I read Eleanor Roosevelt's love letters this morning. Well, at least snippets of them. Wife to President Franklin D. Roosevelt, Eleanor was a reformist and champion for women's equality in her role as first lady—and the longest serving American first lady. Known for her public persona, her personal life has been a topic of much discussion since the discovery of a batch of her letters nearly four decades ago and the resulting publication of the book, Empty Without You.Read More
Like any writer, I spend a lot of time procrastinating the things I need to say because ultimately, writing requires vulnerability. There is also the balance of writing things that can be monetized versus the things you want to talk about. The collection of essays here represents the latter to its truest form. It is my hope that as you read them, you will allow yourself to be as vulnerable as I permit myself.
Do leave me a comment if something particularly strikes you. Happy reading!
There are cities I cannot write about. Cities so full that you cannot hold them in your mouth or hands—spilling over onto sidewalks and tarmac, reaching into the recesses of your blood memories for something you once knew. But how do you remember a thing you’ve never seen? A city you’ve never met? Perhaps it’s the city’s stunning geography or its dizzying history but something stops you before you can put pen to paper that says, “wait, you do not understand… yet.”Read More
(TW) There are many of us who have learned to forget to remember. To speak with mouths closed, burying the resurrections of the past.
Only when the space feels safe, and rarely even so, do we reveal the hideousness that lies behind our eyes in those darkest of rooms. We have been called liars, drunk, careless, told that we were in the wrong place at the wrong time, or more often that it was our fault (or at least partially so). In our official records (where they exist) we are often nameless victims, our identities concealed from roving eyes.Read More