Ring Leader

“As we drive along this road called life, occasionally a gal will find herself lost. And when that happens, I guess she has to let go of the coulda, shoulda, woulda, buckle up, and keep going”- Carrie Bradshaw (Sex and the City)

When I was in school, band was LIFE!.…At least for me it was. Other than getting dressed in a new outfit every morning, band was the only thing I looked forward to. I have no idea where my musical inclination came from. No one that I knew of in my family had mastered an instrument of any kind. My older brothers took a stab at playing cello but quit after only a year or two. Of course, most babies of the family want to follow in the footsteps of their older siblings, but that’s not how or why instruments piqued my interest. My curiosity for playing was ignited when I was about 8 years old. My family had just moved to Harford County, MD and we were all adjusting from city life to suburbia. I was sitting in the family room when a white-haired white man came across the 19-inch analog TV screen playing a bedazzled clarinet with gold-plated keys. I can’t remember his name, be he was introduced as a legendary musician akin to the late great Benny Goodman. I was memorized! I didn’t even know it was called a clarinet at the time, so I called it “the black flute”. I knew from that very moment I wanted to play it.

I was presented with the opportunity in the 4th grade at an instrument demonstration assembly in the school gymnasium/auditorium. It was there where I laid eyes on “the black flute” again. I had never seen one in person. No, it wasn’t embellished with gold-plated keys or bedazzled with jewels, but I was excited to see it with my own two eyes! When it came time to pick the instrument I wanted, I couldn’t raise my hand fast enough. The band director, another white-haired white man (his name was Mr. Curry), saw my hand fly up and asked, “Yes Sunni, what instrument did you want to play?”. I said, “the black one”, as I sat Indian style on the gym floor, the only black child in the room. “You mean the clarinet?” he said. “YES! THAT one! ” I asserted with all the wide-eyed excitement a 9-year-old could possibly express. I rushed home to tell my parents. A trip to Music Land and few weeks later, my dad came home with a black flute that was all mine.

From the very beginning I was a natural. I picked up the clarinet as if I had played it in a past life. It became an escape from dealing with the all the pressure of being constantly scrutinized. When I was playing I didn’t have to think about being different from everyone. I could just be. I practiced for hours until my thick bottom lip would bleed, and without any formal training, I managed to make it into All-County Band when I reached middle school. High school band was altogether a different ball game. In 9th grade, for the first time, I had to endure seating auditions. For those who are not familiar with band culture, where you sit in the band is a big friggin’ deal! The highest honor is sitting first chair, especially in the clarinet or flute section because they’re typically the largest which makes the competition the fiercest. As the first chair player, you’re basically the leader of your section (and sometimes the whole band), the default soloist, and the most visible to the audience because you sit closest to the director/conductor. Although I was good enough to make All-County in middle school over other students with higher seating, I was never appointed first chair. I actually sat in the 3rd section, which in my opinion is like musical detention……boring. In hindsight, I believe it was my lack of confidence that kept me from the first section. I suffered from terrible stage fright (I still do), so the thought of auditioning for my seat in high school was terrifying. When it finally came time to audition for high school, even though my nerves got the best of me, initially I was able to secure 4th chair. Not bad! Not great either. The perfectionist in me was not satisfied because I knew in my heart I could do better.

Our band had a something called a challenge system which could be comparable to Guerilla WARFARE!!!- sort of like a gangsta version of musical chairs. If you weren’t satisfied with your position, you could formally challenge the person in your coveted seat to a musical duel at any time. The band director blindly judges who played the music the best (like on “the Voice) one after the other. As the challenger, if you manage to play better than the challengee, the seats are swapped. If you were unfortunate enough to be on the losing end in a higher seat, there was no greater embarrassment. As the challenger, there was no greater triumph than taking that seat in band class the next day. As an unspoken rule in band code, challenging the first chair was unspeakable and considered almost disrespectful. You’d be crazy to put yourself in the position to be whooped mercilessly by a player already determined to be the best. Obtaining that seat would have been confirmation of what I already knew. I was the best even if I didn’t really want to accept it.

