Wild.

I've gotta go, but not before I thank Amille, Sharon, Whoyaworkinfor and Sista X, Ph.D. for your counsel and caring. Yes, I vented mightily, but I listened even more.

Now, if anyone should inquire as to who is the angriest man you know, you tell them That Johnson Boy, that's who!

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Today is NOT a Good Day!

2006-03-31T11:28:00.000-05:00

The Subject line says it all. My first thought of the day was "why didn't we ram a convoy of provision-filled tractor trailer trucks right THRU the barricade to the Katrina victims? The authorities weren't letting people in? Who the hell are they to tell us we can't help people in dire need of help?

This coming from Mr. Tulip-Lovin, Mr. Walk In The Light himself?

Yes, I'm the same Johnson Boy. But what do you expect from one born into the Civil Rights Movement but raised within the Black Power Movement. This mirror definitely has two distinct faces.

I've called on reinforcements in an attempt to dissipate the anger, but my anger is having a Maya Angelou "And Still I Rise" moment. It ain't happening. But as much as I threatened otherwise, I won't write until I can make sense of the anger and most of all, do something constructive with it. Even if it means smashing thru somebody's "do not enter" zone.

Right about now... that would feel really good.

I'm outta here, with a remix of an EW&F song playing over and over in my head...

"Where Has All The Power Gone?"

On A Lighter Note...

2006-03-14T08:47:00.000-05:00

Let me begin by offering my sincere apology. I promised Part II of "What Would Dr. King Say," but I sensed the need to lighten up just a little bit. Now, I'm not foolish enough to think I can change topics without permission. So, I contacted the foremost authority on Earth - another Johnson I might add - and it is with the blessings of the twin known as Strawboss that I offer you On A Lighter Note.

The story began three weeks ago as I cautiously navigated a frozen New York sidewalk to catch the crosstown bus. Hours earlier, Nature painted the City snow white and commissioned the winds of the East River to glaze over her handiwork. It was c-c-c-cold! Later that day, I headed out for lunch and noticed that the blustery winds had stripped the trees bare of their winter white ensemble, leaving their branches exposed before all of Manhattan. Just as I prepared to cross the street, I noticed something peculiar. In their nakedness, the trees revealed an undeniable bulge - the kind of bulge normally reserved for females emerging from a long winter coupled up in blissful hibernation. As I stood there squinting at the bulge, the reality sank in...

What in the...? Oh, my lawd... the tree's are pregnant!

That's right, pregnant! Even on this blustery, winter day, their buds were swollen as if threatening to go into labor at any moment. I'm no scientist, but if the tree buds are swollen, it can only mean one thing...

Spring is Here!

Neither the weather nor the calendar supported my early March proclamation. But, nature knows best and in the three weeks since the pregnancy sighting, the signs are everywhere. The sun warms the earth a little longer each day. Unseasonibly warm breezes tease us by day before chilling us back to our senses. Just the other day, a winged-invader found its way inside my apartment, only to have the NY Times swat him into bug heaven. Yes, my friends, Spring is all around us.

This past weekend, I joined family and friends in celebrating the wedding of my niece. It was a beautiful event (and yes, she was stunning!). It was a special treat to spend quality time with my cousins. Regrettably, it may have been the most time I've shared with them since the summers of our youth spent on our grandmother's farm. In many ways our adult relationships remain rooted in childhood memories. Those memories are wonderful, but it occurred to me that all of us have grown since that time. In three, too-short days, I rediscovered all that was wonderful about our early years, yet relished exploring the newness in each of them that was, up until this weekend, trapped in the box of "I remember when...". I wonder how many of my relationships are outdated and in need of updating? (Memo to Keith - add this to your Spring Cleaning list.)

