FINDING A MORNING FLOW

I never adopted a morning routine. I wake up, roll out of bed and unwillingly begin my day. I slowly move along a path that drags me throughout my space until I miraculously have on clothes, keys in hand and I’m walking out the door.

LET’S GET READY TO BUMBLE

That’s me pictured above in a mesh bra with a side pony, rose gold necklace stack and computer glasses.

POUR IT OUT

The grounding taste of the gin botanicals lubricate my tongue, melting into each taste bud like a kid’s rocky road ice cream cone on a summer’s day.

GROWING AS A CREATIVE

Saying the words, “I am an artist” or “I am a writer” use to be hard for me to accept. They would linger on my subconscious, wafting about like a cool breeze on a blistering day.

VOTE VOTE VOTE

My earliest memory of voting was with my mother. I distinctly remember standing in line (which was no small feat for my child-like demeanor) and waiting for our turn to squeeze into our partition.

A NOTE OF COMPASSION

I was born into a society of racism, inequality and silent observers. I had to learn how to navigate through waves of white privilege and constantly make adjustments when necessary to maintain a sense of self, sanity and dignity.