In the late 80’s/early 90’s gold jewelry was all the rage, especially in the urban/hip-hop community. One the biggest trends in ghetto fabulousness were gold hoop earrings, necklaces, or rings with your name on it. If you were lucky enough to have at least one of the three, you were officially proclaimed “the sh*t” in your hood. My fashion obsessed self always had to keep up with the trends, so naturally I wanted one, preferably the ring. Because I’m an extension of my mother’s fabulousness, she had been adorning with gold jewelry since I was a toddler. To this day, I’ve never seen my mom with less than 3 necklaces on at once. Jewelry (especially gold) is what my mother was and still is known for. It’s her “thing”. And since I was a jobless 14-year-old freshman, I thought I’d ask the Queen of Bling herself to hook me up with those karats like she always did before. She was well aware of my distress over my seating audition. I passionately expressed to her that I wanted to challenge the first-chair, but I was too chicken sh*t to follow through. After hearing me out, she gave a proposition. She said to me, “If you challenge the first chair player and win, I’ll get you a ring with your name on it like you want.”

To all my Sex and the City fans: We all love (or love to hate) the lead character, Carrie Bradshaw. Her character is a fashion icon all her own and single-handedly brought gold name jewelry back and into mainstream popularly with her infamous “Carrie” necklace. What was once considered “ghetto” was suddenly made “chic” thanks to Sarah Jessica Parker’s portrayal and the show’s enormous popularity. The Carrie necklace made an appearance in nearly every episode in the early 2000s and eventually became just as much a part of her character as her “Sex and the City” news column itself. To Carrie’s devastation, she lost her necklace which she herself described as “costing next to nothing”, but the sentimental value was priceless. In the final episodes, Carrie gives up her career, fabulous, fun-filled, single, socialite life with her friends in New York City and moves to Paris to be a painfully bored girlfriend/lover to a Russian artist (Aleksandr Petrovsky, played by Mikhail Baryshnikov) that no one else cared for but her. Instead of attending a book party thrown by some Parisian fans in her honor, she decides to go support her very nervous boyfriend’s art exhibit in efforts to keep him calm. After his work was surprisingly well received, he abandoned her on the spot and without hesitation when he no longer needed her. Hmmmm…Déjà vu! The similarities I have to thin, rich, white, blond fictional characters is bananas. (see Food Court For Thought) .......Anyway, it was while Carrie was sitting in her loneliness, careerlessness, and boredom, she began fondling her purse and had a pivotal moment. Inside the torn lining of her purse she feels something odd which she soon discovers to be her long-lost Carrie necklace! Her face lights up with astounding excitement and It’s at that moment she realizes it’s not just her necklace she’s found. She found her Identity, her dignity, and her pride. She is reminded of who she is.

In my early 30’s, I was living my best life and didn’t even know it. I was in the best shape of my life, my credit was A-1, my car was paid for, and my modeling career was about to take off. I took all of it for granted. Growing up with very privileged friends can have a moderately middle-class girl like myself feeling like they are always playing catch-up. I achieved major milestones a little later than life than most of my peers. I graduated college a semester later, got my license at 24, secured a “real” job and bought my first car at 26. And while all my friends were already married, engaged, and/or homeowners, I was just purchasing my first home all on my own at the ripe old age of 30. In comparison to everyone else (and 90% of the homes on HGTV), I thought my 1400 Sq Ft, 3-story, 3-bedroom townhouse with a fireplace, covered deck, and a fenced-in backyard was quite modest. My house became one gigantic closet that I slept and showered in occasionally. Since I was finally a socially acceptable size for the first time in my life, I gave myself more permission to live out loud. Between work, the gym, bootcamp classes, modeling, vacations, and the constant parties, I barely had the chance to enjoy it. Because I was the only one in my crew who was childless and single, I rarely had friends over. I did everything alone. I worked in an enclosed room with no windows 8 hours every day ALONE. I went to the gym ALONE. I went to dinner and a movie ALONE. I even went clubbing and to concerts ALONE. I paid all my bills ALONE. I watched the Golden Girls or ID Channel every night ALONE. I cut my grass A-L-O-N-E. When I looked out my own life’s window, the grass was starting to look a little greener in all my friend’s back yards and suddenly I started to feel like something was missing.

