My Cream Puff

I seh! Look at this fine fine man! And I was his favorite. Of course I knew him when he was gray and balding, but look at him. Something like a legend. That's my "cream puff."

God blessed us and our blessings are too plentiful to count. I knew him and loved him much. And he loved me too.

I didn't know all of my grandparents, only my mother's folks. And I often wonder which traits I got from whom. There's so much to be said about the Bernard's and Urey's, but this grandfather of mine ... I mean just look at him and see the pride on his brows!

I hope I have his strength and humility. My grandfather was a well respected businessman and supported his family the way a man should. These days it seems men don't understand their role as the patriarch of the family. Women do it all. And I do not ever intend to slight the strength of my nana, because those who know me know that I love my nana more than air (and that's not an understatement), but when I reflect on my grandfather, I think about the type of man I would want to be with forever as well as the type of woman I should become. His principles apply for all people. I live to make my cream puff proud of who I am.

Thanks for doting on me when I was born as I'm sure only you could do, and for loving the red velvet cake I made with baking powder instead of baking soda, and for taking me to my first dance when I was little, and for sending me to see Europe, and for my first gold jewelry, and for wearing the hell out of the GT apparel when I got admitted, and for sending me letters on the world's last typewriter, and for driver's education because American schools don't mandate it, and for being so overprotective because you didn't want ANYTHING to harm us ('the Liberian ocean water is treacherous!'), and for making me feel like a Liberian princess all the days we were together, but especially the summer I went home right after the fighting finished. Thanks for being my cream puff and all the other things you could be in between.



Cheers to the men who make their granddaughters feel like they deserve the world, and try their best to give it to them. I'm one of the lucky ones.

Comfort is a Big Word

Why does every woman on the Oprah show say she got more comfortable with herself when she hit 40? The middle-aged women of the world love to make it seem like the 20s are a time of uncertainty and the 40s are truly the golden years. As you get older, you fall into your true self and then you quit wanting to save the world and just aim to save your sanity.

Well, I know a little of who I am, and I hope I'm always going to be a wild child.Part of wanting to be a public figure is being comfortable sharing my wild childness with you and hoping that you like her. Maybe Queen O and her guests are right. I guess I have to turn 40 in order to know what being 40's like, but me and my botox will take that next 40 like I'm doing this first 40... for every ounce that it's worth and in amazing shoes.

I feel blessed for every opportunity I'm given and every person in my life. Comfortable? Nah. I can't be comfortable until I'm where I want to be (of which I still don't know the location). When I am 40 however, I hope I'm not comfortable then either. I guess here's where we draw the line distinguishing 'comfortable with oneself' from 'comfortable with one's life.' I always thought they went together.

Whoopi Goldberg told Oprah she took the job at The View because no one was hiring her for movies. This seems crazy when you consider that she was at one point the highest paid actress in Hollywood. At age 52, when jobs aren't coming in, it's a no-brainer. You put comfort to the side and replace it with hunger. You reinvent yourself. You use your talents and seek opportunity. Most important, you run from the word 'comfortable.' Maybe Whoopi knows who she is at this point, but I bet she didn't know this would be what she would be doing. Not a bad gig at all, and I bet you comfort wouldn't have gotten her there.

Comfort scares me. I believe in evolution.

Love and Luck in Work

File this away in my passion corner. I think they call this venting.

I always take an extra 30 mins to get out of bed. I just need my sleep. As I wake, I'm planning my nap and meals for the day. Rarely do I ask myself 'what are you going to do to make this day count?'

Sure, I work damn hard to ensure that Plan A comes to fruition. I put in my hours at Rolling Out, and then put in my midnight hours at a second job to make the bills disappear. There is no Plan B. My dreams have to take off so I can live the fabulous life like Kimora Lee, and have the cultural influence of Oprah Winfrey, and have the quotable phrases like Coco Chanel, the totable babies like Angelina Jolie, and the arm candy boyfriends like Kim Kardashian.

But I'm only seeing the bread. I've got to learn to really mill the wheat in the fields before I can live the life of peace and prosperity meant for Archel Bernard.

You really don't get the life I want to live by falling in love with men. You fall in love with the vision and chase that bitch til it chases you.

I've learned the chase is overlooked. The effort that goes into the chase is sometimes mundane, and we've got to toil over those mountains. But the thing about the mountains is they don't disappear; the way I climb them shifts.

I was out on the purple carpet for the Soul Train Awards doing interviews, and I was out there in the cold in a little red dress. Chrisette Michelle comes up to me and rubs my arm to note my goosebumps. Yep, I was freezing out there. I talked to 40 or so celebrities and wannabe celebrities about superficial red carpet things in order to get my assignment done. Every now and again, however, my mind would wander to what life will be like when publicists beg me to book their artists on my show in my warm set. It's challenging to want. My dreams feel like teasers. I want to be there already, wherever there is.

Here's an image of me after the awards (clearly a cell phone pic). I tried to crop the boobs out, as my mom reads my blog periodically and hates to always be bombarded with titty, but I could only do so much. Shout out to Ulta for a $45, hour and a half wash and curl.

And then I realize this is all a warm up. That God doesn't place me anywhere to suffer. Only to thrive. I'm up next at bat, and up to bat again and again until His will is found and the universe is pleased.

I recently went to New York to visit my little brother as he tries to conquer the music world. Sidenote: the Bernard last name means 'dynasty' in many languages. As he showed me his apartment in Brooklyn's Crown Heights, I could feel the hunger for more than a fire escape that only seats one, as much as I could feel the pleasure with his grind. These days we're experiencing right now are good days. We're making great steps every hour. The steps are small, and most go unnoticed, but they stand as building blocks to help us acquire the payoff that's meant for us at the end when the fire escape becomes a patio overlooking the Mediterranean.

I don't envy anyone's happiness. I don't know what it took for them to reach their state. I know that I'm climbing away for mine. What AM I doing to make each day count? How can I be more quotable, or more fabulous? How can I draw this plush lifestyle? Such complex questions with such easy answers. I love this work. I love that I'm setting myself up to hit a homerun. I love that all the mountains are unclaimed gifts waiting for me and only me. When you work hard, you'll find out that you're really lucky. I'll simply be the luckiest talent I can be.

Are you happy now, baby? I am.
And the best is yet to come.

A little Miley for your day... PUSH PLAY! Every word captures the mood I'm in.