👀 📸 . A self portrait from March 2016.
65 and ½ inches completed. 9 and ½ inches left to go.
Black tourmaline, rose quartz, lavender mist, sage, and Nag Champa incense, all from Namaste Bookshop in NYC. These are my latest tools of mass resistance, to a world that wants me worried, spent, insecure, and in bondage.
Nope. No. Not at all.
I’m living, glowing, and thriving in freedom. Purpose-filled energy in; purposeless energy out. I deserve it, and will insist on it. Will you do the same?
Sifting through photos feels better than scrolling through photos. After my dad’s recent passing, I realized this while going through his old ones. There’s something so beautiful about holding a memory in your hands. It feels sacred. As my ma, Aunt Kim, and I went through my Dad’s photos on Ma’s living room floor, we laughed, remembered, cried a little, and deepened our connections with one another. It also made me think of all the memories that I have stored in computer files, Facebook albums, and old flash drives. They’re all so strewn about in this digital ether, which I’m somehow supposed to trust. They don’t feel permanent where they are and, no, I don’t fully trust the tech titans who promise to safeguard them. To remedy this, at least a little bit, I bought a Fujifilm Instax camera. It’s an updated version of a Polaroid, and cost about $60. Last week, with so many of my family members present to celebrate my dad’s life, it was fun to snap these little photos, then have them blossom in physical form right before our eyes. We laughed at how goofy we looked in some, and smiled at how good we looked in others. It was all great, and further underscored the power of tangible connections, which can never be replaced.
A fresh face for a new year. My nephew, Michael Morgan! He’s just a few months old, but already a treasure chest full of lessons. Lesson One: Pure joy is a birthright. It’s an instinctive response to a full belly, cozied feet and love shared freely. It doesn’t need much, and is always waiting behind a cranky tear. It was through the joy of creating that we were created– God had no outside directive, just deep desire. Joy courses through our veins. Purpose may be the tiles, but joy is the caulk. Joy shields; joy protects; joy empowers. As Pastor Doug said at New Day Church this morning, to have joy is to own a tool of resistance. The joy of the Lord is our what? C'mon, somebody! Welcome to 2017, the year of tiny pebbles and big Goliaths, of fiery furnaces and firm faith. I ain’t come this far to give up now.
A throwback to September, amid bar stools, flowers and wooden floors for a client photo shoot. Natural sunlight filled the space, and my belly was full of coffee and corn muffins. The owner of the quiet loft spoke of the New York City of yesteryear, where art flourished and everybody knew everybody. It’s not like that anymore. Across the street there was barren land, gated and filled with rocks. “They’re turning that into a parking lot,” he said wistfully.
Making jean on jean a thing. Fall fashion is bae.
If you need me, I’ll be in here. My latest personal Photoshop challenge (and the latest in my Goodwill NY/NJ blog series) was inspired by escapist desires. Putting it mildly, the world seems so unpleasant right now. A presidential candidate said what?! Did what?! Yet another shooting with no conviction?! With no end in sight, self care seems more important than ever. So, I continue to create things – and write things and go to the gym. I’m not hopeless. I still think that, all things considered, collectively we’re on the right path to progress. But spirits are heavy – at least mine is. And trauma on top of trauma appears to be waiting at every tap on the phone. Today is ripe for a “manger moment,” a miraculous turn of events by something outside ourselves. Indeed, a miracle feels like the only sensible solution. And I still believe in them. ⠀
i bought a houseplant. It’s the first houseplant I’ve ever owned.
I’ve been to many churches in my lifetime. Mega empires, humble storefronts, home basement gatherings: All are familiar territories. But none have fed me like New Day Church. There are differences between adhering to Christianity and being Christlike. There are differences between praying for abundance and faithfully providing it – even with physical lack. To be offered food and Food, to have a church that understands the importance of providing both each Sunday, is rare and sacred.
This isn’t an invitation guised as a testimony – I’m still not sure if I’m even Christian. Instead, this is a public appreciation for a space that shares biblically rooted teachings plainly and empathetically, that offers simple advice while acknowledging the complexity and ambiguity of Infinite Mystery. In the unlikeliest of places, I found them. Or maybe they found me. Or maybe God brought us together. I don’t know, but I’m grateful.
Special thanks to Theresa for being my lovely hand model.