The Craft of (Dis)Illusion: Reflection, Wonderings and Wanderings in Winter (TBT)

Words of the day:
hindsight (n.): understanding a situation or event only after it has happened or developed. The past year-plus, of course.
schadenfreude (n.): pleasure derived from someone else's misfortune. Well, considering our current socio-political climate, this is relative... and many of them deserved it.
facepalm (n./v.): the gesture of placing the palm of one's hand across the face, as to express embarrassment, frustration, disbelief, etc. (often used as an interjection). If I can own it, so can you.

The shortest day of the year begins at 11:28 am ET(New York City Time) today, and I awoke to a notification on my cell phone only six hours earlier from my dear cousin Anthony with the most apropos of words to savor: facepalm. 

I did the facepalm several times in 2017, felt a healthy dose of schadenfreude while watching the news, and still gained much from hindsight. There: used all of them in one sentence. A day well spent in contemplation. But wait, there's more...

Black turtleneck, 'cause it's winter now.

I made these. See model above.

In the winter, I don't get out as much, because New York City has FIVE MONTHS of it, and I haven't yet acquired my alternate cold-weather residence. Numb fingers and toes notwithstanding, I did, however, manage to ice skate twice this year before December even began! 

I still have my "ice-legs", it would seem. Selfie on skates, smh...

Getting my Nature Documentarian on with Newtown Creek Alliance!

It has been quite a year! 2016 I dubbed the Year of Travel. 2017 was my #busybee, to the point where I got so busy, I forgot to appropriately apply the coined hashtag as liberally as I intended, and back it up with blogged evidence (if it's not on social media, it didn't happen, right?!)!

Ah well, take to heart that I have, indeed, been busy, and the culmination of this year is seeing several fruits come to bear.

Yes, I climbed an active volcano in Guatemala last year, and now it finally has become part of my legend!

I am happy to say that having a reunion after several estranged years from Anthony last December began a unique journey from 9-to-5 monotony and disillusionment to freelance hustling and creative anxiety. Not to be outdone, my newfound "flexible schedule" as I continued to carve out exactly what I wanted to do next (and how) allowed for some truly unorthodox experiences for me.

The "taxi" I didn't take in Guatemala. Stay tuned for video!

I canoed on a formerly contaminated creek on its way towards environmental rehabilitation.
I helped to restore an urban green space dedicated to food justice in my Bronx hometown AND I brought a midwestern city's 25-year jewel of a working urban farm to light for a greater audience through my journalism instincts. And they were both started by Blackfolks!

I attended for the third year in a row the Women In Travel Summit that has been very responsible for my upstart forays into travel, writing, and tapping into my creative goddess warrior spirit.
I managed to consistently imagine, execute and publish articles for a dynamic new online publication- and get paid for it!

I kept my eyes and ears open, and my heart vulnerable, my head cool, and my skin as thick as I could.

A queen up on Queen Street, ON.

NYC in the summer means a fan, and a twist-out!

I learned through much trial and error to speak up for myself within my family and romantic relationships, and to deal with the hilarious, exasperating, and thought-challenging results of that.
I stuck with projects that didn't quite make sense at first, but afforded me better skills at business branding, social media management, and even networking, all the while building up my confidence in defining myself as an entrepreneur, writer, and mental health and human rights advocate.
I got back into the kitchen for pleasure, and also tightened up my preparations skills for routine cooking.

What you see here is three types of carrot and parsley root from the farmer's market. Yum.

I learned that pride and shame should not get in the way of attaining mental and physical therapy, regardless of what traps the current administration sets for the general population.
I have said congratulations and goodbye to many friends and family, in joy and heartache.
I got out more- and showed people how they can also be active and involved, whether locally or from afar- and I re-dedicated myself to not being afraid of meeting the travel challenge wherever I presently am.
I embraced the utility of being organized and applied mise-en-place across professional disciplines as diligently as in my kitchen.
I managed my stress and confidence lags while also coming to terms with the toxicity of the present economic, social and political climate in the United States, as it pertains to women, Black women, and creative, non-binary, non-mainstream people, who are dear to my heart and deserve the platforms and dignity they have fought (and/or died) for.

