Where the Wind Meets

I’ve been here alone

some people think

I’ve forgotten my home.

1000 miles away

my heart,

not my body stays.

Broken but not lost;

hold my hand

I’ll take you there –

where the wind meets home

and carries you

through the open air.

Time says you can’t go back.

Yes, we’re all sure of that,

but hope still holds deadhead

like a once thick, now worn out thread.


Tell me your stories about revival

I want to hear them all

About you slain out in the spirit

about the fires on the wall.

Sundays haven’t done that for me

I’m still a stranger about to fall

Oh, can you tell me why

the light looks dim and I’m so small?

Tell me your stories about revival

I want to hear them all

About the hope from the altar

And the devil’s brawl.

I’ve seen your conviction

and the aisles turned dance hall

But damn, it’s so hard

To feel hope through it all.

Tell me your stories about revival

how you’ve prayed for the call

threw your cigarettes in the trash

and committed to the long-haul.

I won’t get to church this Sunday

but I’ll still play tetherball

with a body that’s fragile

and tangled in the drawl.

Come at Me, Bro!

My maintenance man, the one you may remember me talking about in They Outran the Rain just kissed me, and I don’t mean in a sweet, British, double cheek way. I mean in a flirtatious, is he going to throw me back in my apartment and have his way with me way.

He bear hugged me, squeezed me in tight, and kissed me in that awkward, high cheek area near the ear.  Let me rephrase that – his sloppy lips were on my ear and he kissed repetitively until the shock from the awkward encounter finally left my body and my limbs found the strength to push him off of me.


Processed with VSCOcam with b1 preset
Processed with VSCOcam with b1 preset

Continue reading “Come at Me, Bro!”

One Girl’s Letter to her Dad

When I was in the 5th grade I won an essay contest for D.A.R.E.  In the essay, I had to explain my pledge to stay away from drugs.  I wrote something very cheesy and expectant for a typical elementary kid.  You know, something really thought provoking like, “drugs are bad.”

I’m pretty sure my essay would have left that “Heaven is for Real” kid in the dust though… had our sentences been juxtaposed.

The essay wasn’t life changing, but I wrote it with passion. And it wasn’t because the DARE officer showed my formative brain horror videos of drunk drivers and families abandoned by victims of drug overdoses, but because I had already witnessed that in real life. When I look back on the essay, I realize it was a pledge to you.  It was me promising I would never turn out like that, while somehow simultaneously begging you to come back. Today, I’m writing a new essay.  Not in hopes that you’ll put down your habits (I mean, I do hope that too), but in an effort to say, I get it.

Continue reading “One Girl’s Letter to her Dad”

Iron Sky

I like to people watch.  I’m that person you catch missing train stops, running into brick walls, and falling over pavement because I am awe struck in my made-up story of the unlucky individual sitting/standing/reading/sleeping beside me. I pretend as though I get people, even when I have no idea who they are or what they’ve been through.  I make up stories about where they’re headed in life, where they came from, and what they’re running from.

You could say I’m a silent narrator of the human race, but like – a really bad one. 

To some extent, I believe we all pretend to understand people.  Maybe its to relate to one another, or to feel a connection, or maybe its just so we don’t feel so distant in such an immense world.

But an individual’s true story will never fit into the template you’ve created in your mind. 

The attacks in Paris, the people of Iraq, and the Syrian refugees prove this.

DSC_0250 (3)

I will keep the following  as PC as possible:

There are many cultures, but only one human race.  We are all a part of this, and I hate to be the one to tell you – but to believe in equality means to believe it past the confines of your religion.  To believe in love, to believe in freedom, to believe in the right to live goes far beyond your family and friends.

It seems easy to freely state a belief in something, but to see what your belief means beyond the familiarity of your current practices can be challenging.  To have the core of your morality truly tested, you have to break away from your comfort zone.  To close borders and cast hate, but pray for peace is only creating more of a disconnect.

I will not pretend that I know the answers to the current state of our nation and the world, but I know for us to gain any true sense of unity – we have to practice a more compassionate lifestyle.  A lifestyle that seeks to understand, rather than judge.  A lifestyle that hopes to open doors instead of close them shut.



