As I sit here, listening to the new Musiq CD and unwinding from a long week, I can't help but think about life...mainly, who I am when it comes to relating to the opposite sex.
Thank God for growth. I can remember that awkward, painful phase in my life when I tried to become whoever I was dating.
You like rap music? Oh my gosh, I loooooooove Talib Kweli and Rick Ross!
Mint chocolate ice cream? The best! I eat it all the time!
Oh yes, I've been a fan of the Lakers since the days of Kareem and Magic!
That relationship ended fast. I hate the Lakers.
In the years since, I have learned that the old adage is unbelievably true: I can only be me. Try as I might, the real Kayla will crash the party sooner rather than later.
So, who IS Kayla? I'm glad you asked.
(And forgive me, because I am about to talk about myself in third person.)
Kayla is complex. What makes me laugh on Thursday can make me cry on Sunday and vice versa.
Kayla is analytical. If you send me a text, trust me--I am scanning for the motive behind your period, comma or exclamation point.
Kayla has a really DRY sense of humor; if you don't understand sarcasm, you probably won't understand me.
Kayla loves to laugh--and not just a chuckle either. I'm talking about that laughter that requires complete participation from all extremities, leaving tears running down your face and you, gasping for breath.
Kayla likes competition. Kayla usually wins. ESPECIALLY basketball....not a threat, but a promise.
Kayla gives so much of herself that she MUST be surrounded by people who have her best interests at heart. Sometimes, the encourager needs to be encouraged.
Kayla is stubborn....one of those things you swear you're not going to inherit from your parents, but you do and it takes someone else to point it out.
Kayla is a diary. Like Alicia Keys, she won't tell your secrets.
Kayla is a work in progress.
Okay, that came out sounding like a cheesy match.com essay, but you know what I mean.
Dear hearts, stay true to you. In this world of 6.1 billion people, I choose to believe there exists someone who understands why I need fifteen minutes of quiet in the morning....or why I love roller coasters but remain scared to death of the Ferris wheel.
Someone out there gets me.
Here's to hoping my romantic GPS works.
Turn right. Turn left. You have arrived at your destination.