I’m a relatively ambitious person. I’ve talked about that in a previous post. I have dreams and aspirations, and I have a strong desire to achieve them. Basically, I want the juice.
Do my out of touch friends know what this means? Come on y’all! It’s a colloquial term. The young kids use it. I actually think it got brought back in rotation because there’s a movie with young Omar Epps and Tupac called “Juice”. Essentially, having the juice means having power or influence. It means you’re the (wo)man.
Note: the fact that I just explained that is one of the lamest moments in the history of this blog.
The thing about having the juice is that you have to squeeze it from its source and then strain away the non-juicy parts before its good to drink. Annnnd this is where I am right now. I’m out here being squeezed (everything in me wanted to type “squoze”) and strained trying to get the juice. I feel like somebody has one hand gripped around my belly and another around my thighs (where most of my juice so happens to be stored). They’re twisting and then running me through a strainer until fresh, pulp free juice drips all around me . . . perhaps creating a sauce if you will. I’ll have to do another post about getting #SaucedUp. I’m not even on that level yet.
The point is this is just how it goes. If I want influence (and I do want it), I have to do a few things to get it and probably even more to keep it. To be clear, I don’t want influence for the sake of having it. I want it because there’s kingdom work to be done. Also, I’m right like 89.7% of the time so the people need to listen to me. Ok but what I’m saying is I’ll have to go through some things to get me prepared to handle my juice.
This reminds me of a really good friend I talk to about dating quite a bit. I value her opinion. I tell her about the guys I like, the ones who like me, and the unicorns who like me at the same time I like them. On the occasions I tell her about guys I like who are probably not good for me, she reminds me of this one guy she dated before she got married. He was tall, dark, and handsome – everything she thought she wanted. He talked right, looked right, felt right except he was all wrong. He wasn’t the man she needed for whatever reason and she knew she had to give him up. She told me she tried to keep him around just for the entertainment but she got convicted one day. She fell to her knees in the most dramatic, Christian-y way we like to do when we know we ain’t right. She cried and had a full on adult temper tantrum. Then, she let him go. She met her husband within the next year.
You see what I’m talking about? Strain first. Then you get the juice. I’m not particularly interested in dating any more frogs. I’m not interested in bombing any more projects at work. I don’t have the least bit interest in messing up another conference I’m in charge of planning. But I do understand that these kinds of things only strain me to produce the sweetest juice.
As always, let us be reminded that I don’t have life figured out. I’m not telling you how to live yours. I’m just telling you where I am right now. Outchea straining.