Melinated Moms Winetasting Event in Newark with Sipper's Delight Inc.! Support Black Female Businesses!

I have found a way to channel my anger, my need for consistent, meaningful and life-affirming creative outlets, and have made significant steps towards multiple streams of income and livelihood that enrich this life I currently lead. Out of sheer boredom and necessity, I have accepted the creativity of my nimble fingers, and allowed myself to lean in to all of my talents. I've tackled my writer's block head-on, and can thank both of my sisters, my besties, their mamas, Sacred Walker, Kim Piper Werker, Ariam Alula and so many others for their individual and collaborative influences!

Color, texture, location, season, environment are all part of my inspiration in creating culinary, literary and visual art.

I continue to be a daughter, a sister, a best friend, a confidante, an aunt, a cousin, a granddaughter, (a hot date), and myself, and strong in the definition that I determine reflects me in these roles. No one else gets to tell me how to be in these people (and more to come).

I am (also) a journalist, an editor, a listmaker, a researcher, a reader, a lover of languages, a singer, a dancer, a jewelry-maker, a fashion-enthusiast (and thus, designer), an artist, an advocate, a thought warrior, a business strategist, a photographer, a lover, a fighter, a dreamer, an immigrant, a New Yorker, an American, a #Blackamazonian, an environmentalist, a gardener, a chef, a tinkerer, a hustle-hacker, a problem-solver, a mountain-climber, a hula-hooper, a jogger, a weight-lifter, a #seldom_settled traveller, an unbeaten liver of life. I sang, I taught, I wrote and I flew. What did you do??

Soup is my go-to in the cold months. Curry-spiced red lentil with coconut milk, if you please.

Tasty Talk Series Saltfood: Mining a Guyanese Oral Tradition in Cuisine

I was recently having a conversation with my mother about the value people "back home" in Guyana have for certain kinds of food at certain events. She was informing me of the preparations being made for a popular elder's 91st birthday thanksgiving service, in which there was great expectation of sampling the revered bake-and-saltfish, even though it is a common enough preparation throughout the country. Fried bread "rolls" stuffed with salted codfish stewed with onions, tomatoes, sometimes a bit of hot peppers and a splash of lime juice! *mouth waters*

Bake-and-saltfish is one of those dishes that can be made on a Sunday morning, for a wedding-day catering order, for Christmas morning, and for when folks are visiting from afar/"foreign". It is an everyday for some and a special occasion for others. It is usually the first thing to be eaten out! This does nothing to diminish its value. Salt cod (Bacalao) may be the go-to fish of choice, but I would argue that smoked herring is up there as well, perhaps even more of a specialty, based on price and occasion. Smoked herring was definitely more occasional in my childhood, so when it made an appearance, there was ample cause for heightened appetites and festivities!

Mom went further, however, extrapolating on how beyond celebrations, everyday eating in Guyana required creativity and wisdom. She offered a phrase that although it was my first time hearing it, the concept immediately crystallized in my mind. "What we used to talk about at home was '#saltfood'... which was more than about the salt. It was about getting real food that satisfied, and often stretched what little you had. And you feel fuller with 'something salt'...'real food' was not something sweet. Something quick. Rice and something to go with it." I dunno, sounds like a #foodhack to me!

Aside from acknowledging that high sodium diets has been a known cause for several ailments and chronic diseases worldwide, saltfood is almost an inversion of usage, wherein the main idea was to only add a hint of a highly flavored substance in times of austerity. This is now a two-fold definition. Saltfood is not a mere salted snack to stave off hunger; it is a significant connection to nutrition and economic fastidiousness often expressed in unique yet endemic ways in tropical, warmer and, let's admit it- poorer parts of the world. I remember reading years ago in a history class about how poor principalities in the wide regions of China ate savory breakfasts and had a tiny bit of egg, beans, or pork to balance the vegetables or rice (or other starch) that was their everyday fare. If that was their one meal for the day, the morsel was almost a flavoring instead of a significant part of the plate or bowl. It usually was a kind of protein. Talk about a stretch.

