Do Nothin' Till You Hear From Me

                Seldom do I write about songs. That’s peculiar to me though, considering how often I listen to music. About a week ago, I bought Billie Holiday’s All Or Nothing At All album, released in 1955. Most of the songs, I’d already had, but the iPod with the one song I wanted to hear was out of my possession, and the other has a terribly limited supply of her music. Thus, I purchased the whole thing for my iPhone.  (insert emoji hands with the red triangles over them here).

                I was introduced to Billie in the summer of 2008 during PreCollege at Hampton University. I truly experienced her that fall. My roommate would ask what “weird music” I was listening to, and being the snob that I was/am/try not to be, I responded, “You’ve never heard of Billie Holiday?” I’d just begun my own journey with Billie, but hell, I knew her voice before then.

                One rainy April day in 2009, I sprinted across campus to turn in my Greer Dawson Wilson Student Leadership Program Application, and sobbed when the director of the program would not accept it because I was one minute late. I played “Ill Wind” on repeat for days. I think that was the first time I was ever truly disappointed in myself.  My terribly dysfunctional relationship fell on hard times, and I understood (or at least thought I understood) what she meant in “But Beautiful”. Said relationship ended, and I found “Good Morning Heartache”. There were just so many amazing things to be learned from so many songs, it felt like uncovering a treasure once I sat down and listened to the lyrics of each one that was in my possession. I was overwhelmed.

                Fast forward to the final semester of my senior year of college, and yet again Billie has done it for me. The first track on the album is “Do Nothin’ Till You Hear From Me”. I found myself singing along and couldn’t quite figure out why I knew the song. Then I remembered those nights and afternoons in my Daddy’s car listening to Q’s Juke Joint and Phil Collins’ voice came to me. But once I listened to the words, I remembered why I knew Billie Holiday is everything to me.

                Granted, a number of her lyrics are outdated. “I’d rather my man would hit me//than for him to jump up and quit me,” for example; however, this song coming from her was terribly bold. I was nearly questioning her audacity. How could she tell her partner to make no brash actions because of rumors that she’d been unfaithful? But in a time where women were flat out wrong for having more than one suitor at a time, why the hell couldn’t she? Of course I’m speaking from the mouth of a contemporary twenty-something, but Billie said some shit when she said, “at least consider our romance//if you should take the word of others you’ve heard//I haven’t a chance.” Girl!

                I’m at an interesting place right now on my journey as a woman. It’s odd because as much as I desire partnership, I adore my existence as an independent entity. I’ve understood my responsibility to take control of my sexuality and expressions thereof. I’m learning the agents of patriarchy (le sigh). I’m trying to understand women around me as a means to fight my own misogynistic behaviors. But finding this song at this place was so pivotal. So necessary.  There’s no possibility that it wasn’t by some divine plan that it was here and now.

                So, what am I doing with this? I’m, as always, changing some shit. Shit meaning attitudes and behaviors. I don’t explain myself nearly as much as I used to. I don’t apologize for my behavior anymore; I apologize for the impact those behaviors may have had on others and I work to do better about them. I think I’ve finally taken responsibility for me and what I allow in my space. Stagnation is unacceptable in every area of my life from physical activity to romantic and post-romantic interaction (that’s an entirely separate post in and of itself).  Thanks to Billie? Partially.

            Times like this remind me of my tattoos and why I got them. Sesa wo suban. Hwe mu dua.

All love all the time, y’all.