Is there anything that symbolizes Spring better than tulips? This marvel of nature pushes thru winter-hardened soil long before our calendars announce the arrival of Spring. In the week following our last snow, I noticed the first brownish-green stems rising from tree and flower boxes throughout the City. This past weekend my sister-in-law, The Dutchess of Double G's, decorated her home with an assortment of cut flowers. When I first noticed the tulip arrangement, they were standing tall with buds tightly closed. By the next morning, the tulips were no longer standing tall, but moving in some sort of east-west configuration. I wondered if the heads were too heavy or if a wire support might return them to their stately form. But as the day progressed, the stems remained uncharacteristically contorted, yet the tulip heads were open and nothing short of exquisite. Call me slow, but it took me a full day to comprehend the simplicity of nature. The tulips had contorted for the sole purpose of accessing the light streaming thru the adjacent window.

Think about it for more than a second and I guarantee you'll marvel at the concept. As far as we know, tulips don't have a brain. And yet, there is something divinely implanted in every single flower that instructs it to do what it must - whatever it must - to access the light. Whether the stem has a slight bend or contorts to the point of disfiguration is of little regard. The tulip will simply do whatever it has to do to access the light. I wonder how much richer our lives would be if we'd stop at nothing to access The Light? I wonder how much fuller might we blossom if we were to remain in The Light? Even as I acknowledge the blessing of being able to partake in it's beauty, I can't help but wonder what a blessing we, too, might be to others if only we had the sense of a tulip?

Welcome to Spring 2006 - a season ripe with renewal, birth and rebirth, transformation and unlimited possibilities. Don't take my word for it. Just step into The Light.

Just a Lighter Note from That Johnson Boy!

What Would Dr. King Say? Part I

2006-02-28T03:28:00.000-05:00

Part I

As we bring the 2006 Black History Month activities to a close, I must admit that this year presented me with a truly disturbing question. From the small screen to the internet, the question of the month seemed to be "What Would Dr. King Say?" Before I weigh-in, allow me to bring you up-to-date on my Black History Month highlights.

My #1 Highlight: Dave Chappelle's interview on Inside The Actor's Studio. You can love him or hate him, but don't let the jokes fool you. Dude is definitely not a joke. Bravo is running the interview regularly so check it out when you can.

Highlight #2: Tavis Smiley's State of Black America Forum on CSPAN. While I didn't see it from the beginning, what I did see was compelling - especially the discussions surrounding the best-selling book, The Covenant with Black America. I recently ordered my copy and hope to address it right here with you in the near future.

For a gathering of intellectuals, the forum was also quite funny. Something about Black History Month ensures that there will be a plethora of panelists rhyming and reasoning in their best "I Have A Dream" cadence. When the debate shifted from think tank-speak to offering "What Would Dr. King Do," the forum morphed into classic Greek theater, complete with the requisite elements of comedy and tragedy.

If the Forum panelist were at times mildly irritating, then the Black History Month contribution that set me off was a much-forwarded email which enlisted the help of Mrs. Coretta Scott King to convey a message of apology to Dr. King for the shortcomings of black folk and, specifically, the hip hop generation. I ain't never seen so many folks responding with exaltations of amen and hallelujah. I admit the email was well-crafted, but in the end it felt off-base.

Do you honestly believe Dr. King would condemn the hip hop generation or any generation for their failings? Do you? How prepared are you to open that door? What I mean is... what if Dr. King's 2006 assessment ran contrary to the state of affairs detailed in the email? Could you handle that? Consider this:

What would you think if Dr. King surveyed the 2006 landscape and concluded that integration wasn't the best thing? Unclench your teeth... breathe... ponder.

How would your views change should he declare these facts: today's crack is yesterday's heroin, preceded by alcohol and centuries earlier, the dynasty destroyer known as opium. As for the drug boys on the corner? They call themselves soldiers, and ironically, the U.S. Government treats them as such. Whether it's Operation Freedom, the Vietnam War, or the War on Drugs, America has always conjured up wars in which it's minority citizenry are expendable casualties of war.

What if Dr. King reminded you that your disdain for the doo-rag sportin' cornrow wearin' youngsta's compares favorably to the condemnation leveled against the original afro/bush-wearin' cornrow sportin' dashiki-clad generation? You declare "it's not the same." Sure it is. Rebellious behavior - even under the guise of fashion - is rebellious behavior. And who were these denouncers of Black Power? They were the once upon a time fried-dyed-laid to the side conk generation.