I can definitely say that in my "starving student" days having a small container of spicy-crispy anchovies from Koreatown with a bowl or rice, noodles, or steamed veggies filled me up more than I believed possible. And I keep both on hand now when I'm feeling lazy to do a big spread in the kitchen. It's easy!

Nutrients are at the heart of it, to be sure. Just as actual salt (NaCl, sodium chloride) has helped to flavor food for millennia, making it a prized trade item and a maker or breaker of ancient civilizations, dietary salts are important in human diets because of their balancing electrolytes. Sodium helps the body retain necessary water (remember, we are about 55-60% water, depending on your physicality), facilitates several chemical reactions in many different parts of the body, and helps with digestion and muscle contraction. The Biblical line about people being "the salt of the earth" is telling, in its observance of such a worthy aspect necessary for life.

So in a country where there have been waves of undernourishment due to economic austerity, political unrest, and lack of access to medical treatment due to transportation shortcomings, it is expected that salt would play a large role in the population's attempts to stay satisfied, even as they balanced healthy and not-so-healthy consumption. It has saved people from fainting, in a hurry!

To me, the concept of saltfood is one that walks this line, and acknowledges through a combination of centuries of oral folk medicine and culinary traditions what has been proven and tempered with scientific research in the modern age. So it is still quite useful to roll this word around in your mouth.

As with most terms that falls out of my mother's mouth, I marvel at the variation between succinct and delightfully obscure Guyanese and Greater Caribbean expressions. Such a rich oral history is worth collecting for future use. I will be sharing more of these from time to time, and encourage my readers to corroborate their own regional terminologies and pastimes!

Now that I've defined it for you, what's YOUR favorite saltfood?

Beads and Buttons: Grandmotherly Memories

Had she lived to this day, Enid Veronica Daniels née Sam would have seen her 99th year completed. My grandmother was born on September 25th, 1918. She was born under the British rule of what is now the former colony of Guyana, in South America. She once told me that she worked in rice paddy fields there, and left her formal education to help her family at an age comparable to 8th graders. She did not see Obama as president for eight years, and Grace spared her the indignity of many other events since.

Enid bore nine children to adulthood, and adopted four of her eldest grandchildren, sponsoring them to live with her in the United States and continue their education. She was twice as old when she had my mother, one of her later babies, than when my mother had me. I believe she was in the middle of her own siblings, of whom I only ever met two, but heard tales of most of them all of my life. There is a lot of mystery (to me, yet) surrounding some other facts of her origin, like the tale of distant Chinese ancestry, her maiden name allegedly Anglicized over time.

Enid named her children very proper names. English, Roman, Christian, French names. Some middle names had Latinate or Germanic undertones, to be sure. Perhaps all of them had two middle names.

She worked all of her life, until she started forgetting the pot on the stove every day, and as she recounted to me more than once, accidentally left straight pins in the clothing she was mending for her charged. The parents got scared that the children would get injured, and as much as they loved her as their nanny, they parted with tears for the last time, her grey hair the only steely aspect of her disposition stubbornly intact. That was that.

She was amazing, nonetheless, in all of her ambitions, making countless sugar cakes on order for formal functions, guava jelly and pastes to the eternal distaste of several uncles and cousins tasked with helping her in the kitchen in their formal years. There is a picture of my grandmother in a crisp white nurse's uniform, testament to the tale of how she got her GED in New York City at age 65, and started going to nursing school before leaving that to care for the adopted grandchildren. She made a great many strides before Alzheimer's took over.

My grandmother's entrepreneurial spirit was borne of poverty and practical innovation of the resources she could command, on three continents, in four countries, spanning six decades. She funded several children's school fees and supplies, study-abroads, special projects, and fabric for uniforms she probably sewed, or at least darned, herself. All of this occurred before I was born, however.

The Enid I knew was decidedly more reserved and sternly adherent to her home devotionals and congregational services. I accompanied her on many Bible studies and bus outings to Boston and Washington D.C.. The old hymnals still ring in my head, and many of the lyrics as well are committed to memory. If she had her way, I would have always worn skirts and dresses and had my head covered and my hands gloved in her holy presence. She had a sharp tongue for rebuke, and a heavy hand for the occasional spanking. Had she lived to this day in full health and mental faculties, me, my mother AND sister would have some serious explaining to do about what we were all doing with our lives, for sure. It was not her style to smile for most pictures, and I was often scolded to "stop skinning my teeth", even when I knew she could cackle most vibrantly when put upon with a funny memory.