They Outran the Rain

The 6 train is my worst enemy.

The only thing that makes the disgusting cat calls, awkward eye contact diversion, and dance routines doable for my 2.5 hour commute each day is a set of earphones and a good read.  Every once in a while, I look around the train and think…

I should probably acknowledge this person’s existence.

But just as that thought makes it’s way to my frontal lobe, someone tells me there’s a seat available on their lap, and my duty as a caring human seems to vanish.

Khaleesi, y’all

I’m not trying to insinuate that I’m irresistible in New York, I’m just letting you know the men here are bold and they all appear to be fresh out of the pen.

At least the ones in Spanish Harlem.

Side Note:  The maintenance man in my building calls me “mama” on a regular basis, and I’ve totally come to love him and his gross affection towards Mosie, which probably discounts my frustration with the aforementioned topic.  

Continue reading “They Outran the Rain”

Big Girl Panties

Hey yo. Hey yo.  Haaay Yooo.

I feel obliged to tell y’all that Cap found her big girl panties.  They’ve been buried somewhere under lots of fear and uncertainties, but they surfaced yesterday in the form of floral prints, jazzy colors, release parties and modern décor.

I know, so stylish.

I think I’ve died and gone to grown up heaven. 

When you’re in school, no one tells you how terribly awkward and uncomfortable the limbo stage is after graduation.  It’s so easy to be a dreamer in school.  It’s easy  to think about all of the epic, meme worthy jobs and experiences you are going to have because you don’t really have to figure out how to go about getting there.

In school, I had such a wide array of plans.  Ultimately, I just wanted to be able to write, but I was game for anything.  After two months of applying for jobs, and slowly feeling like I was destined for life as a #schlump, a friend over at Southern Living gave me the best advice.

Advice so simple it became the most frustrating thing I’d ever heard.

I emailed Travis at my low point.  I believe the opening line went something like…


Travis replied coolly.  “What kind of stuff do you want to write about?”

“ANYTHING!” I said.

“What do you want to write?”

(cyberspace crickets)

I was so caught up in telling people I was an English Major interested in writing that I somehow forgot to come up with a game plan.  Sure, I knew I’d kill to write short stories or screenplays… but #lyke what was I going to do for a real job?

You don’t really graduate school with a column in Vanity Fair or a book deal.

It was the getting there that was really throwing me off.   I kept taking shit jobs that weren’t getting me any closer to the dream.  It was really difficult to realize that even in limbo – you have to have a game plan.  You have to know what you have to offer, understand your interests, and find a way to make a job out of it.

But that’s really hard to grasp.

Because for four years you probably heard everyone tell you the world is your oyster, and it is.

It’s a big effing oyster that you have to figure out how to navigate.

just go

What I’ve learned through this limbo is that you have to be true to yourself.  You have to understand where your strengths are and you have to have a game plan while you make your way to your big game plan.  Do what you know you like, but not just frivolously.  Do it with passion and with a compass locked in on your end goal.  Take risks.  Explore your options.  But you have to eventually narrow down your choices.

Figure out how to do one thing well – not a lot of things half assed.

Be willing to step out of your comfort zone, but don’t disregard what you really want.  People are going to be eager to take advantage of your naivety.  They are going to want to cash in on your willingness to do “anything”, because they realize you are desperate.  But don’t be desperate.  I mean, you can be in real life, but not in the job world.  Know what you want, know you’re good at what you do, and write (or whatever you do) what you would want to read.

Also, never trust a man who wears a broken watch.  Just trust me on that.


You Wild Thing

People always tell you the sky’s the limit.  I’m starting to think that notion is pretty terrifying.  Dreaming is fun, but every once in a while you realize your dreams have remained dreams for too long.

That’s where I am now.



Truman Capote said:

“It’s better to look at the sky than live there. Such an empty place; so vague. Just a country where the thunder goes and things disappear.”

I get that now.  Who knew a romance like Breakfast at Tiffany’s had so much relevant truth?

Sometimes I wonder if “reaching for the sky”  is just a ploy to convince us to work diligently with false hope.

