I feel paper thin.
I feel paper thin.
A faint line that exists in a far too big place, waiting to be carried away by the wind, by the water, by the hesitant breath caught in my throat.
So, I imagine myself being carried by the wind, by the water, by the hesitant breath caught in my throat.
The wind carries me lightly, a delicate hold around my weariness, to the water.
The water carries me afloat, what shadowy abyss beneath me I cannot see, but feel like a ghost’s reach for my spine, to the hesitant breath caught in…
Of the many years I have been legally able to vote, I never have. Now I’m choosing to register.
I chose to write about this after a conversation with a close friend that allowed me to recognize my privilege to live comfortably within a carefully crafted bubble I had created.
See, the thing is I have been legally able to vote for close to eleven years now. I never have.
It isn’t because I don’t recognize the right that I do have to vote, nor do I forget how hard that right was fought for, but because I have never…
I’m writing you this letter to say thanks.
You taught me a lot of things, like how popcorn really is better with the extra melted butter. The first call is always to your lawyer, not your Mom. You taught me how to plant a garden, saddle a horse, and how to stand back up and brush scraped knees off after tumbling from my bicycle onto an unforgiving gravel road.
You taught me how to pitch hay, make the greatest scrambled eggs, and play poker with the best of them.
You also taught me things, not by telling me about them…
The significance of a Sunday night hourly radio show.
Every Sunday a local radio station has this segment, and it features just blues artists. I’ve dubbed it “Blues Night” for several years now. And I know what you’re thinking, so what? The thing is… it’s a lot more than just a short segment of good music.
When I was a kid we had this (fairly) old stereo that held it’s place in the garage for more years than I was old, and it’s still going strong to this day. I am convinced that thick layer of dust, oil, and grime…
I see you carry the weight of injustice on your back, an undeserving burden you cannot shake.
I see injustice dig it’s claws into your flesh, and wrap itself around your throat to stifle your voice, and steal your breath.
I hear the brutality you bear through a television anchor’s nightly news voice.
I smell the fire, mingling with sweat and tears, through the streets that you must brave.
Everyone is shouting, desperately trying to be heard. …
The best part I never knew I was waiting for.
The sweetest escape from reality rests like a sandy island on your breastbone; the soft thrumming of your heartbeat like lulling waves. Like the fallen feather from a swift bird’s wing, I float on tides that pull me to your shore.
Your breath from hushed words tipped into my ear carry through trees, a gentle wind, rustling the leaves that conspire in our secrets.
There have been one hundred little moments like one hundred ripples in still, calm water that I have realized, “this is the end for me.”
Don’t want the government telling you what you can or can’t do? Neither do women.
As a global pandemic swept from ocean to ocean, with infection rates and fatalities on the rise, the United States economy came to a grinding halt. Millions of Americans were ordered to stay home unless absolutely necessary. Amid the chaos, protests began to pop up from state to state. Protesters, some armed, stood outside of government buildings with homemade signs demanding the reopening of the economy, as well as the right to choose if they should stay home or not.
To me, it seemed that…
Now is truly a time to be there for one another.
I have Generalized Anxiety Disorder (GAD), or as I like to call it “Spicy Thoughts” or “Sweating Profusely for No Reason”. I tend to make light of it now, but there was chunk of time where I was deeply struggling with anxiety and grappling to understand why everything suddenly seemed so hard.
See, my mind does this thing where it’s absolutely fantastic at dreaming up worst case scenarios, stifling insecurities, and distressing what-if situations. So, even though these made-up scenarios are only playing out in my head, my body…
We’ve just reopened our small, family business. Here’s what I’ve realized in the first week.
My parents have been running a family business for over fifty years now. Two weeks after my mom gave birth to me, she took me to the store and raised me while she worked. I would shuffle back and forth behind the counters, tugging on the hem of her dresses crying “mama, mama”. We have missed weddings, funerals, birthday parties, and other events for the sake of the business. I have watched my mother put absolutely everything into her small business.
Our family takes a…