I first learned that onion, lime and cauliflower made delicious if peculiar pickles because of Enid. We would take trips to Woolworth and scour the craft section for zippers, beads, buttons and paper patterns. I credit her with my modern preoccupation with the minutiae of design, as I was often responsible for helping her rip out the incorrect bead-work in one of her coasters or table settings. I regret never learning to knit or crochet from her, or paid closer attention to the magical moment of her plait bread rising in doughy deliciousness.

For a while as a preteen, my grandparents held myself and my sister close while my mother worked on her undergraduate degree. I was very unhappy about being left in their care, and developed a distance from my grandmother in particular, favoring my grandfather's more taciturn benevolence (there were Werther's to be had, and long nights watching PBS when she fell asleep). She often seemed ill-tempered, and bossy. My grandmother's snores kept the dragons at bay, though. You could always find a treasure of quarters fastidiously wrapped in toilet paper when she sent me to fetch something form one of her many purses.

Things got progressively downhill after my family deposited me on campus in Southampton, and she was never the same after that farewell trip. She died three years after my grandfather, and thus I lost them both on the cusp of my young adulthood. I hold on dearly to the memories I have of Enid. There are videos somewhere from a long ago family function, and several boxes of pictures over the years. Occasionally my mother would reveal a craft piece that she had saved, or I'd come across an old postcard wedged in a book with her distinctive proper handwriting. She was the matriarch of the Daniels family for over 50 years, and she lives on in so many grand and great-grandchildren. I am honored to have known her as long as I did. Love you, Ma.

Juneteenth, #blackjoy, and Sowing Freedom Forward

I love a garden.  A green space of my own is one of my top-ten life goals. I come from a country that still retains a predominant percentage of its pristine rainforests, and can boast a long line of relatives that were (and are) stewards of the land. It is one of my greatest joys and marvels that they chose to retain this heritage in spite of generational trauma resounding from prior forced servitude on those very same lands, in North and South America. In this vein, I understand some of the legacies of slavery in the United States.

Imagine the value of urban green spaces for folks that have evolved beyond the legacy of slavery and sharecropping; migrating from predominantly rural agricultural communities to larger metropolises; sacrificing fresh air, affordable and generous living quarters. Urban green spaces, farms and gardens are a vital and intrinsic part of the mental, physical, and, dare I say, spiritual fortitude of the people that provide and/or seek them out. There is also an often overlooked economic affect as well. This becomes an interesting hurdle when one considers city zoning rules that designate what spaces can be used in what ways in every community. An endeavor to reclaim an abandoned lot previously collecting garbage thoughtlessly chucked by passersby and unscrupulous businesses can become a battle for real estate suddenly deemed valuable. Modern civilization often manifests itself in an unfortunate divorce from the free simplicity of enjoying land, air, food and water. How did we come to this?

It is no coincidence that gardeners often have other social justice projects under their belts. Black Joy in action.

"Black Joy" is a radical concept these days. Social media attests to this, and the apparent retaliation and rhetoric surrounding it proves that it is potent in its application and documentation. I have documented in this blog my initial forays into establishing a green sanctuary of my own, as a way to reconnect with the sacred, magical earth, as well as to channel creativity: from working the soil to photographing and cataloging its mysteries, to sharing its tasty and therapeutic rewards. It is an ever-unfolding practice, much like meditation that may involve complicated handstands, or simpler breathing techniques.

A much-needed break to re-hydrate and enjoy fruit and vegetable salads.

Some things are not meant to be rushed, but gently and mindfully coaxed towards their highest potential. And whatever bug bites or dusty jeans I've acquired in this process, I've always left that green space happier, more fulfilled, and restored for whatever came next once my feet touched concrete.

Touching the soil is as important as handling the delicate shoots being transplanted. 

