Earlier this summer, I suffered a painful injury to my shoulder. It wasn’t from lifting a heavy box, improper form in the weight room, or falling off a Divvy scooter (all of which seemed likelier).

It happened in my monthly dance class. It’s the same one I’ve been raving about if you’re friends with me, work with me, or live with me. Our teacher, Bobby, our fiercely talented group fitness instructor, whips together an incredibly well-choreographed 60-minute class. It’s far more advanced than, say, one with my background—of childhood ballet, competing once in Greek Week dance, parties at Sig Ep, and the occasional rowdy wedding—but Bobby does so well breaking it down (pun) for dancers of all skill levels that it feels accessible and welcome even for a newbie like me.

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In January, the second season of “Feud” released on FX and Hulu. Since its first ad released, I eagerly awaited the release of “Capote vs. The Swans”, based on Laurence Leamer’s book, Capote's Women: A True Story of Love, Betrayal, and a Swan Song for an Era. Based on true events (with obvious elements of surrealism), the show follows the rise and fall of famous-turned-infamous author Truman Capote, the brilliant mind behind In Cold Blood and Breakfast at Tiffany’s. The Swans of Fifth Avenue, a fictionalized novel of Capote and his socialite friends, is one of my favorite books of all time (which I’ve read no less than three times).

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As I sat on my mat and watched the yoga studio steadily fill with more and more Alo- and LuLu-clad bodies, each one seemingly fitter and tanner than the last, I gulped. Chatting animatedly with one another, the fellow yogis created a buzzing, rising din. Surely this many people to one room was a fire hazard.

I looked down at my outfit, something I would have described as “playful” when I put it on that morning. Now, among stunningly beautiful men and women all in the same trendy, dark-colored yoga uniform, the more fitting word seemed androgynous. Or, tom man (a grown tomboy). The voices of adult women who spoke disapprovingly at my tomboyish-ness as a kid resurfaced, taunting me…

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Once upon a time, an imaginative little girl in a small town was at home with her family, opening presents. It was her birthday, and she was turning six years old. Her little bob haircut swished back and forth as she turned to pick up the next one, neatly wrapped in a square box. She tore apart the wrapping paper and gasped: a Barbie Polaroid! It was dreamily perfect: pink and green and purple–all of her favorite colors, of course–and with it came colorful flower stickers, which she promptly stuck all over it. She loved stickers. She loved taking photos with her new camera, which printed instant pictures with gusto, the subjects of each photo framed in Barbie-themed pink and white patterns.

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Like Carrie Bradshaw, frowning pensively as she types away on her keyboard, I, too, am eager to unlock the latest idiosyncrasy of the heterosexual male. But unlike Carrie, who seems to accept her ignorance of men with a shrug (“Men I may not know, but shoes, shoes I know”), this does not satisfy me. This years-long endeavor–and the answers it procures–continues to delight and flabbergast me, in equal measure.

In college, for example, I asked a male friend, “What’s a trend girls wear that you find unattractive, something men find strange?” …

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“Are you sure you’ll be alright?” Tay asked me. “I feel really terrible leaving you by yourself.” Her mouth was set in a frown, and her brow so deeply furrowed with concern, it could have held a toothpick aloft.

“Are you kidding?” I said. “Alone or not, I get to spend one more day in Charleston. The weather is supposed to be really nice tomorrow.”

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In our mid-”Me, Too” era, there is plenty of dialogue around men mistreating women, specifically at work. In fact, in an early bonding encounter with a new close friend, she and I swapped workplace sexual harassment stories as casually as if discussing our weekend plans. Waiting tables in a restaurant, in an office cube farms, in X male-dominated industry–no matter the “where,” the “what” is a tale as old as time. Nothing bonds two women, after all, like finding affirmation in a fellow compadre, finding your own experiences that women everywhere can relate to. 

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Well well well, if it isn’t another new year approaching. With 2022 having paved the way for getting to meet in groups again, I started a book club last January and wanted to share the reading list. A few sources of inspiration helped inform what we would read…

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Have you ever enjoyed a Saturday morning so lovely and pleasant that it still stands out in your memory?

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I wrote this post in April of 2020, and every book still rings true as worthy of a re-read (or several, as I have with almost all of these). I hope you find as much joy, life, grit, and substance in these juicy page-turners as I have.

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Are all of you ready for an epic book list? Because there are some phenomenal page-turners out there that will have you drooling by the pool (speaking strictly for a friend).’

I’ve had the great fortune of coming across some great books over the summer, and our Savannah mini-moon and Cancún honeymoon left wide open space for lots of reading. Here are some of my favorite, nail-biting, fascinating, delicious, frightening, captivating reads, most of which are published either this year or last year.

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Stay-at-home orders - now, in some ways, lessening to “suggestions” of staying at home after six months of adjusting to life changes of pandemic proportions - make lots of room for reflection. In retrospect, I’ve been thinking about quarantine and it’s various stages…

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When we acknowledge how little we know and understand, we open ourselves up to grow.

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Typically, living in the city means adjusting to a new way of “nesting”…a reality I learned very quickly in my first house in DC. When describing my room to friends, I tend to liken it to Harry Potter’s cupboard under the stairs (only mine is above the stairs.) The room is about the size of my parents’ walk-in closet - slightly larger, if counting the square footage of the adjacent private bathroom. It has a tiny private staircase, my clothes hang openly on a rack above my staircase, and the only bed that fits is a little twin.

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One goal of my quarantine goals is to read more books! Among these listed are a few I wouldn’t normally reach for (I’m terribly picky when it comes to purchasing books). However, given their popularity and proximity (there they were right in front of me at Kramerbooks Cafe), I couldn’t resist. Shop local, people!

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Lately I’ve been determined to be that person who remembers everyone’s birthdays, holding a gift behind my back ready to surprise them. I love giving presents, and given recent challenges to keep in touch with others, sending something small from far away means goes farther than simply door to door.

So, as we adjust to quarantine by learning new ways to connect with those that matter most to us, I’m feeling inspired to spread joy. Here are several of my Amazon favorites for most occasions. I hope this list helps you to shop for those you call yours!

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The first podcast I started listening to hosted discussions and idea swaps for living a stylish life in many facets extending beyond one’s wardrobe - my favorite episode was Alia’s conversation with a woman who told the adventurous story of quitting jobs with her husband, traveling the world for a year, and If ever there’s a way to resurrect their archive of about 18 months’ worth of episodes, I lovingly suggest you look up “Style Scout” with Alia Ahmed Yahia.

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Ninth grade health class was something else.

At fifteen, I was adjusting to the big, bad world of public school. Public school. Frowned upon in the main by staff and parents at my tiny private Christian school I attended, where I’d be leaving after eighth grade. Nonetheless, because my parents wanted their kids access to varsity sports, AP classes, diversity, and sex education - in other words, educational necessities to prepare kids for college - they pulled me out of private school. And off I went to start freshman year at a new school approximately twenty-four times bigger.

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