Would you lose all respect for Dr. King if he informed you that this generation's liberal use of the "N" word, while subjectively deplorable, isn't unique to the hip hop generation? Indeed, many who detest its usage have been known to utter the "N" or two in closed quarters. Think the "N" word is offensive? Let me transport you back to a period between 1940 and 1968. Now run up to the first colored person you see and yell out, "Hey Blackie." Go ahead, I dare you. Nope, I double dare you. Just remember I told you that Black wasn't cool until James Brown said it was cool.

As my dad often states, "There's Nothing New Under The Sun." The problems so apologetically detailed in the email first sprouted as weeds in the Garden of Eden. Each generation has a distinct variation of the same ole weed. The achievements of Dr. King and the Civil Rights Movement were obtained, not in the absence of our weeds, but in spite of them. Believe that. FYI: Horticulturally speaking, a weed is a plant that is "held to have no value, especially one growing detrimentally in one's lawn." God created every plant on this earth. Man determines which are weeds. Sound familiar? Oh, Gatekeeper... where art thou?

In closing, neither myself or anyone else can elaborate on what Dr. King would or would not say in regards to the state of black america in 2006. But, I can tell you in no uncertain terms what I strongly believe in regards to this matter.

Let the spirit of Dr. Martin L. King, Jr., Rest In Peace. He, along with all of the soldiers in the Civil Rights struggle, have earned that right. The real question that you and I must answer is a two-headed monster of enormous personal and universal ramifications:

What will you SAY? What will you DO?

Part II is coming in two weeks. It'll be a doozy... trust me. Until then, may God bless you and keep you - keep you from going upside my head! And if anybody ask you the source of this insanity, you tell them That Johnson Boy Said It!

Something New for Valentine's Day

2006-02-14T13:45:00.000-05:00

Happy Valentine's Day!

Ladies, today is your day. Perhaps you'll spend the day smelling the roses. Maybe the day will be spent yearning for some token of affection. Either way, I understand. But this Johnson Boy has a gift of a different sort. May I propose something new for you, this Valentine's Day of 2006? My gift to you can best be described as:

Something Old ~ Something New

Something Borrowed and yes, Something Blue

The Treasure of Something Old - History will reflect that a powerful Nor'easter blanketed the Eastcoast with record snowfall prior to Valentine's week 2006. No disrespect to the meteorologist, but Washingtonians know better. If it's snowing Valentine's week in the Nation's Capital, the Iceman cometh. For those unaware of the Iceman, I'm speaking of the legendary, Jerry Butler. Thousands will descend upon a dark, frigid alley way along the Potomac River for the privilege of experiencing the Iceman weave his heartwarming magic. Eyes will glisten while listening to Mr. Butler interpret priceless gems such as Let It Be Me, Ain't Understanding Mellow and Mr. Dream Merchant. But "le Piece de Resistance" is a honest, r&b ballad penned by a then, 16-year old Jerry Butler. The lyrics and melody never fail to leave an indelible impression upon the listener. It is my Valentine's Day wish that you, too, will forever be marked by the sentiment expressed by the Iceman, who wrote unabashedly...

For your Precious Love
Means more to me,
Than any love, could ever be.

My wish for you doesn't stop here. May your Prince embrace the Iceman's third verse as if it were his very own...

And of all the things I want,
In this whole wide world
Its just for you to say,
That you'll be my girl.

Don't fret if this Valentine's Day doesn't come equipped with a lover to breathe life into these lyrics. As you can see, the sentiment behind these lyrics are much too precious to waste on the frogs and toads of the world. Your prince shall come. So moving is this ode to love that I offer it as my gift of Something Old. It is vintage. It is timeless. It is my first gift to you - complements of the Iceman, Jerry Butler, along with ASCAP co-writers Richard and Arthur Brooks.

The Joy of Something New - This Valentine's Day, I want to offer you something more beautiful than roses, more stimulating than exquisite chocolates, more fulfilling than fine dining and more earth-shattering than... (hehe, don't act like you don't know what comes next!). My next gift comes courtesy of Sanaa Lathan, Sanaa Hamri, Kriss Turner and Stephanie Allain. These are the uber-talented ladies behind the cinematic gem known as "Something New."