The height of irony came after the first Juneteenth, which began in Texas in 1865, with the mass exodus from the resistant Confederate states. They carried within them a powerful knowledge of the land, even though they were enslaved to it. That paired with the newfound courage and will to organize brought forth the most earnest efforts to thrive in pre-Civil Rights Era United States. The real victory here in those early post-Civil War struggles that rolled into the next decade of the Reconstruction Era was a revolutionary concept of individual autonomy and dignity for Blackfolk, intrinsically tied to their occupation and thriving on and from the land they stood upon.

The backlash against progression was swift and vicious in the South, and followed in a more insidiously institutionalized way as folks migrated North to urban centers, looking for jobs, homes, and peace of mind. City rules and political circumvention put many of them in public housing, in neighborhoods zoned away from parks, farms, and quality groceries (apparently). The influx of fast food advertising, convenience, liquor, and pawn stores in certain 'hoods instead of others helped to put a negative spin on the intrinsic value of the bodies inhabiting these areas. The joie de vivre was stripped and devalued, in place of fast, cheap, and a limited food spectrum (white, yellow, and brown- gee, what foods are these colors?). In a way, the rush to forget the (punishing) agrarian roots of the South allowed for a grand departure from its more wholesome culinary legacies, and an itchy wool to cover the collective's eyes.

When a space gets reclaimed from its dirty dumping ground identity, an angel gets its wings...or a neighbor gets her zucchinis.

The Blk Projek is a nonprofit organization started by Bronx resident Tanya Fields in 2009 as an act of resistance to food injustice in her South Bronx neighborhood. When she started her organization with Mommy and Me outreach to provide healthy food choices for the mothers and children of the neighborhood, the feedback shone light on the need for more education and economic development. Food deserts in urban neighborhoods has since become a new front in the attack on economic and mental poverty, as the adage "feed the brain" has dramatic implications for those that are literally starved of nourishment. The Libertad Urban Farm is a natural extension of this effort, as justice and freedom fighting comes in many forms, both radical and seemingly mundane. She encourages better choices by making them more visible, with a healthy sprinkling of the aforementioned "Joy". What people may not recognize is the vital task of normalizing a health-food trend that naysayers of the food desert concept scoff at, while they attribute troubling community health statistics to bad cultural choices in the face of an abundance of access to green groceries. Once again, representation is everything. on every level of society.

Libertad Urban Farm, at 972 Simpson Street in The Bronx.

Ms. Fields negotiated her way through city ordinances and public misconceptions with grassroots elbow grease to create and maintain a safe and healthy space, snatching this parcel back from the development list. I was honored to be invited to share some of the load to rebuild and reorganize Libertad Urban Farm on Simpson Street near Southern Boulevard in the Bronx on June 9th. It was a sunny day, and the large mound of soil greeted me at the entrance, daring anyone to approach it with a meaningful shovel. All around us, apartment buildings played sentinel to our toil, with the occasional curious onlooker from a balcony or fortified window grating. Some people walking by on the sidewalk stopped to chat with our carpenter in Spanish, or Tanya, herself, if they recognized her. They see what she is doing, and for the most part, it seems to bring visible joy and relief to their faces.

Ms. Fields herself came and went while I worked in the garden, as she was busy working on some grant applications with a pressing deadline, but she was very much involved with the entire process. The property was vandalized recently, by those who littered and stole supplies, setting back previous gains. The re-education and re-prioritizing of a community continues. A shed was bought, and funds from the NYC Parks Department supplied much needed tools, organic manure and wood to construct raised beds. This will not be a one-off effort to beautify and prepare, but an ongoing labor of love during the fertile season to bring nutrient-dense edibles to the community, as well as a space to recharge the spirit of a proud people.

I can't wait to go back and show you the "after" picture of this raised bed- cucumbers and squash runners everywhere!

Read up on some of Ms. Fields' earlier efforts with Libertad here.
Find out about upcoming events here.

WITS17: Midwestern Mastery

I took the Milwaukee public transit bus to and from the airport on both ends of my trip. It was a little tricky because I over-packed a bit and also had my heavy laptop case to maneuver with, but it cost me a total of $8.25. I wondered how many attendees for the Women In Travel conference knew that there was a public bus-stop directly across from the Hilton where many of us stayed and attended the summit. After a whirlwind five days of tours and networking it felt really strange, in an isolating but also introspective way, to be standing there Sunday morning, by myself for a good 20 minutes or so.