When I was dating my ex-husband, he was living nearly 400 miles away in Danville, VA. We took turns making that 6-hour train ride (shout out to Amtrak Crescent line) back and forth to visit each other every other weekend. Four months into our relationship, he decided that he wanted to marry me and proposed with a very generic 1/3-carat solitaire marquee diamond set in white gold. Now I'm not materialistic by any means, but for someone who adorned himself in the finest of everything, you'd think his ring choice would be more extravagant. Somewhere deep down in my gullible soul I knew things didn’t feel right. I ignored my gut because I was determined to be to be like everyone else and I had convinced myself I was tired of being alone. Following my heart didn’t work with my past relationships, so I made the conscious decision to try something different and use my head instead this time around. BIG MISTAKE! (see Paths blog post) Physically he wasn’t the typical man I would be attracted to, but there were other qualities he possessed that had me swooning. He was educated (boasted about his two master’s degrees at the time). He was a “Man of God” (those degrees he had were in theology and divinity). He didn’t have any kids (No baby mama drama). He loved all my favorite things (music, jewelry, fashion, Chinese food, the beach, etc.). He was a photographer (and I was a model…..perfect). And lastly, he seemed TOTALLY into me (more than I was into him, which is what I thought I wanted). Marrying him seemed like a no-brainer and since I was used to playing catch-up with my life, I was banking on my feelings mirroring his eventually.

His “love” for me often brought him to tears and he would go to great lengths to be in my presence. He professed often that I was “the perfect woman” sent from the heavens to be his own personal angel. Apparently, he thought more of me more than I thought of myself, so I soaked all the attention up like a naïve sponge. When we weren’t together, we’d spend every waking hour on the phone. When he couldn’t reach me, he’d even call my parent’s house phone. His rationale was “We live so far apart from each other. The phone is the only way I can be connected to you right now.” The girl inside me who had been ignored in the past soaked it up. When he’d come visit and suggest I change my outfit, I’d oblige because “all the dudes before would let me wear anything because they didn’t care about me.” The little girl inside seeking validation soaked it up. One of the few times I was home on a chilly Wednesday night, I was meal prepping while (of course) talking to him on the phone. As I mentioned before, I rarely had visitors so when I heard a knock on my door at 11PM, naturally I was shocked and bamboozled. To my surprise, when I opened the door it was HIM standing at my doorstep unannounced, after driving 6 hours in the middle of night standing there with his phone in his hand. The girl inside me who had felt lonely and invisible soaked that up too. The actions most would see as Bat-shit crazy, I interpreted it as love.

Before you know it, he quit his job in Danville, found a job in MD, packed up all his stuff and moved into my humble abode. We both didn’t like the idea of ‘shacking up” so we married 2 weeks later. I was flattered that he dropped everything to be with me, so I gave him time to get settled before I expected him to start contributing which never really happened. I confronted him about it, but there was always an excuse, or a fight would erupt inevitably resulting in me having to throw in the towel to end the turmoil. I continued to pay my bills ALONE. I still went to the gym ALONE. A year into our marriage, I was laid off from my job which was completely devastating for me in every way possible. Luckily, I could still pay the bills with my savings and unemployment checks, but I grew severely depressed and anxious. My house started falling apart. Out of the blue, I had a rodent infestation, the shingles were flying off my roof, the heater broke, and my water heater died. Once there was even an unexplained trail of maggots in my kitchen and I would often find small piles dead flies. He had this thing about always keeping a light on, even when he wasn’t in the room which I found to be strange. I asked him why and he would reply “You don’t want to know.” I’d just shrug my shoulders and keep it moving. He would often talk about a house he “owned” but was renting out in central VA sitting on 4 acres of wooded land. The tenants lease was soon expiring, and he believed moving in would be a better living situation for the both of us. He was my husband, so in efforts to be a supportive wife, I figured I should let him lead and trust his judgement. It sounded like a good Idea at the considering the current circumstances. He secured a better government contractor job, but I used the remainder of my savings for our moving expenses. And to avoid foreclosure on my home, I attempted to do a short sale that fell through last minute. I thought making this move would improve our marriage and he’d finally be happy being back in his element. Things seemed to get better for him, but increasingly worse for me. I started having vivid nightmares on a regular basis, my left leg became swollen and discolored, I was seemingly gaining weight exponentially, and my entire body was inflamed. My depression and anxiety didn’t go away, I just got used to it. It became a part of my existence and my new normal.

