All posts tagged: life

Two Places At Once

My greatest first loves always start with music and cities. St. Lucia will always be New York for me. I have an uncanny ability to photographically remember where I was, and what I was doing,  when certain songs were playing at specific moments in time. It’s a bizarre, useless, auditory sensitivity I’ve grown accustom to loving and loathing. Everyone has those things. A smell. A place. For me, it’s always been music. A song will come on, and I’m standing right where I was when it first played. I’ll know what I was wearing. I’ll know who I was with. I’ll know what the mood was. There’s no undoing memories like that, however meaningless or meaningful they may be. The first time I heard Bon Iver’s “Holocene”, I was standing alone on the Williamsburg Bridge. I was wearing a green utility jacket with leather sleeves, perched atop the pink railing. The lens of my Nikeon D3000 was pressed against a gap in the protective fence. It was meant to keep people off, but there I was scaling it for a photo. …

Body Armor.

I had a conversation with friends a few nights ago (over real apps) about dating apps, and can I be honest? I hate them. I’m not built for them. Do I respect some people’s affinity for them? Yes. Have I tried them? Yes. Are they amusing? Yes. Mostly because when you come across someone who is hopefully a doctor (but presumably Dexter) literally performing open heart surgery in their main picture, you have to laugh at the idea of swiping left or right based on your initial reaction. Which, by the way is, “What in the actual living hell is this?” But I finally realized what’s missing from the swiping and double tapping garbage that we’ve allowed present day dating standards to convince us we depend on. Eye contact. At a yoga festival recently (sup Wildvibes!), in the closing ceremony, they asked us to hold hands with a stranger and look them in the eyes for a few minutes. No words. No laughing. Just two softened sets of eyes showing up for each other without interruption, …

On The Stanford Ruling.

I had another post scheduled for today, but this is more pressing. I actually wrote this post last night, and decided to sleep on it in an effort to determine whether or not it was something I actually wanted to speak to. I can still feel my blood boiling as I sit here pressing publish, but when bullshit happens out in the world, and it hits close to home, and you have a platform,  you react. You speak up. You contribute. You hope that somebody, somewhere, is (rather unfortunately) feeling what you’re feeling. So if you’re here, and you’ve read the title of this post,  I can only assume you are as furious as I am. In case you missed it, on Thursday, after originally facing 14 years in prison, Brock Turner was sentenced to a pitiful six months in county jail for viciously assaulting a young woman and for deserting her banged up body behind a dumpster like a piece of fucking street litter. She was left alone, half-naked, privates exposed, incapacitated, and didn’t …

Remembering Yourself in Moments

In a perfect world, I would have posted this on Mother’s Day. It’s not a perfect world, and I didn’t really see the significance behind the picture (other than it being one of my favorite pictures) until the tail end of the day, once the Bloody Marys were bottomed, the bacon was gone, and long after I strong-armed my dear mom into a promise that she’d watch The Martian. I’ll willingly confess that The Martian made me cry. It’s been a long while since a movie made me feel that many things, so I figured it was worth forcing upon a woman who notoriously hates space movies. Sorry, Mom… The photograph above has always been one of my favorite pictures of my sweet mother. I stole it from a photo album years ago, and it has accompanied me to the various cities and apartments I’ve called home. Usually, it sits tucked in my nightstand drawer, along with a photo of my dad playing softball, a photo of my brother, a photo of my parents when they …

Setting Your Own Boundaries

When I closed shop on Findingravity a year and a half ago, it was an emotional move. For five years, Findingravity documented my early twenties, my time living in New York City, and one of my most prominent long term relationships. It eventually became one of my most prominent breakups. Watching someone you love dearly move their half of three years out of your shared home hurts in a way I’ll never forget. And while the relationship wasn’t a failure, it was still disappointing to reach a conclusion that it also wasn’t really a success. We were young, coming from two separate countries, living in an arduous city, and our hearts were yearning for different things. That’s life. One aspect of the breakup that I had a hard time dealing with was how public it felt. Friends, family, and complete strangers suddenly had these opinions. Big opinions. On one hand, when you’re emailing a complete stranger on the internet to tell them they’re making a giant mistake about their life choices, you’re assuming the person …

Hold on to the good shit. Let go of the bull shit.

I’ve had the same 5 or so best friends most of my life. I’ve also met a few people in the last couple of years who have come into my life and changed it for the better. Collectively, this is a tribe of girlfriends whom I know would still support me if I woke up one morning and decided I just had to be the next global pop sensation. I mean they would DEFINITELY try to drag me out of the studio by my ponytail and talk me out of it (bless!), but they’d also be the first, and only ones at my concert. That’s important. Because from how big you mess up to how big you make it, it’s critical to have friends who have your back regardless. I also have a group of people I see super casually, and it’s GREAT when we run into each other. It’s usually in groups and it’s always a blast. We catch up, laugh, shimmy, and have a ball. These aren’t people I feel pressure to share my deepest life …

A Dedicated Minimalist

The first time Emma Kepley and I met for coffee and pastries at a small cafe called Bakeri in the heart of Williamsburg, Brooklyn, it was a kindred spirit vibe that reassured me she’d be able to show the growth I’ve experienced in the last two years of my life, with just the few clicks of a button. (Okay, and some minor direction, girlfriend had to coach me through the first four of five frames). Still, I haven’t been photographed since I was 19-years-old while helping my good friend, Linsey, build up her photography portfolio. Those photographs were filled with bright paint splatter, sunflowers, and driftwood drenched beaches, hopping from location to location, and often from season to season.   I’m on the cusp of my two year anniversary in New York, and however long I decide to stay here, I wanted to document this very point in my life. The evolution from a sprightly college student hoping to take over the entire world, to the always confident, often caffeinated, sometimes narcoleptic, globe-trotting, city-dwelling, hard …