You know, like one of those pyramid business schemes.

It’s like an info commercial is narrating my life.  “Keep going”, it says.  “Don’t give up, that’s right… sell another.  Invest all of your savings.  Go ahead, DIVE IN!  THE PINK CADILLAC LEVEL IS NEAR.”

But you never reach the top of the stupid pyramid.  Instead, you’re lost somewhere amongst the steep steps to success.

The only thing that makes this track feel differently, is that I actually believe in it.

The only faith I have is knowing that reaching towards something is more fun than having no aspirations.  Maybe there will never be a day when they stop being dreams.  Maybe I’ll live a life constantly wanting more – like the wild things Capote talked about.

But I don’t mind being a wild thing.

wild thing

Living in the emptiness of the sky is rough.  Still, I’d rather know what the sky feels like.  I’d rather go through the failures, the pain, the feeling of complete loneliness than live a life thinking the sky was different.

Chasing after what I want hasn’t been what I wanted.  I’ve wanted to give up everyday.  I’ve felt inadequate, I’ve felt like a shitty writer, I thought I had no vision… the list is endless.

But I still value all of those feelings.

I value wanting to give up, because it makes the not giving up feel even wilder.


A Lesson in Triple Zoom

Lately I’ve been attempting to study for the GRE. Some days I clock significant study time, other days I make 40% on the question sets and decide to devote my life to critiquing myself and everything I suck at.

Yesterday that critiquing came in the form of this photo:


I’m a dancer by nature. And by dancer, I mean I’m a master at the white girl clap and flaring my arms about with occasional drop it like it’s hot moments. When the music is perfect my body can’t resist the shoulder pops and fishing reel.

I think that’s the aftermath of being a cheerleader/Cotten girl for most of my #lyfe.

In the excitement of the night I forget the world can see me act a fool, but the following days carry an imminent showcase of that dancing moment in a more public light. A light without jazzy tempos and bass drops. A light with lots of flaws captured in a photo and readily available for the Triple Zoom Test that my favorite #synergy girls taught me.

The Triple Zoom Test determines if any given photo is worthy of social media sharing. It has become our new standard. We zoom in three times, as you may have guessed, and assess the damage. Many times, the Trip Zoom leaves an image marred in my memory for days.



The resemblance, y’all.  I can’t stop laughing.

The Trip Zoom is something to fear. I’m talking scarier than the G train after midnight.

At first I loved the photo of me dancing, and thought it perfectly showcased the night of my  sister’s wedding. I was in Louisiana with my entire family in one room, endless whiskey, and a killer band. In that moment life was good.  Really, really good.

When I saw the photo on the wedding site I instantly saved it. I went to Insta with intentions to post, but first tried out the trip zoom test.  It failed (obvi), and I refrained from posting it.

Later that day I tried to pinpoint when I became such a diva. I’m not J. Law. My flaws aren’t cute, but they don’t matter. No one is triple zooming me but ME.

I hate that we (when I say we I mean me) let impossible standards become a new norm. I constantly talk about how little I care about what others think, and how we should all be ourselves – then my actions don’t match up. It’s like I know what I should be doing, but I can’t get my act together.  So, here’s to showcasing the flaws along with the beauty. Here’s to selfies that people will actually recognize as you – not some wannabe, insta famous girl.


A Fan Girl Reviews Edward Sharpe

I’m not usually one for reviews, but after the concert I just watched – I feel like the world should know a few things.

First – Alexander Ebert is a musical raconteur.  Everything from the effortless open, to the walk through the crowd, to the Total Request Live style playlist, to the New Orleans vibe second line farewell made me (and the entire crowd in Prospect Park) fawn over him.  I went wanting to dance; I left wanting to be his best friend.

Alex Ebert

Many of the recent concerts I’ve attended have been filled with far too much production, but not Edward Sharpe.  The show didn’t feel as though I was watching a marketing ploy, or witnessing a hipster trend.   It felt as though I was meeting someone, and that someone just happened to be a musical genius.  I enjoy an eclectic mix of music, so I’ve seen a strange array of shows (ie: rap, punk, pop, jazz, indie… the list goes on).  I’m a sucker for a full band and packed stage – so there’s rarely a show I don’t enjoy.  However, there are very few I leave thinking:


Paolo Nutini and Radiohead were my standing favs, but Alex just pushed his sexy, hair-bunned self somewhere on the top.