After moving to Virginia, he grew more and more possessive, his demands got more excessive, and I spent most of my time ALONE setting up the house while he was traveling for work. Although we lived isolated in the woods surrounded by nothing but trees, he had an issue with the windows/blinds being opened and curtains pulled back. The house always felt eerily dark even on the sunniest of days. When he was away, I was more at ease and could find solace in my new pastoral surroundings. But when he came home, things were everything but peaceful for me. He demanded ALL my attention and expected to have everything HIS way. He dictated how I dressed, wore my hair, who I took pictures with, what I posted online, who I talked to, the time I went to bed, even when and how I prayed. He relished in the new power dynamic of me now having to be financially dependent on him, but that didn’t last long. His contract ended, I picked up a new job, and he conveniently decided that working a 9-to-5 was now beneath him. Even while he was unemployed, I was still expected to wait on him hand and foot, execute all the household chores, and perform my “wifely duties” on demand. He started requiring half my paychecks to “pay bills”-bills I found out later weren’t getting paid. His dreams of being a pastor/minister/counselor were eclipsed by his grandiose fantasies about becoming the next Drake-like superstar. Event though I was the one with a background in music, he refused to take my advice. He spent hours in his homemade “studio” conjuring up sounds that he thought were ground-breaking, while I was working 50 hours a week.

I was a fish out of water and started feeling homesick. I was missing my family and friends which he took as a direct insult/personal attack on his greatness as a husband and overall human being. How dare I insinuate that his presence alone isn’t all that I want and need!? Still he had me convinced that I was the problem because I was “lazy”, “ungrateful” for this better life he provided for me living in “his house”, and I didn’t have enough “faith” in his talents and abilities. Privacy was no longer a part of my vocabulary. I couldn’t take a shower, relieve myself, or browse the internet without him standing over my shoulder. A serious tear-filled, explosive tantrum would ensue on his behalf whenever I’d even suggest doing something without him-ANYTHING. Suddenly, being ALONE was something I was longing for. In the final days, after he realized I transferred the hard-earned money I had left to a separate bank account, he harassed me about the bills and demanded I give him money. I politely told him that he should have ‘faith” in knowing that his bills will get paid without me.

Yep, so I won the challenge! My mom kept her promise and ever since the day I won, I kept my seat throughout high school. When I gave up my fabulous, fun-filled, single life with my friends, moved to the woods 200 miles away, and became a painfully bored wife to an aspiring minister (who turned out to be a malignantly narcissistic con-artist), I lost myself, my identity, my dignity, my pride and even my name. Everything had to be all about him. He didn’t appreciate me wearing rings that he didn’t give me, (probably because they were prettier than the only one he ever bought me) so I took them off, and besides, they didn’t fit my fingers anymore. While I was packing my things to get out of the woods (literally and figuratively), my ring was lost in all the chaos of rushing to escape.

For the past 2 years, life has certainly been challenging me for my seat in this world. At 14 years old, I didn’t realize that initiating the band challenge wasn’t really about being first chair at all. I was essentially challenging myself. I was conquering my fears of inadequacy, uncertainty, rejection, and possible failure. Just by trying and having “faith” that I was later brainwashed into believing I didn’t have, I had already won. I know now that the true failure is in the woulda, coulda, shouldas and our biggest regrets are often rooted in the things that we don’t or didn’t do. I didn’t have a plan at all when I left my husband. Getting out was the only plan that was necessary. A few months ago, there I was all over again conquering my fears and faithfully leaping into a new place again with without having a plan or a job, but I had faith. And while I was unpacking, sitting in my loneliness, careerlessness, and boredom, I had my very own Carrie necklace moment. A flash of gold shined though the bottom of a “bedroom” labeled U-Haul box like Charlie’s golden ticket in Willy Wonka. There it was! My Sunni ring appeared! I wept tears of joy, shined it up, and when I placed it on my right-hand ring finger, it fit like the day I received it 25 years ago. At this moment, I was reminded to always to believe in my own talents and abilities. I was reminded to aim for the highest seat in life. I was reminded of who I am.

I started a new job a month ago, took out some “trash”, and now I’m feeling hopeful for the future. For the first time in a long time, after challenging myself and stepping out on faith, I’m sitting in the first chair of my life while the blessings from the Universe directs the music.