If you've seen the trailer, you already know that this beautifully written, directed and performed film is centered around an interracial relationship. But, it's depth and texture runs much deeper than meets the eye. Once you experience it, I believe you'll join me in praising this celebration of closet-smashing freedom. Imagine Ms. Valentine... freedom to seek and embrace true happiness and love on this side of heaven. Imagine that! A lil' bit of heaven on earth. It's your day Ms. Valentine. Enjoy the gift of Something New.

The Richness of Something Borrowed -- I have no doubt that you are a phenomenal woman. It's your birthright. Yet, life has a way of dulling the luster of the phenomenal you. Some days, nothing in your closet or makeup table can restore the magic. Fret not, Valentine, as I have a very special treat for you. Let us borrow from the richness of the Lady forever known as Diahann Carroll. For the trailblazer in you, may you don the crisp white nurse uniform of Julia Baker, the first African-American woman to star in her own weekly TV series. When the funds are short, responsibilities long, children actin' a fool and the Gatekeepers banish you to stereotype-hell, drape yourself from head to toe in the ghetto-fabulous-before-ghetto-was-fabulous dignity of Claudine. For those days when the world insist on closing doors and shutting you out, put on your baddest pumps and kick down the damn door a la Dominique Deveraux. After all, she was TV's first black glamour vixen, not by network choice but rather the phenomenal will of the lady known as Diahann Carroll. One last thing... when you kick down the door, make sure your hair is flawless! Dominique would insist on it!

The Awesome Power of Something Blue - Ms. Valentine, my present would be incomplete without something blue. I'm not talkin' blue as in "woe, I don't have a valentine." No, no, no, my dear -- this is Valentine's Day, not Validation Day. We can, and must, celebrate you just as you are wherever you are. You may not hear a Jerry Butler song today, nor make it to see Something New. You may even put the powerful garments of Ms. Carroll on layaway until a rainy day. But this, the Awesome Power of Something Blue, must be embraced today. Promise?

Whether you do it right now, or later today, I need you to do this one simple task. I need you to go outside. A park would be ideal. A backyard will do. Heck, a Bronx rooftop will do just fine. Just do whatever you must to get outside to a place that offers some measure of peace and quiet. Take a moment to still yourself. Then slowly... slowly... allow your eyes to venture towards the sky. Whether it be powder blue, midnight blue or a slate gray derivative of blue, I need you to look to the heavens. As you gaze outward, hear the words of our ancestors as reintroduced to us by author, Alex Haley...

"Behold The Only Thing Greater Than You."

Happy Valentine's Day from That Johnson Boy!

Part II - Out The Closet And Free at Last

2006-01-31T14:31:00.000-05:00

Out The Closet and Free at Last

Part II

While writing Part I, it became clear that the issues surrounding closet captivity extended well beyond a college degree. Indeed, your emails and postings echoed my observation. One writer in particular cut to the core issue with the precision of a skilled surgeon. Aptly named, Anonymous, the writer's comment challenged us to "stop making excuses for being substandard." Substandard? Substandard! But, please don't shoot the messenger. I believe Anonymous' comment requires us to ask some difficult questions. What role does the fear of being substandard play in our lives? After all, what is it that causes intelligent people to:

reassess your hard-earned Associates degree as worthless, view your Bachelor's Degree as artwork, your Master's Degree as expensive artwork and your Doctorate... ?
push yourself to succeed and ultimately achieve, but stops you from demanding what you should justifiably receive for your efforts?
believe your home isn't big enough, bank account not fat enough, wrist not blingin' enough, and your children-"not me" enough?
submit to the mindset that maybe the career/house/love of my dreams isn't really in the cards for me.

Feel free to pause here if you need to catch your breath.