From the start, I could tell this show was going to be more like a jam sesh in a friend’s basement – and I was totally down. The show seemed to gradually bloom into activeness.  There was no announcement, no crazy chanting, not even a burst from the side curtain.  The band just simply wandered out on stage.  Nothing was hurried, there were no feelings of agendas or time restraints.  It just flowed.  For a while, I wasn’t even sure Alex was on stage.  I thought I saw his infamous white jacket swinging about, but the fumes from the girl’s Mary Jane in front of me made me worried I had things confused.

The show, while obviously deserving full attention on the band and lead, seemed to focus more on the group and experience as a whole.  Throughout the entire show, I felt as though I was VIP.  The camera for the JumboTron in the backdrop was positioned from the back of the stage, and showed the crowd through a distorted fish lens that looked as though it was filter with the Lark Insta setting (my go to).  It was as if we were watching the show through the band’s eyes – like we got to be a more significant aspect than the typical singer vs. crowd set.  At one point, Alex sat on the corner of the stage and let other band members perform songs from their personal collections.   He asked the lighting crew to turn the spot light off, and coolly mentioned that this show “wasn’t about him”.  The reaction from the crowd must have made him question his significance, as he quickly followed with a laugh and hesitated, “Well, I guess it is.”  

Still, despite the realization that Alex Ebert is the real focus, the entire show felt like it was about us – the crowd.  He did some typical crowd interactions like grabbing cameras for selfies, but even that wasn’t on the same basic bitch level as  most concerts.  After a few hand shakes, sing-a-longs, open mic moments and selfies, Alex did the unthinkable.  At least for my mind.  He jump off the stage and made his way to the very back rows.  I was seated somewhere near the front – so I was instantly frustrated with my luck of seats.  But Alex didn’t disappoint.  He followed through the crowd – stopping to let us all gaze into those baby blues while we planned a life with serenades and dope baby names like Harriet and Margot.

That could have been my own, personal take on the crowd walk experience.

When he made it back on stage, I thought my heart would explode from the perfection of the night.  He continued the show, stating that he wished he had more time to play.  However, the city wouldn’t allow the music past 10:30 pm.

So Foot Loose of you, NYC.

In an effort to squeeze all possible entertainment in, Alex began taking request for songs and playing snip-its of each.

This is where the magic happened.

Fans first requested Lets Get High.  The band began playing the first verse and chorus, then asked for more request in hopes to play as many bits as possible.  Someone requested Brother, and I must admit I was initially frustrated, as the song was not one of my personal favorites.  However, Alex shared the background story to the song – expressing how it was about a friend who led them to NYC and died shortly after.  His reminiscing shed light onto another facet into the complexity of the band, and showcased yet again that he can capture a crowd with more than just music.

As mentioned earlier, he is a raconteur on all levels.  Brother, easily became my favorite performance of the night.  It’s also currently tying with Truth for my favorite song in general.

Finally, (thank god) someone requested Home, and the little basic bitch fan girl in me was jumping with joy.  The crowd was instructed to sing the intro, then Alex asked the audience if they had stories to share.  MY HEART WAS OVERFLOWING.  I love other people’s stories.  He walked around passing the microphone as fans shared the various stories that brought them to NYC, to Prospect Park and to our night together.  Some explained that it was their birthdays, or that the songs brought relationships back together.  Two guys even popped marriage proposals.  I felt like I was living in a weird sitcom/movie mix of Friends and Wes Anderson.

As if that wasn’t enough, the band closed out the whole show with a killer second line that felt wildly reminiscent of my home town.

Not to mention, the second line send off was a nice deviation from typical encores and endless chanting into the dark abyss.  This felt real.  It felt like no one wanted to say goodbye, but the goodbye was too beautiful not to experience.

Thanks for making all my fan girl dreams come true.