I am alive, and I live in a beautiful city. That mellow, messy, leaf-kicking, perfect pause between summer and winter is my favorite time of year. Chilly air, whistling wind, and rain that smells like memories.
Sometimes, I like to lie awake at night listening to the pitter-patter of raindrops on my roof. Sometimes, the sky is so clear that I can see the far blue edge of forever behind distant suns. Sometimes, I see little shooting stars out of the corner of my eyes like falling glitter. Sometimes, I think if we lived to be 200–300 years…
Time is predictable. Constant and cyclical. We’re born, we live, we die. For most of our history, this didn’t surprise us. Humans lived by the sun and the seasons. We recognized that the sunrise and the sunset were the same entity. We didn’t just smell the flowers. We planted seeds, watched them germinate, tended them as they grew, and saw them wilt and decay. Over and over. Birth, Life, Death. We were intimately acquainted with all three.
In the early 21st century, we set out to define and standardize that cycle. We measured it, and created notches and signposts throughout…
In the midst of corporations scrambling to paint themselves palatable during civil unrest, I was invited to speak on a panel. If you’ve been here for three seconds, you know I much prefer to write my two cents to the void and then eat three donuts like the ridiculous introvert I am. I do, unfortunately, also need to pay my bills so I scheduled a call for more information. This preliminary call for a panel discussion on what women of color needed in 2020 had three local “change agents”, white men in their 40’s, scheduled to speak.
Initially, this was…
I’ve been happy since November. Yes, I understand that happiness is a subjective concept. I know that it’s not the end-all, be-all in life. I absolutely get that it’s only been six months which shouldn’t even be that big of a deal. But it is to me, dammit.
“That seems long. …
When one friend tells you “I won’t get scholarships and grants because I’m a white male.”
You grit your teeth and bite your tongue. You do not mention his grades are poor (by his own admission) or that his writing/reasoning skills aren’t up to par.
He will not care
You smile and share resources and opportunities.
When a friend tells you “I didn’t understand before. You kept talking about it” in regards to racism.
You grit your teeth and bite your tongue. You do not say this new understanding will disappear with the June heat.
She will not believe you.
As someone who’s not an alcoholic, I’ve been to an unusual amount of AA meetings. In a community center. In a few church basements. In a park. Mostly as moral support. A few years back, I opened my events venue to a group when the church they’d been meeting at closed down. Certain concepts I’ve heard in AA have stuck with me over the years.
One Day At A Time
You can’t save your ass and your face at the same time
Most people would rather die than learn anything about themselves. In fact, they do.
For the past seven…
I’ve pleaded with the world to tell me I am more than a hollowed out story maker. If I’m destined to be a story-teller, I must be in the wrong body. Everyone knows that bodies like these never tell stories that mean anything. In all of the stories in all of the worlds in all of the universes, one person must rise and become a hero to save mankind. It’s never a ruddy-faced Korean girl with almond eyes that grow darker in winter who has a slightly “too Christian” mother and workaholic dad, whose only legacy is pretentious metaphors and…
I love structure. As much as I try to be hip and flexible, to just go with the goddamn flow, I’m wired differently. I like routines, schedules, and knowing what’s coming down the pipeline. I get the same thrill from new planners that I do from old books. I’m not the tragically creative night-owl writer a few of my internet peeps have suspected. I’m the introverted version of that perky, morning person you want to slap.
After a discussion of the creation of a trauma-based mental health care plan for the students in my local district in January, a friend…
Music was a soothing savior in 2020, and the trend has not stopped. Even though I’m never completely satisfied with my redecorating (no matter where I position the couch, it refuses to magically transport me to the beach), hanging my records and guitar on the living room wall did bring a small jolt of joy. Ever read James Baldwin while listening to Nina Simone and sipping red wine in your comfiest pajamas? Does the heart good, I tell you.
When I got tapped in the summer by a former friend to share the 10 albums that changed the way I…
“Someone smeared poop on the wall in the bathroom.”
“Just on the wall-around the toilet.”
“I hope you know we’re never coming back to this store. No matter how much you like their video games.”
“Then, I’ll just be bored and die.”
“Nuh-uh. You ain’t leaving me alone in a world where people smear poop on the walls.”
“Alright, let’s go. You know you’re stuck with me for the next fifty years anyway.”
“You’re stuck with me for the next fifty years” is not a comforting statement. On it’s face, it seems harsh on yourself and…
Hipster. Hooligan. Writer. Wanderer. Sad AF, but you'll learn some things.