Inviting magic: curate space in your life for receptivity. Wherever you go, there you are .

Post-Yoga Enlightenment

There was a woman that arrived at the bus stop after me. We squinted at each other in the mid-morning sun and took turns silently looking in the direction the bus was coming from. She struck up a conversation with a compliment on my hat and appearance, asking me if I was visiting or going to school. I know that I look younger than my years to a lot of people, and to others, I have heard the compliments for my alleged fashion sense. Nonetheless, it was funny to admit that I was traveling alone and several years beyond my Master's Degree. Our chat was so engaging that I never got her name, but I could not help but to tell her that she reminded me of my mother, in skin tone and appearance, and her humbly conversational manner of speaking.

We connected on many levels as it pertained to upbringing and family dynamics. And as I explained to her why I was in her city and what it meant for me to get to Milwaukee and participate in the conference, something crystallized in my mind. She said to me at one point, "I've always wanted to go to Australia, but I don't even know how that would happen now."  I shared with her how I had the same desire at ten years old, and through many fortunate events and leaps of faith, I did in fact get there at age 20, and lived and traveled there for three months. I had an epiphany: I can cater my thoughts in this blog, my voice and advocacy efforts towards creating an inviting and safe space for those that may feel stuck where they are, and that travel is out of reach for them, whether due to perceived distance, or cost, or unfamiliarity with modes of transportation.

Most of my time in Milwaukee was focused on the mantra of having space for divine feminine qualities as writers and travelers. The Women In Travel Summit (WITS) is now my annual thing that I do. I am in my third consecutive year, and was grateful to be included as a volunteer at the conference this year. It has always recharged me and helped me to refocus on my writing and goals as a socially-conscious journeywoman. The added bonus this year was witnessing the increased participation and leadership of women of color, as critiquing panelists, dynamic host committee members, and autonomous thought leaders of the travel industry.

I have met many gracious and sincere people on this first extended trip to the Midwest. That means a lot to me, as a woman who grew up in a large northern metropolis. We sometimes feel, in New York, that we have everything, and never need to leave, because we are so often the destination for others, whether permanently or passing through. But what I learned during this trip was that there are many things still to be shared and gained from leaving familiar borders. And, most endearingly, even a landlocked state like Wisconsin reveals artistic mystery and a deep water-focused perspective that allows for a unique consciousness on science development, environmental conservation, and other values that I can identify with as a New York State resident. I can enjoy Milwaukee's distinct heritage and location while sharing and supporting similar goals for the bigger picture.

The first of many river walks

Finding unique traits and offerings to share with others.

One of the most poignant statements that still rattles around my head came from a panel discussion dealing with "purpose-driven travel", described as reaching beyond voluntourism and ecotravelling. To make tourism a force for good, build local capacity; visit urban areas and support local businesses at your destination. You don't necessarily need to hear a different language or get on a plane to experience another culture.

I knew that something special about Milwaukee was the nonprofit sustainable agriculture initiative founded by former NBA player Will Allen, Growing Power. I had read about this organization in regular emails for years, never dreaming that it would be so easy to go and visit. Because I have a personal as well as public interest in learning from and advocating for more green spaces for under-served communities and functional access to healthy food, I knew that I had to speak up about my interest in getting to this site. I mentioned my desire to Visit Milwaukee's Executive Assistant and Communications Manager Margaret Casey, and she arranged a tour and drove me out there herself. Amazing! This visit was the highlight of my trip. All in all, I have met some true masters of many crafts here in Milwaukee: farming and gardening, hospitality, visual arts, cheese and beer!

Milwaukee Art Museum, as seen from the S/V Denis Sullivan

Milwaukee's windy "big sky-ness" completely engulfed me, rising up from between the boxlike edifices with their glimmering reflective windows, further enhancing the atmosphere. Even on the overcast days, I basked in the openness of the city, which gave me untold permission to lift my head upwards and appreciate the architecture, the animated denim hanging from lampposts, the colorful street art. and many riverviews. I did not feel claustrophobic here.