Let's be real - no one wants to be labeled substandard. Both the Wall Street whiz kid and the child struggling thru remedial math share a common aspiration to make their mark in this world. If feeling substandard is the cause, then are our standards to blame? Standards, by definition, are a measuring tool and we use them every day to gauge our place in this world. America is arguably the world leader in programming it's standards to the masses. Every time you turn on the television, flip thru your favorite magazine, peruse the newspaper, or go online, a standard is being imprinted and reinforced into your psyche. It is impossible to escape. Yet, as invasive as this assault may be I submit to you that standards, while problematic, are not the core problem.

To identify the core problem, I need to transport you back in time. Next stop: Paradise. Not Taz's garden, but the paradise known as the Garden of Eden. It is there that you will come face to face with the only species evicted from paradise and his name is - you got it - Mankind. Fast-forward to 2006 and Mankind is still suffering from Post-Eden Stress Syndrome (P.E.S.S.). Once lord of his garden dominion, now relegated to being the fierce protector of - you got it - standards. Simple enough, just uphold the standards as written and all is well... right? Not exactly. Mankind has a uniquely human characteristic which Webster's Dictionary defines as Subjectivity. Once again, he is lord of his dominion and no standard, law or scripture is safe from his subjective interpretation. What shall we call them, these lords of standards? Let us call them what they truly are - let us call them the Gatekeepers.

Who are the Gatekeepers? Anonymous defines them in that we don't know who they are. There are no telltale signs or traits. They are the family next door, perhaps your boss, maybe the loan officer or your Department Head. It's the club doorman responsible for managing the door. Simple task, until P.E.S.S. signals the subjective mind that he is now pageantry judge and jury. Pick a law school and witness a similar situation. The Tenure Committee is charged with bestowing tenure upon the most qualified law professor. P.E.S.S. translation: Let us bestow tenure upon the professor created in our likeness. And you wonder why we got evicted from paradise?

Who are the Gatekeepers? Truth is, it is each of us and within all of us. It's our little piece of heaven when exercised for our benefit and hell on earth when abused to our detriment. I believe it is this hellish experience that keeps intelligent people trapped in hellish closets or scurrying back to safety. But, God is good and as much as you may try, you cannot erase the Divinely-implanted movable pictures we call dreams that foretell who you're destined to become.

So, my friend, the question remains - do you want to be free? I'm talking that everlasting, Free at Last, kind of freedom? I know I do but truthfully, I don't have a solution to the Gatekeeper. But an interesting thing happened as I pondered my predicament. I really believe I read and re-read the opening prayer from Part I one time too many. For no logical reason, my eyes gravitated to the clutter underneath my end table, focusing on a little burgundy book entitled, Jesus CEO. The book, written by Laurie Beth Jones, was gifted to me in 1995 and judging by the dust I hadn't revisited it's pages in quite some time. I grabbed the book, and it literally fell open to page 4, the focal point being the Chapter title centered in a sea of blank space. It read:

He Said "I Am"

I stared awhile, then slowly turned two pages. The next chapter title sent chills through my body.

His "I Am" Statements Are What He Became

I flipped back to the opening chapter and read intently as Ms. Jones detailed Christ emergence from His wilderness experience -- 40 days and 40 nights of temptation. He emerged stronger as a result of His experience and shortly thereafter began describing Himself as "I Am..."

the Resurrection and the Life (John 11:25)
the Good Shepherd (John 10:11)
the Light of the World (John 8:12)

But the thing that blew me away was this: His "I Am" declarations were issued BEFORE they came to be. That's right, He spoke them into existence! I sure hope you didn't miss that!

Perhaps logical standards are invading your thought process. How can I compare your situation to Jesus? After all, He is the Son of God. True, but who are you? But, He...? But, nothing. Who are you?

I told you last week this train was coming to your town. If this is your stop, then you probably know your share of Gatekeepers. You've had your own wilderness experiences -- degree/no degree, no work experience/over-qualified, underpaid/grossly underpaid with an assortment of No, No and No thrown in for good measure. For still others, Jesus 40-day experience is but a weekend when compared to the years you've spent navigating your own wilderness. My friend, wilderness experiences come and go, but how we emerge is the difference between walking in power or limping to Home Depot to fortify your old closet. Through the abuse of subjectivity, the Gatekeepers have kept you reeling. With every failed attempt at their movable targets, your spirit weakens. They are dreams killers. They have attempted to define who you are, and worse, affirm who you'll never be. But if Laurie Beth Jones illustrated anything, it was the indisputable fact that the power of Christ and His "I Am" affirmations are the key to true freedom!

