"Listen. I don’t know how or when my grieving will end, but I’m always
relearning how to be human again."

— Sherman Alexie, “You Don’t Have to Say You Love Me: A Memoir”

What was the first song that made you fall in love with music? Tell me about your mom and your dad and the dog that you grew up with who you loved more than jumping in a pile of warm fresh laundry on a cold foggy day. 

I want to hear about what it feels like for you to exist and what you think about when you hear the word alive.

I'm scared, too. 

Something about learning to re-navigate this scene reminds me of the the floorboards in the house that I grew up in. Familiarity with the creaks only makes me more cautious of where I'll step.

I'm ready and I'm not ready to let the cards fall away from my chest. 

And, as always, the only one who will ever feel any of this happening to me, is me. 

September Archives

It's October 9th, but I didn't forget. Here's a few excerpts from Septembers past. 



8 September 2013

I forgive you. I forgive you. I forgive you.

I forgive me, too.

I forgive us.

I am letting go, not a bit of spite left to sting my tongue.

You were right all along.

This is best.

Today, my heart agrees. 


16 September 2013

If I say “I don’t care” please know that I am lying.

I do care. I care very much.

I will care until the day I don’t have to tell myself or anyone else that I don’t.


20 September 2013

Ten years from now, she will look back on the photos from her first day of kindergarten.

She will take them in with warm regard, and let out a sigh for moments past - 

curly blonde pigtails, and a green pleated skirt.

That is all fine and lovely, but that is not what this is about.

This is about the In Between, and the moments that the photos never captured. 

This is about how her mom ordered her a kids hot chocolate and put a green straw in the lid so that she wouldn't tip it over and spill. 

This is about the impeding sugar rush and running in circles around the giant oak tree.

This is about the boy who pulled her pigtails and the way she didn’t want him to see her afterwards, because she started to cry. 

More than anything though, this is about me - hidden behind the window of a coffee shop, this morning around six.



8 September 2014

Sometimes, it’s 10:30 at night, and for no particular reason at all life feels extra beautiful.

Your head hits the pillow and your skin feels soft against the cold clean sheets.

You are grateful.

Today was the last Monday, September 8th 2014 that I will ever have again.

I’ve already lived it. That is nuts.

Trousers at the Ready: WWAW?

This Fall I am fully committing to the grandpa aesthetic.

My arsenal of blazers is all lined up, and my trousers are at the ready. 

I love a good classic look, but sometimes with pieces that aren't denim the styling can get a bit tricky.

Such was the case with these trousers.

I couldn't even see my floor by the time I decided that this look was the one. 


Throughout my life I have always been inspired by Audrey Hepburn, but the past year or so I've been dressing like a twelve year old boy.

Tbh, I'm over it. 

In order to keep myself in check and avoid looking slouchy, I stand in front of my closet and ask, "what would Audrey wear?"  

This question has become my new accountability partner. I can't get properly dressed without it. 

Of course, I have to give myself room to add modern touches, but for the most part it's kept me in check, especially when I'm making purchases. 


Despite the fact that I'm taking 17 units, I've never felt more inspired. I'm looking forward to many more Fall looks, and actually posting about them here. 

The pants, shoes, and belt featured here were thrifted. But the sunnies are Zack Posen, and the earrings are Shop Theo. 


"But the problem with readers, the idea we’re given of reading is that the model of a reader is the person watching a film, or watching television. So the greatest principle is, “I should sit here and I should be entertained.” And the more classical model, which has been completely taken away, is the idea of a reader as an amateur musician. An amateur musician who sits at the piano, has a piece of music, which is the work, made by somebody they don’t know, who they probably couldn’t comprehend entirely, and they have to use their skills to play this piece of music. The greater the skill, the greater the gift that you give the artist and that the artist gives you. That’s the incredibly unfashionable idea of reading. And yet when you practice reading, and you work at a text, it can only give you what you put into it. It’s an old moral, but it’s completely true."

— Zadie Smith