Paper doesn’t forget. Folded notes, birthday cards, even grocery lists scrawled in their hand. What remains in letters is the intimacy of handwriting, something no machine can mimic, proof they were here.
Read MoreEvery September, I get a little reflective. Some people want cake for their birthday month. I want words.
A few times over the years, I’ve invited friends and family to write around a theme, Forever Young, Forty Years to Life, Life Changes. The tradition has been on pause for a bit, but this year felt right to bring it back.
The theme is simple: What Remains.
Read MoreSome days arrive quietly, carrying a heaviness I can’t always name. It doesn’t shout or announce itself it just shows up in my chest, in my pace, in the way the light feels different.
Sadness has a way of disguising itself. Sometimes it’s weariness. Sometimes it’s distraction. Sometimes it’s silence when I usually have words…
Read MoreLately, I’ve been thinking a lot about presence, what we leave in people’s lives long after we’re gone from the room. Not in the big, loud, legacy-making sense, but in the quiet ways that linger.
Today’s piece is a small part of a larger conversation I’ll be sharing soon, one that invites more voices, more reflections, more truths about what remains after the noise fades…
Read MoreThe quiet language of cooking with someone who knows your taste, because it’s their own…
Read More1 Corinthians 13. This chapter captures love with such genuine eloquence that even a non-believer might pause. Drawn in by the beauty of the language alone…
Read MoreThey said heal. I'm healing.
They said let go. I'm working on it.
But I’m still triple-checking your grammar…
Read MoreSomewhere between now and not yet.
There’s something about today. The air is warm, but not urgent. The light hits everything just a little softer. I feel it in my chest, not sadness, exactly, but a kind of stretch…
Read MoreThis gift of extra days stretched wide and warm, full of stillness, movement, and the women who shape my world. The kind of company that asks for nothing but your presence. I started Friday by honoring my commitment to the YMCA, a place that's become more than work since I began there in November, but a community of familiar faces and shared purpose. My 10 AM finish gave me the perfect window for the three-hour journey to Snellville and my waiting family. They’re vegetarians and lovers of good food—we’ve always shared that language. They prepared a beautiful meal, and we broke bread with gratitude and laughter.
Read MoreI’m not in love. But if I were?
It wouldn’t be the type with edge or urgency. No games, no schedule, no emotional calisthenics. Just a long exhale kind of love. One where nobody’s trying too hard, and everything lands just right…
Read MoreLately, I’ve been releasing the need to convince, explain, or defend. Not because I don’t care but because I care differently. With less friction. Less fight. Fewer antipathies. There was a time when every misunderstanding felt like a challenge. A cue to clarify. A reason to prove I’m thoughtful, considerate, grounded, whole.
But now?
Read MoreSome days I do nothing. Other days, I do anything I feel. And once in a while, I do everything. But the thread through it all? I do it alone and I love it that way.
Solitude isn’t an absence for me. It’s not waiting for someone to fill the space. It’s the space I fill. With my thoughts. My pace. My rhythm. My rest. I’m not hiding from people. I’m honoring the person I’ve become…
Read MoreI used to equate distance with absence. But absence is only absence when you’re unsure. This isn’t that.
Tuesday Afternoon Sensory Input
Sight.
Her face appears pixel by pixel, slow-loading clarity from another continent. Sunlight in Senegal catches the edge of her cheekbone, and even through the screen, she glows. The image stutters, lag. Then smooths. Then laughter. The miles dissolve in a smile I’ve memorized.
Read MoreI’ve whispered it in blog posts before, few antipathies. Not quite a mantra, not quite a goal. More like a quiet way of being. It means I’m choosing not to hate what doesn’t deserve my energy. It means I’m softening, not folding. Breathing, not bracing. This summer, I’m letting that phrase stretch out and take up space. No longer turning summer into a performance review. No more trying to outrun the heat or outwork the joy. This season, I want lighter meals, lighter moods, and lighter reactions. Stillness over strategy. Ease over effort. Presence over proving.
Read MoreRaising hell on Saturday night, and praising God on Sunday morning…
There is a tension a lot of people feel but rarely articulate: the dissonance between professed belief and lived behavior, especially when it intersects with expectations around gender roles. When someone invokes God or religion to define what a man “should be” “God-fearing,” “the head,” etc. and yet lives in a way that seems contradictory or even performative, it can stir up a mix of emotions: confusion, frustration, maybe even cynicism.
Read MoreWilling. Becoming.
“Won’t” is fear dressed in reason. “Will” is clarity dressed in courage.
I’ve said “won’t” a hundred ways: Not now. Maybe later. I can’t. But when I stopped negotiating with hesitation and just moved something shifted. “Will” doesn’t require certainty. It only asks for presence…
Read MoreStill Searching. Still Whole.
Loss is a teacher. Finding is a return.
I’ve lost time. People. Versions of myself I thought I’d never live without. But loss carves space. And in that space, something always arrives. A new path. A quieter knowing. A better question…
Read MoreAligned in Offering
Taking is survival. Giving is evolution.
When I stopped asking, “What can I get from this?” and started asking, “What can I offer?” the math of my life changed. Giving didn’t drain me; it rooted me. Deepened me. Aligned me…
Read MoreGrounded & Lifting
Every stumble holds the seed of a lift.
Falling isn’t failure, it’s data. It’s direction. It’s how the ground reminds you you’re still here. Rise isn’t always loud. Sometimes it’s a whisper. A toe flex. A breath…
Read MoreStrength in Motion
There’s no trick in the turn just intention.
Hate is easy. It’s reflexive, emotional shorthand for hurt, fear, confusion. But love? Love takes stamina. It’s the long route. The pause. The choice. When I feel that old heat rise, I stop and ask: what would love do here?
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