You stepped out the closet -- now go the distance and proclaim boldly that you're Free at Last. In the spirit of Christ, emerge from your wilderness experience and boldly declare your own divinely-inspired "I Am" statements and believe it. Believe it in the face of doubt, in spite of the fear and for the added delight of making mere mortals of the dreaded Gatekeepers. If you aspire to be a Video Game Programmer with an emphasis in Sports, let your paper proclaim I Am A Video Game Programmer and yes, I KNOW SPORTS! If you're a Student, make sure your paper declares I Am A College Graduate. Here is not the place to be generic. Are you an incredible Wife or Fantastic Husband? Say it and believe it. Don't worry, this ain't fantasizing. I'm just asking you to boldly declare and believe those things you've always known yourself to be, even if no one sees it but you and the awesome, omnipotent God who declared "I Am That I Am."

Be Bold. Be Blessed. And most of all, Believe! Don't put it off -- do it today! Kendall King -- please sing my song right now -- and if the Gatekeepers ask "who told you to sing," you tell them That Johnson Boy - that's who!

I Am Free

Praise The Lord, I'm Free

No Longer Bound

No More Chains Holding Me...

(Written by Percy Bady)

Confession: Out The Closet & Free at Last! (Part I)

2006-01-17T00:10:00.000-05:00

Trapped in the closet,

consumed by the night

Clinging to the door knob

with all of thy might;

What compels me to dwell here

and suffer this fright?

Lord, grant me the courage

to walk in Your Light.

If the words of this prayer seem desperate, they are. Such is the reality of a life lived in the closet. How else would you characterize it? The mere association of gaiety and being trapped in the closet is an oxymoran. How strong is the stranglehold of the closet? One can only wish they had the courage to utter this prayer. I should know as I've spent much of my adult life trapped in this closet.

You can close your mouth now. After all, who knew? I can assure you not many. Mind you, I've never lied about my situation. I opted instead to live by the creed, "Don't Ask/Don't Tell." I hoped that some day I would be bold enough to share my dilemma. But today was not that day, nor was disclosure one of my wonderful little goals of 2006. However, I could not have predicted that my inaugural blog entry would cause so many of you to breach my "Don't Ask/Don't Tell" zone. It's not your fault for surely you did not know.

Neither did the ladies of the National Association of Black Female Executives in Music and Entertainment (www.nabfeme.org), who invited me to serve as Honorary Co-Chair for their 2005 International Women's Summit. Already a proud mentor member, I was truly elated to receive this honor. Later that night, my elation turned to panic as the closet demons doused my elation with tidal waves of fear. "God, please don't let me be 'outed' in front of 500 successful, got-it-together sistas."

Simultaneously, some 300 miles away a loving wife, mother and spiritual warrior was winding down an impressive career as an educator. When her son informed me that she was being honored by the women's ministry, I couldn't think of a more worthy individual. However, his voice contained none of the expectant joy and before I could inquire he added that his mom's initial excitement had turned somber. I immediately knew why. While we had never discussed the issue, I had witnessed her closet tendencies. He worried that she would refuse the honor rather than risk disclosure. When he asked me what should he do, I answered with an abrupt "Nothing," my voice unable to hide my discomfort. My reply didn't rest well with either of us, but for vastly different reasons. He had no idea that I shared his mother's predicament.

As I surveyed our plight, I realized that no degree of personal or professional achievements would spare us the gaze of the dreaded microscope. Would the 500 women of NABFEME treat me differently if they knew of my closet existence? Would the women's ministry still honor my friend's mom once her secret came to light? After too many anxious moments and unreturned phone calls, I was forced to do the unthinkable. No, I didn't come out of the closet. But, with a few keystrokes and a nervous tap of the send button, I forged my secret onto the pages of the NABFEME Program booklet and at the very least peeked out from the closet. It would take readers less than a minute to unravel years of anxiety. As their eyes surveyed my brief bio, they would realize my closet-generating secret...