Looking beyond your destination desires.

WITS17 Purpose-Driven Travel Panel Presentation

When you have a heart and a will turned towards giving back and lessening the impact of one's footprint wherever you land, this concept will naturally come up. Know that there are other ways to engage with the place you seek to be. If you are at all concerned about sustainable communities within the beautiful and intriguing places you visit for a short while, consider that you can (and should) look beyond your tourist interests and think critically about the effect it has on the communities that you travel to. Yes, travel has a political impact as much as it has environmental and social ones that affect the destination as much as if not more than you, the visitor. Keep abreast of local news and happenings, for your safety and as a quick etiquette check. I listened to the stories from the residents about food deserts giving rise to the historic revitalization of urban farming, and of socially conscious muralists creating controversial works that spark necessary dialogue about the origins and future of incarceration of their  fellow citizens. These stories will stay with me as much as the pictures will.

As soon as I learned that Milwaukee was a "walkable city", I was excited, being a perpetual pedestrian in New York City, and always fascinated and ready to engage any other locale that boasts even a minute capacity for public transportation (see my hi-larious account of the L.A.-to-Irvine experience via bus for WITS16!). Which brings me full-circle back to that last ride out of the city. I have always had the most interesting conversations with strangers passing on a train (or bus), and have even made years-long friendships this way. I gave that woman my card, and I truly hope that this post and many others I write would inspire her to go wherever she wants to, and encourage others to love her city and its people more.

Black Cat Alley

Writing Gauntlet: 500 Words, 31 Days: Goals

Happy New Year, World. We survived, we thrived. And here I am committing to writing 500 words a day for the next 31 days. Woo-hoo! I suffer from too much prep and not enough step. This is a self-diagnosis, and as such, is subjective at best in its scope of analysis. Writer's Block is something that many of us have dealt with from time to time, and for an unfortunate few, it stymies their creative product for long stretches of time; months, years, even.

I am a bit stubborn, though, and since it is the first art and creative outlet that I took to at a young age, it is a combination of cathartic therapy as well as confounding instrument I am doggedly determined to hone and perfect. That and singing.

I've done a 31- Day challenge before in this blog, several years ago, so it seems fitting that at the beginning of my new 7-year cycle, at the renewal of it all, I embark upon such a necessary journey again.

My goals are: to delve deeper into topics that have been swirling around my head or capture the most poignant part of a recent discussion with a friend or acquaintance. I want to highlight personal endeavors and their progress, and be accountable to my friends, fellow writing colleagues, and even a few family members that may take an interest in this production.

I am doing this alongside daily study and research, and brand-building exercises that will hopefully culminate in the launch of my own website and domain (there, I finally said it!).

Another transition that I am going through is already about a month underway. I resigned from my position of the past three years on December 7^th, and am actively looking for work. That’s not to say that I am unemployed and have nothing to do all day (obviously), oh no. I may have more free time for a while to pursue several objectives, but I am busy. I am occupied. I am positively swamped.

A vision board is definitely on the agenda, and a few life- and goal-affirming women’s retreats. I am a habitual list-maker and hope to one day publish some of the more memorable ones, but I feel that making a shift to a more visual (and audio) manifestation of what I am and will continue to accomplish this year is a personal project of mine.

Each day I will pick a topic from a question posed to me or that I have. I will try my best to stay on topic as it pertains to personal journeys, independent travel, being a Black woman in her mid-thirties, and being a bit of a curious nerd about life in general.

I am also going to push my comfort zone more in the pursuit of romance (what in the world am I getting myself into?!) and saying “yes” more often than no. I won’t find myself in a happy and healthy partnership if I don’t make myself available (mentally, financially, emotionally, etc.), right? Bring on the charming men! I’ve been on a few dates already for the year, and I must say that it is a significant challenge for me to decide who to swipe right on. The internal conversation always involves an assessment of my flight of fancy, how superficial my motivation is (hotness factor over substance as presented in a limited and somewhat contrived online profile), and whether I am just being experimental or genuine with a particular candidate. There, over 500 for the day. I feel sick, and lighter at the same time!