I do not have a college degree.

There it is -- centered and on display for the world to see. Perhaps you're thinking, "Dude, you endured all that drama over a piece of paper?"

I certainly did. But before you blow it off as nonsense, consider this -- I have more than enough credits to finish my degree in a reasonable amount of time. Even without the parchment, I'm well-educated, successful, respected and have amassed a wide array of experience with multiple areas of expertise. I'm generally perceived as confident, and can be down right cocky around August 2nd. Yet, in spite of my successes and achievements, I would run to my closet at the mere request for bio. For those that don't get it, just hold on. This Freedom Train has two stops and perhaps yours is coming. But if what I suspect is true, for others of you -- this is your stop.

You may never perceive yourself as living in the closet, but if the truth were told there are jobs you would pursue, organizations you would join, heck -- probably even a mate you just might pursue, if only... There's a bio you would write, a book or a screenplay, if only... For others, you would live the life you dream of living... if only. I think you see where this is going.

But I'm here to tell you my friend, that today is the day that we smash those dream-killing, joy-stealing closets to smithereens! If today is indeed my coming out party, then please don't make me party alone! Like all of my parties, it's a classic old-school B.Y.O. party -- you bring your own closet, I'll provide the sledgehammer. Anything else that you could possibly need has already been divinely invested in you. As with any great party, we need a great theme. Setting the theme for this party is a quote from Nobel Peace Prize recipient, Aung San Suu Kyi, who wrote...

"The only real prison is fear,

and the only real freedom is freedom from fear."

Anybody... and I do mean ANYBODY who feels like breaking down some some prison walls, holla back!

Lastly, this is only Part one of a two-part series. After all, I promised you Out The Closet and Free at Last. Next week, the Freedom Train rolls into your town. Pay attention -- it may very well be your stop. And if anybody ask, you tell them That Johnson Boy Said It.

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Little Secrets Behind Achieving Big Goals

2005-12-29T17:37:00.000-05:00

The Tasmanian Devil

and his Blooming Flowers

by Keith K.O. Johnson

Happy 2006, and welcome to the inaugural issue of That Johnson Boy Said What? Blog. One of my short-term goals for 2006 was to start this Blog. In my next issue I'll provide the 5W's (who, what, when where and why). But today, I want to share with you a wonderful lesson I've learned about achieving big goals. Trust me, you'll want to read this one!

Like many of you, some of my 2006 goals are ambitious. These goals, born of desire and fueled by determination seemed so promising on January 1st. Why, then, are these same goals on life support by MLK Day and euthanized before the first day of Spring? Goals like:

complete and publish my first book entitled, "Before You Give Up On Him" (more on that later)
complete my Oprah-inspired "52 Not-So-Random Acts of Kindness" (more on that later too)
lest I forget, pay off more bills, bills, bills (No Beyonce, I can't pay your bills, can't pay your telephone bills..."

God must have heard my plea and sent me a blessing through the Tasmanian Devil and his blooming flowers!

Last year my inner-circle joined up for our annual "Fellas Retreat." Our host, affectionately and accurately nicknamed Taz (as in Tasmanian Devil) was the last to arrive, and did so in his usual hyperactive manner befitting his nickname. He quickly greeted everyone, then immediately kicked off his dress shoes, pulled on his mud-caked boots, grabbed a flashlight and headed to the garden. We gathered in the waning light to witness firsthand the Tasmanian ritual. With military-like precision, General Taz inspected each plant, grumbling inaudibly at some while praising others. Some of the new retreat attendees laughed and cut jokes at the spectacle. Yet the business-attired, muddy boot-wearin' Taz continued his inspection, only joining us when his job was completed.

The following day found the retreat in full swing with each participant having presented their personal goals and braced for the barrage of scrutiny that follows. The process can be uncomfortable to endure, but is vital to fine-tuning our plans. As the fray grew louder, Taz was noticeably and uncharacteristically quiet. When there was a break in the shouting, he stood up and said,

"I travel approximately 200,000 miles a year conducting business. In my line of work, the results of my labor may not produce fruit until 10-15 years after I conclude the deal. I may never see the actual results of my work. Most people, including myself, are not equipped to go for long periods without some tangible, gratifying results or accomplishments."

The room grew quiet. Someone asked the question "how can he successfully perform at such a high level with no obvious signs of accomplishments?"

Taz headed to the door, pausing long enough to motion us to join him outside. We ventured through neatly cut grass while keeping a watchful eye for the dreaded fire ant mounds that dot the Southwest. Our journey stopped before a row of newly planted seedlings, a few of which had delicate white blossoms.

"The secret to my success is right before you" he said.

Never let it be said that ol' Taz isn't dramatic! But, am I crazy or does this man have us standing in a fire ant-infested garden listening to him associate successful goal achievement with a single, white blossom? I can't speak for the others, but I definitely looked around the garden to see if Taz was also growing that special Jamaican weed known for its deep thought-producing, appetite-inducing qualities. Hmmmm...? Then he continued...

"The secret to achieving my goals is the reward I gain from every flower that blossoms. I can plant a new seedling on Saturday morning, depart Sunday for a 10-day business trip and upon my return, kiss the wife and kids then run to the garden. No matter the hour or the weather, I inspect the garden. More often than not, my latest addition will greet me with a brand new blossom. My labor is quickly rewarded with new growth -- the telltale sign that the plant has taken root and is flourishing. The rewards from my business trip may be years away, but my plants - they never fail to reward, inspire and give me hope."

Most of the crew nodded in appreciation and understanding, but I wasn't sure how the flowers figured into his long-range goals. What goal did they feed into existence? So I asked, and watched as he slowly surveyed the entire garden, then turned to me with a smile that proclaimed "Checkmate!"

My eyes scanned the grounds like a chessboard. What did I miss? Then it happened - I got it! I was completely surrounded by a beautifully landscaped oasis that was too lush and tropical for this region. My eyes took in the explosion of color -- orange, mango, purple, green and yellows, served on a palette of broad banana leaves, delicate blooming trumpets and thorny cacti. With every planting is the hope and possible reward of a goal-sustaining blossom. His littlest goal had produced this dense, tropical paradise where he and guests can recharge body, mind and soul. When you travel 200,000 miles a year on business, the ultimate goal is survival. Not job security survival but personal survival. Conversations tend to center on the latest victims of heart attack or zombie-producing burnout. So, you see, those blossoms are the perfect little goals that fed the larger goal of creating an oasis so intoxicatingly peaceful that to sit in its beauty is to hear your grandmother implore you to "Still Yourself!" When that voice speaks, even the Tazmanian Devil listens. As he listens, the body restores. Ahhh... the power of those little goals.

So, my friends, do you want to accomplish big goals in 2006? Then, take some time to determine and establish your little but powerful VICTORY-PRODUCING goals and incorporate them into your master plan. These overlooked delicacies are the ultimate appetizer ~ starving off doubt by feeding the Spirit with a sense of accomplishment ~ yet light enough to keep you hungry ~ while preparing your palate for the exquisite feast of Goal Accomplished!

"Practice yourself in the little things and
Thence proceed to greater."

Epictetus ~ 135 AD

In closing, thank you Taz for each of your life lessons! This one was so poignant that it earned a place in my inaugural blog. Amille, thank you so much for finding the perfect quote for my inaugural blog. How you sensed what I was writing is beyond me. Scary, eh? Nikki Woods, thank you for inspiring me to become more serious about my writing. "Easier Said Than Done" is the title of her exciting new novel and her title comes to my mind whenever I sit down to write. Check out her blog under my links section, but only after you join my mailing list. Feel free to share this entry with friends and family. Most of all, you can tell them "That Johnson Boy Said It!"

Again, Happy 2006 and may this year be an incredible blessing to you and all who come into your presence.

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